I'd choose a plane crash over a bullet any day. Both moderately rapid ways to go, but one more effective in the intense adrenaline rush with five seconds left to go kind of feeling. A bullet gives you no time to sweat. No time to look back and recall. No time to fear. Bullets are for wimps. I'm a son of a wimp. I dont let it get me down though. I could make up some fantastic tale of his death, how he saved a fair maiden from a twenty story building, leaping and hurtling flights of stairs in moments, just to get to his love. How his feet leapt from the ground, taking a hit as he flew mid-air, suspended in the most exoctic sunlight. And then, how he collapsed heroically in the corner, barely panting. Hold his chest, kidding his love and slowly passing away on a famous quote that people nationwide would repeat from that day on. Or, I could tell you how he sat in his shithole, holding a gun to his head in front of his wife and son. Screaming, cursing, whispering, and crying. Then finally, gave in, soaking his dreams in alcohol and setting the whole house on fire. Fire in our ears as the bullet rung. A ringing that has never left. Its funny what you remember when you were eight. L L