[ WP ] The air left my lungs

Jim Watt was never the type of man to plan his own death, but he had always kept vague ideas of how it ought to happen. These annotations on his normal thoughts marked the pages of his life that had room or requirement for such musings. 
 
 When he was seven, he thought the best way to die would be in a shoot-out like an action star. Unlike the action stars, he would not be surrounded by girls because even in death the risk of cooties still lurked. 
 
 When he was ten, he became very intent on living forever. Jim worked several months on this endeavour only to decide that is was too difficult and that he would have to settle for being cryogenically frozen. If you were to look under Jim's bed now, you would find an abandoned jar of quarters he had been saving for this investment. 
 
 When he was seventeen, he saw his father die of cancer and decided the best way to die would be of natural causes at the ripe old age of one hundred and three. Or perhaps one hundred and four. Or older. 
 
 By the time Jim Watt was twenty, he had stopped considering the best way for him to die. Which is probably for the best because I highly doubt having the air ripped from his lungs as his car sank in a river would be one of his preferred ways to die. 

