Peter ended the call; his food was downstairs and he needed to receive it. He looked at the busy screen in front of him, hesitating a bit, but quickly realized it was a simple decision. He locked the screen, took his keys, and went out of the apartment. He locked the door, and took the short walk to the elevators. After a short while, the elevator doors opened and he went in.

It was a short 20-second trip, but on the fifth second, there was a sharp twang and the elevator lurched. The single second that it held steady enough to quickly assure himself, except that was all it was: a single second of calm.

When Peter heard the second twang, he knew. Suddenly, he was weightless and the elevator began its free fall.

His life flashed past his eyes. The past years working as an analyst; his time in college with his friends both in his program and those in his organization; he remembered his years in high school, then grade school, nursery.

Peter remembered his last day: his small breakfast, the unproductive morning, a quick lunch, the calls he had in the afternoon, and his little spat with his girlfriend. It all seemed irrelevant when he was at death’s door.

He closed his eyes, smiled, and let it all go.

Don’t worry about it, buddy. It’s not your time yet. A voice seemed to say.