I’ve heard that before you die your entire life flashes before your eyes. I guess it was comforting then that all I could see was the barrel of a dripping wet 58. I know I gave away the fear I was feeling as most of my body lay motionless on the floor. Hints of music from the 71 were drowned in the agonising rumble of the sheets of incessant rain. So close. And yet here I was, sitting, helpless, and only half-praying, with no control over my shivering body. If only I had the courage to look further than the barrel maybe I would’ve seen the innocent, apologetic eyes of my assailant. A twinkle that said there was hope for me. There was still a chance.

The clouds roared. And the gods cried. And I began to think of many things.

I thought of my breakfast – burnt toast and raw eggs. I thought of Rahul; and of Daniel. I thought of my bed; and of B. As time passed there was not much I had not thought of. And as we waited, I became aware that this was not to end quickly. This was not an isolated incident – this was merely a piece of a larger puzzle. The deafening silence was broken as a low hum of a Citroen came towards us. The man in front of me twitched; half out of the fear of what was to come; and half out of what I can only imagine was the cold. A woman in colours much too bright for the night stepped out of the car and approached him. He heard what she had to say without so much as a glance away from me, our eyes locked in an ironic waltz under the cloudy skies. She handed him a packet which easily disappeared into the many folds of his trench coat. The woman continued talking. There seemed to be much to be done that night. I watched their muted conversation as if watching my own life from a distance; able to notice things outside the limitations of the first person. I felt like the rain – travelling slowly down from a wide view of the Paris skyline, falling towards a lonely woman and two people responsible for her immediate future. I flew around the bridge, taking comfort from things I knew were there, bouncing past the 71, looking through the window at the lights and seedy glamour; at the warmth of bourbon on the oak counter; at the smiling faces and the hollow stares.

It seemed ages before we were once again left to our private dance and the music was not about the die down. The darkness of the skies left him concealed and only flashes from the headlights on the bridge gave me an idea of who he was. I moved slowly across his wrinkled forehead. Apology gave way to anger and his eyebrows firmed closer together forcing the drops of rain from his forehead into his eyes and down the ridge of his dented nose. Each scar; each wrinkle seemed to shout a story of another night such as this. Another packet; another street; another car with another customer – just another victim under just another bridge.

Myths about death wouldn’t be called that if there wasn’t a hint of make-believe in them. I did not get philosophical, nor cry or plead submission. Rather my moments there revolved around daily things; irrelevant things; of coffee mugs and project deadlines. I wished I was at a piano. Surrounded by the emptiness of an echoing hallway, softly reinforcing the guilt I felt. So many people would know nothing. Much that needed saying was left; much that demanded attention was given none. And the rain continued.

Time stayed evidently still; mocking me in my helplessness. Nothing happened. And then his phone rang. I listened to the conversation which he made no effort to conceal. And it struck me. This was definitely not a stand-alone job. This was only the beginning. They were after us. And I knew everything now. I knew what was to happen. I had heard it all. I closed my eyes. There was no place for me now. No hope. No twinkle. No apologetic sympathy. Just the barrel. Just the cold stinging drops of rain. Just me and only time till the end of the conversation. I thought; I thought hard. I wanted what I deserved. I wanted my last flash of life. I wanted my childhood memories and my sunny fields. I wanted my days by the stream and nights under the stars. I wanted it all. Most of all I wanted my peace. I wanted this to be over. I heard the beep and the shuffling as he put his phone away. I felt a final gust of wind and I shivered to myself. I calmed and prayed for those that were to follow me. I prayed for Ilona.