Skydiving

They were literally floating through the clouds. It was raining heavily in downtown Little Rock, and Rock and another sportswriter from the paper were at about three-thousand feet, descending gradually toward the Democrat Building.
For the time being they felt safe, but Rock's cohort had watched the weather report and was worried the clouds would run out. Rock was more confident. "I think we'll be OK," he said. "This feels to me like the sort of rainstorm that will stick around all day."
"I don't know, Rock. I wouldn't count on it."
Suddenly Rock was in doubt. "Shit, man, maybe we shouldn't, but what choice do we have?"
Almost the moment he said it, Rock could see the clouds start to break up to the south. Seconds later they were in blue skies and a free fall.
The other man was about fifty feet below Rock and maybe the same distance further east. He held two parachutes. Rock stretched out horizontally in an attempt to slow himself and perhaps maneuver more closely to his partner, but they were running out of time.
"I'm going to try to throw one of these too you," the other shouted.
"Fine," Rock said. "Give it your best shot."
The man threw the chute, and it came quickly at Rock, who reached in the split second he had to catch it; he missed and knew in that instant he was doomed. Rock considered shouting to the other man the names of people to tell that he loved but was already out of range. As the buildings closed in, he knew he had only seconds to live, but Rock was nevertheless pleased to feel a certain peace. He wished everyone could know that he did not die terrified or panicked.