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Rated: 13+ · Novella · Philosophy · #1813048
How does a dead man see time?
....Live.



Or is it die? he wonders.  He's currently alive but the jump from the bridge should take care of that soon enough.



The wind buffets past as the seconds drag by.  Twenty-seven seconds.



He had thought about this often enough, found out how long it would take him to hit the water, what the experience would be like.  Hitting water at his speed would be like hitting cement.  He'd made a small list of everything that he could do in thirty seconds; the list was sparse.



He knows the physics and statistics but could never account for the emotion.



Strange that at the moments before his death, he felt more alive than ever.  The wind buffeted past him, strangely warm despite the previous dawn chill, almost like a caress he hadn't felt in years.  I wonder why humans weren't given wings? he thought, waxing philosophical.  I feel so natural up here.



Twenty-four seconds.  His life did not flash before his eyes as the media said it should.  Maybe his mind knew his life had been depressing enough the first pass-through.  Debt had stalked him for years and now it had pounced.  Car, House, Job....Wife and Children.  All gone.  And he would be too.



He had left a voice message on his sister's phone explaining not to waste funds searching for his body or orchestrating a funeral.  He doubted she would listen; she cared too much.



Twenty seconds.  He grows impatient.  He'd timed out thirty seconds obsessively over this past week.  He'd even been confronted about it at work yesterday, giving a blaise answer that satisfied no one.



Fifteen seconds.  The water comes closer, murky green waters reflecting an alien version of the sky at him, enhancing the idea that he was rocketing to the heavens.  He chuckled.  He was a nice enough guy, paid his tithes, maybe God would let him in.  The sky-water unfurls like a scroll growing larger and larger as it fills his field of vision.



Nine seconds.  A moment of perfect clarity hist him.  He is going to die.  He, Gideon James Henry, is going to die soon.  All the trappings that came with that sorry name would disappear along with whatever it was that made him who he was, be it brain or soul.  He was not afraid but relieved.



Five seconds.  Peace envelopes him.  His death would propel him to a level he could never achieve alive.  The thought wasn't a selfish one, born of a desire to be noticed.  But rather, a revelation that his soul could leave its fleshy fetters and truly live.



Two seconds.  Almost there.  At the end, he feels a small measure of regret.  He would never be there to see his children grow or caution them from following in his footsteps.  His route is the coward's way out.



One second.  Only one second to...



Gideon jumped awake as he hit the solid water beneath him.  He was not scared; he'd already died and accepted his passing.  This meant that he was reborn.  Remade as a new man with new chances.



He'd had his thirty seconds to live, now he had the rest of his life to learn what to live for.
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