I was thinking about this the other day when some butthead rear-ended me:
What if, on the cusp of death, there is no resounding image? What if it's just sort of an oops!-that-was-in-fact-a-landmine thing? While it's romantic and thought-provoking to imagine some final image (your parents' kitchen, your first kiss), the realist in me knows better. It just ends. Bam. At the very least, you should feel the proximity with life that accompanies the proximity with death: colors should be razor-sharp, air should taste like some delicious fruit roll-up, the inevitable explosion should sound like Vivaldi.
Here's what I mean:
The life-threatening situations that make you take nothing for granted are different from the fatal situations. You don't get that second chance. What's the point in a subconcious revelation if there's nothing you can do with it later?
More on this later. I have very important peanut M&Ms to eat.