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Breathe.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
One breath, two breaths, three.
I close my eyes.
One breath, two breaths, three, four, five. I keep breathing. I focus on nothing else.
My breathing is my universe.
But not for long.
I focus on my body. Starting from the top of my balding head. The scar on my cheek from back in the war.
I’m not here to focus on the past. This is the present. My scar exists, just like my wrinkling skin, my drying fingers, my crossed legs, my aching bones.
But it was not age that would kill me.
Enough of the body.
I let my thoughts and emotions flow freely for a while. Fear. I am afraid. Darkness is going to swallow the world.
But I have a job to do.
I return to the breath.
One breath, two breaths, three, four, five.
I focus on the environment. I can hear the squeaks of the shoes of the security. I can hear the hum of air conditioning. I can even faintly hear birds in the trees outside. All doomed to end.
I return to the breath.
One breath, two breaths, three, four, five.
I am in control. I am clearheaded.
I open my eyes and look at my phone. The five minute alarm goes off just as I pick it up.
“What now Mr. President?” the head of security asks.
“It’s time to push the button,” I say. “May God rest our souls.”