Sing. Just Sing.

         "No!" I screamed as I tumbled to the stone floor of my huge, roughly cut cell, cut into the rock of this mountain. I banged my head a few times on the jagged boulders, jutting out of the walls.
         They threw the explosive down and the door swung shut.
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         Blood poured from gashes all over my body, but I ignored the agony that ripped outwards from my wounds, as I flexed my muscles and struggled to get up. I had to get out of here.
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I quickly scaled the six-meter wall of overhangs, huge footholds, faults, and gravel. Two of the other three tall walls were just as easy to climb, but the wall with the closed door at the top was smooth and flawless, as if it was polished glass. Except for the small balcony-overhang right under the door.
         Maybe I could reach the overhang below the door from this wall... I leaned further out.
         And I tumbled straight to the floor.
         "Stupid cell designers," I muttered, wiping the dark scarlet liquid pouring from a slice on my cheek off my face.
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         And I had wasted five minutes on that little maneuver. Five precious minutes of my life, which was ticking away. Tick. Tick. Tick.
         Stop! I slapped myself. That wasn't going to get me anywhere. I still had to get out.
         I spent three more minutes trying to disable the bomb. About then, I noticed the camera above the door. Watching me. Watching the last few minutes of my life. Watching the last few minutes of my life.
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         I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
         "If you had twenty minutes left to live, what would you do?" I brushed my bloody hair from my face and scratched the drying blood my ankle. I would've liked to be cleaner on my deathbed. But.
         My eyes snapped open and I stared directly at the camera.
         "I would sing."
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         First, I sang songs I knew from lullabies. Songs my mother sang to me. And if I forgot the words, I hummed or filled in nonsense rhymes. Nursery rhymes. The pure notes of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star rang out in my cell.
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         Then, songs from my church, my days in those halls with believers and learners. Silent Night, Nearer My God to Thee, and others. I almost felt happy and safe, as the memories filled me.
         Almost happy.
         Almost safe.
         Okay, not really. But I kept singing.
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         Random songs began pouring out, whatever came to mind. Songs I didn't even like. Rhythms. Melodies. My spirit soared with the notes. I had always loved sending my awful voice out into the abyss, for all to hear. I surely had an audience now.
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         I only have time to sing my favorite verse of each song, because there are so many to sing, and I want to sing them all. I want to sing. Let me sing. I don't want to die.
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         I'm crying. I make up songs now, because I miscalculated how many songs I knew, and I don't dare stop singing for a second. I can't be weak. I can't let myself think about this horrible place. About that countdown. So I cover the gash on my arm, watch as the red blood pours through my fingers, and I sing.
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         Deep breath. Keep singing. Don't give up. And stop crying! Hold it together! Keep it in! Die strong!
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         I force myself to stand up and pull my hand away as I sing. Let the blood pour. I'm dying anyway. I'm dying. Why am I forcing myself to do this?! Why don't I just lay down and die?! Let someone else sing heroically until their end. I shake. Time is ticking too fast. There's one song I really have to sing, and the whole song, the one I made up.
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         I'll give myself two minutes to sing it, chorus and all.
         My knees buckle and I drop to the ground next to the bomb. I can't do it. I can't keep singing. My heat aches from the held back tears, and a sob is caught eternally in my throat.
         Maybe I should've picked some other deathbed performance.
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         How? How did I go from thirty minutes to live to five and a half? Why am I not losing it? I'm about to die!
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         Five minutes. Five minutes is too much, and too little. I work the names of the people I know into my songs in case they ever see this. The places I've found and taken refuge in, the people I've loved and hated, too, all in my songs.
         I pause. Take a deep, shuddering breath. I can't go on like this.
         In five minutes, I won't have to.
         I start singing again.
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         My voice is so hoarse. Two minutes and then I should start my special song. I want to cry. I can't cry anymore. Why did I pick that song? It's not even that good.
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         Two minutes, and then this will all be over. I've said all I need to say, really. I'll go down singing.
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         "I am ready for adventure," I sing the first line with life.
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         "I will go and face the world!"
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         "Anywhere I'll venture," I almost laugh. So bitterly ironic.
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         "I will stand and face the world!"
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         Ticking away so fast. So just breathe and face the world with the chorus. "I will be a kind soul,"
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         "To human, beast, and alien,"
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         "And if I die I'll go to heaven!" I'd better go to heaven.
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         Do I have time? I'm about to panic. I'm almost out of time. I breathe and think, Don't worry, just sing. "I will navigate the ocean,"
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         "And then I'll map the world!"
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         "I will never fear the open,"
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          "Hot, or warm, or cold!" Oh, it's such a childish song.
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         "I will be a kind soul,"
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         "To human, beast, and alien,"
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         "And if I die, I'll go to heaven!"
         Breathe.
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         "Yes, the future does await,"
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         "And the present forms my tale,"
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         "But the past creates my fate,"
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         "Of adventure, not of fail!"
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         "I will be a kind soul, to human--"
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         "beast, and--"
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         "alien, and if I die--"
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         "I'' go to--"
         And then the bomb goes off.