You float above your body, perhaps by fifteen feet. Aside from the loud hum in your ears, it’s the clearest indication you have that you’re dead.

A tangle of metal immediately surrounds what’s left of you, the result of several drivers both coming to grips with the sight of you falling and trying to react to it in the same instant. Further behind them, more drivers strain to get a glimpse of what they think they saw from a distance.

It was not the fall that killed you. The impact with the windshield of the blue station wagon didn’t help, but ultimately that wasn’t why you died. (You awakened in time to see the resulting dance of glass and colored plastic across the asphalt that, despite its severity, was quite lovely.) The reason that you no longer inhabit the body that you barely recognize is that you were compelled to be on that bridge. You were compelled to be in a place that would allow you to do what you did, and when the next moment came, you did exactly that.

You sense cold. The sky darkens.