I died for the first time on the 18th of August 2006. It wasn't a particularly pleasant death, nor was it the one that I expected.

It was simply the random act of violence that destroyed my life and it came out of nowhere.

We were just relaxing at the pub, enjoying a few drinks after a busy day at work. It was my turn to buy a round of drinks, so I was trying to get the attention of the bartender.

I felt someone punched me in the side.

At first, I thought someone had just hit me, but then I felt the warmth

and the rapid stream of blood pouring down my shirt. I realized then and there that I had actually gotten stabbed.

As far as I can remember, it wasn't even that painful.

Still, my legs gave out under me and I collapsed to the floor.

Even then I was worried more about ruining my expensive suit,

ignoring the fact that I might be dying.

Oncoming death is funny like that.

Everyone thinks they're the exception,

that they'll get out from whatever horrible situation the universe is thrust upon them.

At least, that's what I thought,

as the life drained for my body.

The world around me just faded to black, and before I knew it,

I had just died.

Then there was a void.

At first, it was little more than darkness, only broken by weird shapes

and colours in the distance. As I regained a sense of surroundings, I was dragged towards a

new world, one without pain, suffering nor death.

All there was were people on a journey to different destinations.

...