My final words

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I can see it coming in through the low clouds. I marvel at how it hangs, almost weightless.

Suddenly, I’m reminded of how she tasted like strawberry yoghurt; how she moved in my arms. The faintness of her smile haunts me now. Her laughter follows me like a shadow, a stalker.

There is a roar. I am brought back to the now, the present situation. I know I’m going to die, I’ve accepted it. It comes to us all. I just never expected it now: I’m only 30.

It’s not as if someone has warned me, picked up the phone or ushered me into a wood-panelled office. Sat me in a leather chair and looked down at their hands while they construct the sentence in their head: I’m sorry to tell you [insert your name here], but you’ve got

cancer
inoperable heart disease
yellow fever

and there is no known cure.

I am watching my own death approaching. I can taste the noxious breath of death as I kiss her full on the lips. I have inserted my tongue.

I hear the screams above the roar. I see people fling themselves to – and here I laugh at my own thoughts – certain death.

Turning around I see that breakfast hasn’t been touched. Croissants, homemade jam, butter that has melted in the first rays of the morning sun; it’s all laid out on a white cloth that flutters in the breeze. I shiver, even though it’s not cold on this September day.

I could take the stairs, make a run for it. But I don’t.
I stay.
I watch.

I feel the urge to pray, although I’ve never believed in a God and now, well, it seems churlish to start believing. Even if He existed, would He save me? Would I save Him if our roles were reversed?

I think not.

The ground shakes as the plane hits. I feel the heat rising around the top of the building. I hear

glass shatter
people scream
sirens wail

And I can smell the burning flesh.

There is so much paper.

The shaking is getting worse. I don’t think there can be much time left.

Remember that I…