I’ve heard people say that, when they were faced with a near-death experience, time seemed to just slow down. Their senses heightened. They experience, for the first time in their lives, the act of living.

I came to the conclusion that these people are talking out of their arses. Here I am, laying on the ground after having been shot in the chest. Twice. I tell you what, that bullet didn’t slow down for shit. I couldn’t smell the flowers on the other side of the room. I couldn’t hear the sound of birds coming from outside. And right now, all I can taste is blood in the back of my throat.

Fuck, this hurts.

Maybe the slowdown will occur later, as they’re dramatically rushing me into hospital to remove the bullets and stop the bleeding. Perhaps I will hear intense, bass-heavy music. There might even be a saxophone or a guitar solo. And then time will slow, and I’ll just slip away.

Or possibly I’ll lay here and drown in my own blood and vomit. Really, it could go either way.