Accepting Death, And What Comes With It Annabel accepted the fact she was going to die at 2.37 pm on a quiet, nondescript Sunday afternoon. The only real worry was how her husband would afford the funeral, but that didn't particularly matter, especially as there would only be one mouth to buy food for. Was she scared? Annabel eyed the oncoming ground, as she sped past the hotel windows. If she'd looked upwards, she would have seen the shocked face of her sister, gaping like a fish choking on something unpleasant, but she didn't look up. Weren't you supposed to see your #life flash before your eyes? She mused on this for a moment, but her #life hadn't amounted to much anyway, only a neat list of checked boxes. Closing her eyes and bracing for impact, Annabel took a deep breath in. And then proceeded to not hit the pavement. She opened one eye carefully, then the other. There was no splattered body, no blood dripping across the pavement, just her, suspended about ten meters in the air. She glanced down, wondering if it was some sort of out of body experience, but there was nothing. Annabel waved an arm tentatively, and she floated gently in that direction. So it wasn't just hovering, but flying. She poked the huge concrete structure she'd fallen from, and it was very much real. Another arm flap, and she was propelled upwards. She did a neat breaststroke pull with her arms, mirroring the action with her legs, and was only mildly surprised when she shot upwards. With measured, careful strokes Annabel made her way up to the hotel window she'd fallen from. Her sister was still there, mouth unhinged like an asylum escapee, and made no protest as Annabel pushed her out the way, wriggling in through the window. Dusting off her low heeled patent leather shoes, Annabel frowned at a ladder in her tights, and turned to her trembling sister. "I really do hope I'm not a ghost, because that would be quite inconvenient."