Adrenaline and Norepinephrine is coursing through my body, forcing out an involuntary "fight-or-flight" response. Fighting seems impossible as not even a ray of sunshine flows through the room. There are no windows. There is a small door with what appears to be a minimum of three locks. My back is flattened against the wall and I can feel my heart pumping in and out of my chest. He's got a gun. I don't know who he is but he's got a gun, and by the look in his eye, he's clearly not afraid to use it. The cold of the concrete wall against my back seems to tear its way through my shirt and under my skin. I'm as good as dead.. why not allow my fate to play out?

The man slowly makes his way towards me through the shadows, chains from his pants jingling and steel-toed boots slamming against the solid ground. For a second I almost contemplate asking who he is, but quickly realize that's only a waste of the breath I have left. My hands are shaking and I've got nothing to say. I've got nothing to say for myself and I'm about to die. He continues making his way towards me as I feel myself sinking farther into the concrete. I can't see myself, but I can tell that my face has gone pale.

Memories shoot through me as I remember my wedding day. My bride walking to the alter almost as slowly as my murderer walks to me. I remember her smile that could light up a room, and I realize that even her light couldn't stop me from being killed in the dark. I remember my kids. My son started kindergarten two weeks ago. My daughter's just been born. I imagine what their faces might look like in twenty years time. I imagine the face of my wife when she has to explain to them where their father is. God willing, they'll grow old together. They'll have family portraits, even if they're without me. Maybe they'll leave a space for me to stand next to them in their portraits.

In this last minute, I allow myself to feel. I allow everything to overtake me at once and I break down. I still can't talk. There's a rock in my throat and I can't even bear to sob. The cold metal of the gun presses against my temple and I go numb. There are tears rushing down my face and blood rushing through my veins. I let it dawn on me that this is the last time my blood will move throughout my body.

In a minute, I'll be on the floor and my organs will shut down. I won't feel. I won't see. I won't be guilty for what I've done, but guilty for what I've failed to do. I won't remember an embarrassing scene, I won't remember a joke I've told, I won't remember a lie I've told. In ten years, all of my memories will be turned into stories. Maybe my family will sit around and laugh about something stupid I did.

I did. It sinks in I'll never do anything again. I'll never laugh, I'll never cry. Suddenly I'm regretting all of the emotions I never allowed myself to feel. As the metal pushes farther into my skin, I wish I could smile once more. I wish I could laugh and cry and feel anything more than the fear I feel right now.

I try to mutter out a last word, but talking is impossible.

Silently, he pulls the trigger and another flash of memories race through my head. I fall to the ground, releasing a final moan of defeat.

In death I do not feel. In death, I cannot scream, I cannot cry, I cannot laugh, I cannot move. I am suspended in time. I haven't felt myself hit the ground yet, I don't know if I ever even fell.

I feel okay. I do not feel guilty for how I have lived. I have a few regrets and I wish I had taken more chances, but I do not feel guilty. I feel serene as I involuntarily float through the darkness of this abyss called death.