Imagination had gotten the best of him. Long drawn-out thoughts of death kept him awake. His eyes open, laying there next to his wife, in and out of a dreamlike state, pictures in his mind of leaving this earth, this life, and moving onto nothing; a blank space. No god nor angels greeting him at pearly gates. No streets of gold. Just a cold, empty space where he would dwell forever. Completely contrary to promises made by preachers in his youth. Tales of Heaven and Hell told by ministers way up high in the pulpits of the South. Spending eternity with Jesus or forever with Lucifer; a million souls lost.

He walked down the hall of his trailer and tried to get comfortable in his easy chair. Flipped through channels with the sound down. Watched news reports of war and famine, criminal activity in the inner-city, and masks to be worn at all times. Maybe the end was coming, he thought. Perhaps the apocalypse was well on its way. More fear entered his head. Maybe death wasn’t such a bad thing, he whispered. Escape before it all goes to shit, the fat man mumbled. Eyes closed. Asleep to the soft voices of television news.

And in the morning it was toast and jelly. Coffee with cream and a loving round wife. He wondered if today would be his last. He wondered.

There’s a clock ticking in all of us, he told his wife. You never know when the alarm is going to sound, he said. Could be today. Might be tomorrow. You never know. My dear, you never know.

She kissed his forehead. Said she loved him. Talked to him like a school boy. Brushed his graying hair back from his forehead. Then she sang to him. It was a song he had not heard since his youth. He hummed along. I’ll fly away. I’ll fly away.