Jack is taking his time to breathe. As the pool of gasoline rises up to his neck. He wonders how much higher it'll go, how much higher he can go, before the space between him and the ceiling narrows to the width of his nose. Strangely, Jack is finding it difficult to breathe.

The smell of gasoline is making him nauseous and the taste is churning his stomach. He knows he's going to die, but he doesn't want to die choking on his own vomit. He wonders what it will feel like in his lungs, as the thick automobile cordial runs down his tracts. Will they let it into his bloodstream? His lungs recoil and shrivel in response. This makes it harder for him to breathe. He wants to know. He doesn't want to pass out from the fumes before.

Breathing is life to him. Breath is what feeds him. Drowning is what he fears most. Drowning in gasoline, he doesn't even know what to make of. Jack has a lighter in his pocket. Would it work? Would he dare to? Would it hurt less? He can feel his skin starting to singe already. He thumbs the lever at a crossroads. Take your life into your own hands, or await the unfolding of events?