I was very sceptical about the claim that your whole life flashes before your eyes at the moment of death. And I didn't really have time to think about such profound matters. Right now, everyone else is off work, but I'm sitting in a warehouse working. I was working until some thugs with machine guns burst in. It turns out that being hit in the face with a rifle butt hurts. They asked me something, then looked for something, and my whole life flashed before my eyes. I had all kinds of life: happy and not so happy, routine and varied, but one moment stood out particularly clearly in my memory. Parker. A simple ballpoint pen. It was like that when I first got it. The thugs found what they wanted, sat me down on a chair and brought me to my senses with smelling salts.
"Sit still. You'll talk to the boss.
I opened my mouth, moved my jaw, told everyone present to fuck off — just to test my voice — and waited. One of the thugs didn't want to leave and was about to hit me again, but they stopped him. They even wiped the blood off my face.
"Is your boss a faggot who's afraid of blood?
The thugs laughed.
"Yes!" said the one who wiped my face.
Everything that could be scattered on the floor was scattered. A box with an expensive pen lay near a chair. I kept it in a secret compartment in my desk, so they found it last. The thugs weren't interested in the pen. I bent down, picked it up and put it in front of me.
"What are you so tense for, monkeys? Or do you want to live forever?
Another burst of laughter.
"This slime ball thinks he can kill me with a pen!" one of them squealed in a falsetto voice.
The door opened and a young man in a T-shirt and jeans, with silly long hair and a goatee, entered the room. He waved his hand in front of his nose, and one of the idiots, with a look of horror on his face, rushed to open the window. After using ammonia, it is indeed better to ventilate the room. A chair was quickly brought in for the newcomer, who sat down and stared me in the eyes.
"Fucking hipster? The crime bosses are coming for you.
"Get lost, tramp. It's not us, it's life," the hipster croaked in response.
"I don't understand, are you a faggot working for these clowns, or a clown for these faggots?
"What's the difference? These jobs pay the same pittance. And it's the price I'd like to discuss with you." The hipster stopped playing around.
"The price of what?
"Life, the universe, and everything.
"Forty-two.
"Right, right. Then why are you selling Pepsi-Cola for fifty kopecks less?
"So that people will buy it," I said. The hipster continued to wait for an answer. "Because I can."
"That's where you're wrong. You can't.
"Are you here for a simple soda?
"We," he pointed to the bouncers, "are here because there are people who want to make money. And there are people who CAN make money. And you're not one of them. You're just in the way."
"You want to take my warehouse? There's a lot of stuff in there, you won't choke on it?" I took out a pen, showing my willingness to sign anything. Although I knew it wouldn't be necessary, I could literally predict the boss's response.
"Do I look like a lawless gangster? No, mate, I'm a man of the new era. I want to be understood and accepted for who I am. I don't need your junk. I need you to get the message.
He waved his hand, and his personal bodyguard, dressed in an expensive black three-piece suit, turned off the camera and headed for the exit to check the situation outside the door.
"Slit his throat. Take photos. Burn the warehouse," the hipster ordered his henchmen.
I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, gathering my thoughts. I sat like that for a couple of seconds, and as soon as I heard footsteps, I broke the handle in half. Once, a whole truckload of gas cylinders arrived at this warehouse, which I couldn't resell at first, then I forgot about them, then I remembered, and then I forgot again. But in the meantime, I managed to attach a simple and reliable explosive device to them, which, when pressed, sends a spark through the valve of one of the cylinders. A chain reaction and an explosion would blow up half the industrial zone, and the windows in the city would be blown out. Trade is a dangerous business; you have to be ready for anything. There are so many people who want to devour a competitor they think is weak...
It's good that your whole life flashes before your eyes before you die. Otherwise, I would never have remembered that I hid the button in the handle.
It turns out that death is very similar to falling from a height. As children, my friends and I used to run around an abandoned construction site and play Spider-Man. When Rino ran, you had to jump out of the way, but Roma, who was playing the villain, instead of running straight, turned slightly towards me. Well, I'm Spider-Man! I'm strong and agile, and most importantly, I have spider senses that warn me of danger! So I jumped away from the unfair Rino. But suddenly, the playground ended, and I fell two floors down head first.
Now I was experiencing the same thing — my head hurt, my eyes were dark, and I could hear cursing in the distance. And also... the sounds of battle? What was happening?
***
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