The bar slips from my hand, like sand through a timer and I try and think it was worth it, just to have been there all along, but then a paralysis grips me and I realise; I'm only twenty. I'm too young to die. How is it that some people are allowed nine hundred years when others of us only get two decades? I wish the timer would reverse but I know it's too late, too great for that now as I look at my mate and wonder if he knows it too.
And he's yelling and his eyes are so wide I think they'll pop out, right into the sky. But he's baring his teeth and I'm staring at him and neither of us seems to know what's happening (but the reality is all too real) and as I fall, I think to him, "Well, if it had to happen, at least I'm looking at you."
As I plummet to my death - my last breath, the end of the earth - and I scream and my scream mingles with his, I finally realise that Mickey was right.
A list of the dead follows him around and sooner or later, I have ended up there.