Finite

I can’t put it any clearer than this:

I could’ve sworn that my life was going to flash before my eyes. It was only a moment or two, but looking up the barrel of a gun can make any distance, whether seconds or inches, seem like something impossibly longer.

I could almost taste gunpowder from the recent shot. I could smell the blood of those who’d fallen around me. I could see his face, the voids of his eyes. I could hear my own heartbeat.

In a moment I realized, utterly, the word ‘finite’. It defined my life. There were only so many breaths left. Only so many moments. Hours. Days.

Whether in seconds or years, I was going to die.

Watching him smile, it occurred to me that I didn’t mind.

Not one bit.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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