Doomed

It's strange, how things come to be. How people get where they are, without knowing, or planning to. I mean, if I had a choice, I don't think I would choose to be laying here on the ground, surrounded by broken glass. I didn't break out a window, if that's what you're thinking, I fell...on a mirror. So what does that mean? I'm laying on a broken mirror right now. But what flashes through your mind, as it's ending, do you think? For me...it's really odd, just random bits of my life, not the whole thing, and it's not fast, just...normal. First off is my roommate telling me his cereal was "magically delicious, you should totally try some, dude." What a waste of my last minutes. Who cares about your damn cereal, I'm dying.
Second comes something different, one of those suppressed childhood memories, where something happens you can't control, and it's mildly upsetting. In this there's child me, from an outside view, and...I've lost my balloon, it's floating up into the sky, and I'm wondering if that bit of green rubbery stuff full of air will ever some back down. Probably not. Maybe it's still up there. Also a waste of time, what am I doing? Bleeding out, oh yeah.
Thirdly, and this is the stupidest one yet, I feel, is the memory of a secret handshake, a stupid one, slap hands, fist bump, and mutter, "I flooped the pig." A reference to a television show. Wow, is my death really going to happen after remembering such boring things? I guess so.

The shards of the mirror crunch whenever I try to move, painful, digging into a million places, cutting a million more. Seven years bad luck. I hope that doesn't pass on to my....chil.....dren....