I did actually die:
When I was 16, on my last day at my first job, my boss took me and a couple of colleagues for a farewell drink.

The pub that went to was opposite our office and in the space of two hours, I drunk six pints.

Cutting a long story a little shorter, I got hit by a car doing 60mph as I crossed the road back to the office. The impact with the car's front bumper broke my left femur in three. My left arm broke the car's windsreen and I fractured my left shoulder on the windscreen post.

Here's the good bit: I then sailed into the air and landed back on the side of the road I'd come from, only for another car to run me over. One wheel ran over my already mangled leg and the other hit my head, fracturing my skull.

Then I died. Seriously, the company first-aider had to give me the kiss-of-life and said afterwards that I was gone for six minutes.

I have no recollection of this so can't report any lights or tunnels. If I had've stayed dead though, I'd have known nothing about it.

I subsequently spent three months in hospital and a further three months at home convalescing.

I have a steel plate and 14 bolts holding my left femur together and a scar that runs from my hip to my knee: something to tell the little puppy inferior when he's older (:
( <>Dog www.stevelaker.blog, Fri 26 Nov 2004, 12:29, Reply)