You know, I never really believed in the whole "Heaven and Hell" thing. I didn't believe there was anything at all in the end when we died. Life was meant for memories, experiences, and enjoying everything the world had to offer, while death was supposed to be the footnote of a life well-lived.
I hadn't survived long enough to even call my existence an actual life. Rather, my living was the footnote of my end.
I lived a simple life with my family in a small town. A citizen of the "Land of the Free", a country that gave way to democracy and unalienable rights. I was an American, through and through. Raised by combat veterans who taught me to honor the sacrifices made for my freedoms, but also respected my wishes to remain a civilian. Perhaps that is where I had gone wrong. Perhaps, if I had even the slightest bit of training, I don't know, -maybe being taught to "tuck and roll" or, you know, anything- I might've lived to see another day.
No one expects a quick run to Walmart to result in their death, but that's what happened. I had only gone in for a gallon of milk, making it all the way to the cash register before I thought I heard gunshots ring in the building. People were suddenly screaming and stampeding towards the automatic doors. In my rush to escape, my $3 flip flops broke and I fell.
Right in front of the doors.
Death by panicked human stampede sure is a way to go, but waking up in an unknown area unable to move or do much else than shriek in terror is something entirely else.
(What I'd never find out though, is that there were no gunshots. Just a group of kids who thought popping a bunch of balloons and yelling out "someone has a gun" would make a funny YouTube video)
