[ OT ] If you had to choose , which of your prompt responses would you say is the best you 've written ?

Ooh, I'm going to try this. 
 
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 # # Defying Gravity 
 
 The first time I came within spitting distance of Death's Door was when I was nine. 
 
 I've had my fair share of near-death experiences, of course. Everyone in the business has, everyone respectable, that is. But even lying in the center of Millennium Square - soaked in the blood leaking from the five bullet holes in my chest, face pressed against the concrete so hard I can feel the individual shards driving into my cheek, the cold taste of iron harsh against my tongue - I still remembered the pain of that warm summer night, when I was torn from sleep by the conflagration blazing inside my stomach. And, as the nurse working the graveyard shift in the ER of the closest hospital drained the fluids from my leaking appendix, I had an epiphany. 
 
 I really, really do n't want to die. 
 
 Now that the important stuff is out of the way, I suppose it's time for a little context. Let me explain. 
 
 I grew up on a farmhouse hidden in the tall Iowan cornfields of a town called Riverside, so isolated that you had to squint towards the horizon just to be able to see nothing and nowhere. Nothing to be. Nowhere to go. 
 
 Well, that is n't quite true, strictly speaking. I suppose Mom did go somewhere. Her body did, anyway, approximately fifty yards, from the upstairs bedroom to six feet below the headstone out back. 
 
 By fourteen, after a decade-and-a-half of driving our ancient tractor up and down a two-mile stretch of dirt road, with no company to speak of but the acrid diesel fumes, I knew I would end up like Old Ben if I had to stay any longer. While Ben Callahan might have once been person, sanity had long since packed up and departed, leaving nothing but cobwebs and the occasional vestigial memory; his days were now spent shambling up and down the dry roads, cursing the indifferent stalks, or sleeping in the lone Adirondack on the porch of the General Store, the brim of his filthy Athletic's cap settled over his eyes. 
 
 The `` best'' way out was a football scholarship to the local university, chosen via popular vote by my fellow students at Riverside High. I despised football with a passion, so any chance of a career as a professional athlete went out the window. 
 
 My remaining options were limited: 
 
 a ) Run. Bad idea. Dozens like me had been possessed by a similar urge before and tried. I think one or two made it past the county limits before they were picked up and returned to Riverside in the back of a highway patrol cruiser. 
 
 b ) Stay. Out of the question. 
 
 c ) Make a third option. An obvious proposition, admittedly, but significantly more difficult than it might appear. As it was, it took everything short of a miracle, when the opportunity to implement option c became apparent on the twelfth of August, nine years ago. 
 
 I was lucky. Or, perhaps, unlucky; during my last appointment, my doctor mentioned that it was possible that the serum was the cause. Regardless, a week before the day everything changed, Riverside was selected as one of many international cities to test a new theoretical cure for appendicitis, something called G-23 Paxilon Hydrochlorate. 
 
 You know what it really is, of course, but bear with me. 
 
 They could n't force it on us, of course, but each test administered was accompanied by a federal subside. And volunteering was worth extra-credit in each class so, I figured, what the hell. I probably would've failed Math Analysis if I had n't. 
 
 Wonder if it would have been worth it. 
 
 So I went to the nurse's office after school. The scientists asked me to fill out a couple forms and took a blood sample. Then they gave me an injection with a syringe loaded with a clear liquid. And that was it. They told me to take a cookie sent me away. 
 
 Sounds anticlimactic, does n't it. 
 
 Anyway, I do n't have to explain what happened after that. Discovery that appendix is actually superior medial pinal thing, that the Pax stimulates it into performing its original functions of granting superhuman abilities, appearance of individuals with powers across the globe, et cetera. News of new societal impacts reached Riverside everyday. The emergence of villains. Heroes. New reality TV shows. 
 
 The sparks of questions grew into uncontrollable forest fires as international debates raged back and forth on every conceivable aspect of humanity's new abilities. Morality. Evolutionary. Militarization. Religious relevance. It was impossible to find an unrelated headline for more than a year. 
 
 And it was from this miracle that I gleaned my opportunity. 
 
 Everyone's abilities were different, but of course some ended up more similar than others. Everything fell within a certain range, though it had yet to be quantified. Nothing too over the top. A minimum point had yet to be discovered. 
 
 Me? I could fly. 
 
 It's like nothing else. Words ca n't describe it. The closest thing I can imagine is surfing, riding the waves as they swell and break. Of course, I grew up in Iowa, so I've seen the ocean a total of, hmm, zero times? Still, somehow I know that this is what it feels like. 
 
 I spent about a week sneaking away every chance I could get to test out my new-found abilities. I would just float for hours on clouds high above, thinking. It was amazing. 
 
 Finally, one night, I packed my bags and left, hitchhiking and flying across the country with no particular destination in mind. A year later, I found myself on the West Coast in Los Angeles, where I first met Skylar when he tried to stop the robbery of a 7-Eleven. Gradually, we acquired our other members, becoming what we are today, a force to be reckoned with. 
 
 Until I got the news, two months ago, while in the hospital in the aftermath of Synapse's attack. Still mortal. Ashes to ashes. 
 
 I'm going to die. 
 
 And there is n't a fucking thing I can do about it. 
 
 So when I say `` I do n't want to die,'' I hope you understand that it is not fear that creates this lack of desire. It is regret, that when I left Riverside, Iowa all those years ago, I had dreams that I was not able to fulfill. And I now know that you take my full meaning.
