Why is it, according to stories, that a person who is about to die have his life flash before him?
Is it the way life tells us of what we have done when we get to meet our maker? Like a review. Is it life’s way of waving goodbye or was it simply because we love our lives too much that up until the last minute, just before that last gasp of breath, we try to relive that life we have had as we try our damnest not to let go?
And then everything goes black.
This was what actually runs through my mind as I took that first step and the second and the third as I ran towards that man who dressed like just any normal guy: trying to seem like an ordinary guy walking around the market place. Well, he could have been just a regular guy except for that tiny, almost non-existent wire that fell off his pocket and dangled there teasingly at me as he reached for his funny looking cell phone from the inside of his jacket pocket. Honestly, I am not really that observant but when I saw him, suddenly I noticed how his baseball cap was pulled down almost to his nose, and how his jacket tightly wrapped around his body which was very unusual for a temperature like today, how his movement seemed to be oddly robotic and heavy and his newly shaven face kind of gives him an unbalanced facial color that he caught my curiosity and I did watched him.
And now I am half sorry.
Half-sorry because as I ran towards him, I realized that this funny looking man isn’t up for a joke and the bomb wrapped around his body is a serious business.
The other half is from the false confidence I have that I may survive this one since I haven’t gotten my flashbacks yet…
Until that last forceful minute that felt like a punch in the gut that suddenly all went into a blur.
Out of the blue, I saw the angry face of my wife. It caught me off guard as Angie’s (my wife) screaming face snuck up on me. The very one that she wore as she was shouting litany of curses at me this morning because the money I handed her was few hundred short. And that I kind of smelled beer and cigarettes though I explained that the booze and the smoke were free because the Captain treated us from I don’t even remember why but she still cried at the top of her lungs calling on all the angels and devils she could name. “How are we gonna pay for the rent? This money is just enough for water and electricity. What are we going eat? And Jeff’s school has written again reminding us about the promissory note, you know. How dare you spend all our money in drinking?”
I wanted to explain more to her but her image suddenly turned into this swirling smoke-like image, only the eyes remaining clear. Though still squinting, it was shaped into something smaller and happier. Then I realized it wasn’t my wife anymore but my youngest son laughing. The eyes became a whole face, and then turned into a whole scenario. It was a few Christmas ago when he finally got his bicycle. “Oh, Papa! Papa, thank you! I love you! This was the best Christmas ever!” Ricky was half-shouting, half-singing then as he rode the bike around the compound. He was four.
I snapped back in to reality, enough to see the man taking a step back or two as he now realizes that I am charging towards him. As for me, I felt this slight urge to stop though my feet keep on moving forward. I screamed. “Stop that man! Somebody stop him!”
Few heads turned. Some were irritated, others were curious, some shrugged but most were confuse. “What’s going on?” They asked each other. Fools, I wanted to shout, why waste time asking each other? Take action goddamnit! But another flash hit me as if the air in my lungs were sucked dry. I heard a cry. A tiny, loud wail. It was my first born son’s, as the nurse puts him in my arms for the first time.
Then the flashes became more frequent and much faster – my wedding; my mother putting band-aid on my scraped knee; my father shaking his head, his disappointed eyes looking at me as he found out my stash of weed; me and my brothers under the blankets with flashlights on, giggling and whispering as we leaf through a magazine, seeing a naked woman for the first time; my college graduation, my father shaking my hands telling me to be careful; my first kiss; the prom when my first girlfriend and I broke up; when Angie said yes to me; Jeff, my eldest son’s first day of school; the first time I fired a gun; me flying a kite…
I caught the man’s shoulder, grabbing it as tight as I could. He tried to shove me away but I held on. “This is the police--,” and whatever it was that I planned to say was left in midair, as I saw him pushed the button in his detonator. “Run!” I screamed at the top of lungs, hoping and praying that everyone would move as fast as the wind. There was a fraction of a second in which I knew I was given a chance to decide: let the man go, ran away from him and let all hell break lose or grab on to the man and pin him on the ground, minimizing (at least) the blast’s effect.
And just as soon as we hit the floor, I felt something shook.
Then everything went black.
