They say everybody dies alone. If that is true, where will I be? I loathe the thought of dying. If and when I depart this cool, barren Earth, I would like it to be peaceful. I will not take to the vile act of rotting, my corpse consumed by worms and the like underground. Oh, what a thought. How if I die, it shall be by no other name, but God. Or as a martyr. Sidestepping a little old lady, coiffed hair, hunched back, stunned, as a shower of bullets rain down. Hit me harder, until I’ve got no breath left. Until I seize. But don’t say, I died for nothing. Because I would die for anything, anyone but you.