The last second and a half / Quartz

The oxygen masks dangled from the ceiling as the flight attendant announced procedures none of the passengers could hear over the turbulence.

He knew this day would come.

He'd been preparing for it since the day he decided to take control of his life. It wasn't so much a fear of death that fed it as it was his steadfast confidence in his ability to handle himself.
He remained calm and rethought the upcoming series of events for the thousandth time.

The key to perseverance rested in him keeping his head clear and his body alert.

The plane would be destroyed. That much was certain. And after the plane itself would come the larger parts of the plane. There was no hope for the plane's wings, or its engine, or tail. A similar fate would surely then trickle down to the cockpit, the overhead compartments, and much of the main cabin. The next phase would include the demise of most of the passengers, their luggage, laptops, and magazines. But basic physics insisted that at some point the destruction taper off. No doubt a seat belt would emerge unscathed. A can of ginger ale in the beverage cart would perhaps be spared. The lethal combination of velocity, gravity, inertia, jet fuel, combustion, and fire, while potent, had one aspect working against it - time. If he could just survive the initial few lighting quick waves of devastation he could carry on with his day. He could be that can of ginger ale.

Just then the plane crashed.

In the next moment the seat in front of him collapsed onto his lap and crushed his right leg. He saw his flesh tear and bone break and wondered if there was anything he could have done differently to prevent that. Could have have scooted to his left? Maybe caught the seat with his hands? Before the pain had a chance to register the roof of the cabin ripped free and chopped him in two.

He died disappointed, wondering exactly where he had lost control.

zeroth life lesson: ain't nothing wrong with dying just as long as you die knowing you're dying.