On a calm riverside, there is a 2-storey rectangular house, which has a huge balcony on one end of the second floor, facing the river. Beside the house is a steel bridge connecting to the other side of the river.
In the evening light, light music is playing while invited guests mill around mingling and chatting, generally having a good time with a champagne on their hands.
And I find myself standing in the corridor leading towards the balcony.
And I have been here before.
And I know it in my heart what is going to happen next.
The balcony end is going to explode in matter of minutes.
I recalled being flung from the balcony, together with shreds and pieces of wood, stones and steel by the sheer force of explosion.
So why am I here again?
Did I survive? Or did I die previously? Is God giving me a second chance now so I can survive the ordeal? Am I supposed to find another way out?
Panic with the surety of explosion, I begin to dash towards the bridge with heavy breath and sinking heart. How many minutes, no, seconds, I have to get away? How much longer do I really have?
The bridge, the bridge, that is all my head is telling me. That is where my feet takes me. That is my only way to survive. That is where I run towards to – the bridge that connects to the other side of the river.
I can see the bridge now, I am running on the bridge now, I am almost reaching the other side when the explosion happened. The bridge broke into half by the impact and then I am suddenly under the water.
Still sinking, I tell myself it’s OK. I am so close now. I can see the ladders leading up to the riverbank. They are only couple strokes away. I can swim. I can reach the ladders. I can survive this.
When suddenly a thought hit me – perhaps God intend me to warn all the other unsuspecting folks to fled and therefore stand a chance to survive, instead of me saving myself, by giving me a second chance?
