Open your phone and look at the last text message you received . Then use this in some way in your following piece .

He stared blankly down into the kitchen table. His hand covered the mouth of the liar he was. The feeling of being somewhat enclosed by something made the simple text feel less real. He slowly inched back and forth, a slow rocking reminiscent of time spent at sea. He felt the ring that never left his finger brush carefully over his lips. An hour was not a lot of time. Or was it? It's getting harder to tell by the second. 
 
 The plane would take him far east. A day from now he would be walking on ground no ancestor of his had ever dared tread upon. On soil they had no idea even existed. He felt... proud. Yes, proud. Proud of what he had become. Proud of what he was about to do. He... *deserved* to go. He had to go. For Marcus. 
 
 `` Nicholas and I are leaving half past one.'' He wanted to throw the cell phone. It somehow seemed very hard to make the simple movement of reaching down to grab it though. He remained still. Petrified by the possibility that he could make the wrong choice. An hour was not a lot of time. Or was it? Not nearly long enough time to choose. But far too long of a time to remain seated in a house built for a family he was about to abandon. 
 
 If he just remained quite still, perhaps time would go slower. This sanctum would serve as divine intervention for the mistake he was about to make. If he could just remain still. Time moved slower and slower until he fell out of this world. So slow that it seemed plausible that he would fall out of the trajectory path of the bullet before it crashed into his eye. Time stood still has he faced his death. It was true what they said. Your last thoughts are of home.
