How many people can honestly say that they have never had a near-death experience? A lot? Lucky them. Most people may think that having an NDE is a thrilling thing that gets your adrenaline rushing and your blood pumping. Many people may think that it’s cool and that, if people were to ask them about it, they’d enjoy telling it over and over. I’d like to advise those people to stop watching so many action movies. Okay, it's thrilling, but not in a good way and I’d hate to relive that day more times than necessary. While actors make it look fun, I can tell you from experience that you're lucky if you don't wet your pants. It’s terrifying, heart-stopping, and just plain horrifying.  Fortunately, when my god-brother tried to kill me, I didn't wet my pants.
     

Yeah, you can all do a group spit-take now. I'll wait. Done? Good. Now, I know what you’re probably thinking: How can a person try to kill a member of their own family? Or, some of you might think that I’m bluffing. You have to believe me. Okay, now let me just say that my god-brother, Carnell "Brother" Jr. has to be the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Not only is he arrogant, evil, stupid, irksome, smelly, lazy, gross, and annoying, but he seems to think that trying to chop people's heads off is an enjoyable pastime. Plus, his sense of humor sucks. He’s also a massive hypocrite; he can dish it out, but he can’t take it.  Well, back to the chopping-off-heads thing. When I was about five and he was a couple of months behind me, my parents decided it was a good idea to go visit our god parents.
     

Now, normally, I really don’t mind going to visit them as long as their spoiled kids keep their distance; I wasn’t really on good terms with them. I don't really remember everything that happened that day aside from some snippets, but somehow, I ended up having to play with Brother. To this day, I will never forget what went down in the backyard. See, my god-father cut down trees and made firewood for the fireplace and he usually left his ax lying around somewhere in the yard. I don’t know why he thought that it was a good idea to leave a blunt object somewhere where we could get to it, but I guess he never would’ve imagined what happened next. Well, Brother and I were outside having an argument. Lord knows what it was about, but we were five and it was probably stupid anyway. Brother, the stubborn brat, decided not to take my offer of ending the fight and instead became acquainted with his father's ax.
     

He picked it up, which took some effort, and swung it at my head with an almighty grunt. I didn't go all still and frozen like you probably would like to think. No, my instincts were and are still better than that. I dropped to the ground and crawled away from him on my hand and knees. It was when I was a good couple of yards away that I stopped and thought to myself, "Holy crap, he could've killed me!" I looked at him as he huffed and shook his arms. The weight of the ax must have strained his small muscles. Along with the realization came the panic attack.
     

My eyes were wide, my heart was hammering loudly against my chest, and my hands had gotten mysteriously sweaty. Now, even at that age, I'd seen a lot of scary movies, so I knew what would have happened had I not moved in time. At that thought, my breathing sped up and I started shaking uncontrollably. I couldn’t utter a sound, my throat was so dry. No way, I kept thinking, No way, no way did he really just try to chop my head off. But, no matter how hard I tried to deny it, the evidence was right in front of me in the form of a sweaty five-year-old boy holding an ax. Even though I’d moved away from him so fast before, I was frozen solid at that moment, watching him and he looked at me. You know how people say that before you die your life flashes before your eyes? Yeah, that so didn’t happen to me. All I felt was horror and the sudden need to throw up.
     

The bile had started to rise in my throat, but I forced it down. Throwing up was yucky and made my stomach hurt, even though I already had a serious stomachache at the time. My head was pounding too. Still, I didn’t move away, gaping in horror at my god-brother. I suddenly felt the need to start crying and bawling for my mommy. That’s right, I thought, Mommy’ll help me. As I opened my mouth, Brother tilted his head at me and I saw it. Right there, smack on his face. The triumphant smirk of someone who had won. I blinked for a few seconds. Why would he be smirking? He missed me and he was about to get in trouble. What could he possibly be so smug about? I thought about it some more. Then it hit me: he thinks he's won. If I started crying like a little baby, then he would know that he scared me. He would think that I was afraid of him. Now, I was a competitive little girl. I’m not that bad now, but back then, I was a beast when it came to competition. That being said, there was no way that he was going to win this.
     

Slowly, I closed my mouth and narrowed my eyes. The smirk faded a little bit. Standing up, I brushed off my pants and clapped my hands together. The smirk disappeared. Good. My steps started out slow, but soon gained speed until I was fully sprinting at him. He opened his mouth and adopted the famous deer-in-headlights look. Ever since I was two years old, my dad had been teaching me a lot of the stuff he knew about boxing. I knew how to keep my balance, switch stances, and dodge, even though I’d always been a clumsy girl. The evil little ax-swinger had no idea what was about to happen. I guess he didn’t expect me to retaliate so quickly.
     

Unlike me, who had moved when I sensed danger coming, Brother stood stock still, waiting for me to get there. Unfortunately for him, I did. As soon as I was in arm's length, I pulled back an arm, balled up a fist, and punched him right in the nose. It was like slow motion. He let out a squeak of surprise, his eyes bugged out, his head snapped back, and he lost his footing, falling backwards into the grass. Blood was flung into the air, some of it left on my hand. He hit the ground hard. I glared down at him and he stared fearfully up at me. Silence. His hand was held over his nose. Neither of us made a sound. In fact, nothing made a sound. No birds, no dogs, no squirrels or the wind. It was completely quiet except for our own heavy breathing.
     

We stayed like that, continuing our staring contest. Finally tired of the eerie silence, I opened my mouth to say something. That's when it happened. A loud, shrill cry rang out and echoed through the yard. Startled, I jumped and looked around, only to find that it was coming from my god-brother. I looked down at him again. Yes, he was crying. Tears were coming down his face in buckets, mixing with the blood and snot from his nose. He wailed and screamed at me, pushing himself up off the ground and running to the back door of the house. A couple of loud voices joined his, but I don't remember what they were saying.
   

 I stood there by myself, staring at the ground. Wow, I'd actually made him cry by punching him. I only punched him, yet he tried to kill me and I didn't even sniffle. Okay, maybe I was exaggerating a bit; I did almost cry and almost puke, but I held it in. Plus, I was a girl. My body decided to do a little victorious jig. I’d won! The seconds of congratulating myself were cut short, however, by the sound of my mother's voice calling me into the house. Uh oh. Internally wincing, I trudged in through the back door. When I got inside, my god-mother was wiping Brother’s nose with a wet washcloth and he was still screeching at the top of his lungs. My mom was standing next to the sink, looking at me with raised eyebrows. After explaining what had happened to the four adults (and stopping my brother from killing Brother), I was set free with no punishment.
     

The rest of that day was spent getting dirty looks from Brother and his sister, Chantell, and congratulatory ones from my dad. I didn't get into trouble, but Brother was grounded for a few weeks. You'd think it'd be longer for trying to chop my head off, but then again, his mother was always soft with him. To this day, I still don’t like him. If we ever enter the same room, one will always start a fight with the other and I will admit that I’m as guilty as he is. He can't believe that I'm still sore over something that happened ten years ago, but it's not like he's gotten any better. He’s still as evil as before and even more lethal. And, like I earlier said, he’s a hypocrite. He can’t digest why I still think about that day, but he's still laughing about the fact that when explaining the whole story to our parents that same day, I kept calling the ax a "chopping stick". What can I say? I was five years old! You may think that I’m not giving him enough credit, but you have to meet this guy to know what I mean. So, that’s the time I almost died. I hope you learned something about NDEs here, and that you shouldn’t always believe what you see on T.V.