Get the paddles, remember falling. It was nice at first. The air rushing past me as

the butterflies in my stomach multiplied with each passing second.

Clear, and there was a screaming, not from my mouth, but from the pedestrians below, scrambling

to run away from the landing zone, some to get help, others to avoid blood splatters

at all cost. Clear, it wasn't until the last second, just before hitting the pavement

with a shock wore off, and I realised what had happened. I was on the 12th floor balcony

of a hotel in town, enjoying the view, and the rail gave way, crumbling beneath my grip.

There was no chance of avoiding the descent. Clear, they say your life flashes before your

eyes when you're about to die. I wouldn't go that far, but I understand the sentiment.

In my final moment, there on the operating table, I thought of them. The most important

facets of my life, my wife and daughter. His pulse keeps dropping. I would never get

to see Leslie grow up, never get the teacher how to drive or walk down the aisle at a

wedding. And Charlotte, we had our issues, and that's why I was staying at the hotel

in the first place, but we knew it was a forever deal from the start. Now, that forever

was over. Cut short by building code violation of all things.

One more, clear. As my vision wavered, I saw something in the corner of the room, not

something, but as someone. A man in turn of the century attire, leaning against the wall

with a cane at his side. No one paid him any mind. He simply stood there, and smiled.

We're losing him. As I took my last breath, the man in the corner said something. In

its battered state, my brain couldn't comprehend the message. Looking back, I now know what

it was. See you on the other side, Jack.

Some say, after kicking the bucket, there isn't anything. Your brain dies, and your soul

...