Echelon

They say that when you're about to die, your life scrolls in front of your eyes. They say that you think of every sin you've ever commited, and you regret them all, but for me, none of this was true. All I could see was darkness; all I could think of was surviving, escaping the terrible judgement that had forsaken my family that day. In books I've read now, when people have a near-death experience, they don't notice any other pain or fear. But for me, I noticed every scrape, every burn, every stone breaking my tender skin, in diamond clarity. I remember the screaming, the sirens, the wailing, every sound, as if my hearing had been magically enhanced. I only think of this now, eleven years after. How could I have thought if it then? I was only a seven year-old-boy, an innocent life about to end. And my life did end, just not in the way I was expecting. I died, yes, but it was the young boy that died. But I'm not here to tell you about my parent's death. I'm here to tell you the story of my lifetime, but most of all, the story of my death. That's all life is. The longest, most painful form of death.

There is an angel in my heart
I can hear her crying
I can see her bloodstained wings,
trying to fly, unable to move

Light footsteps. Soft gasping. Faint yells. Gunshots. That's all I could hear as I moved stealthily through the street. These were, however, the average sounds for a Manchester saturday evening. As I turned a corner, however, a body barrelled into me. It was a tall, dark-haired girl who tried to shove me out of the way, but I held her arm firmly. "Get the fuck off me!" She snarled savagely.