The fear of death drove him to it.
The unnoticed shard of glass; a sliver of death.
She opened the letterbox. It was empty, as always.
The bright light slowly metamorphosed into a car's headlamps.
The baby in the garbage bin cried, unheard.
His clockwork routine was unbroken by love.
The exhilarating rush of air, right before hitting the ground.
Her body was a catalogue of pain.
His time machine was a bridge to his dead wife.
He had tried several times, but he was still alive.