the two hands.

Staggering on the pavement, he bid his consciousness goodbye. "To the promised land," or so he wished.

"Am i going to die?" he thought, as the darkness inched nearer. No flashbacks, no familiar souls, no immortals - the media must have been lying about things that happen before death. With hope being such a remote notion, he knew the end was near. He closed his eyes and prayed, knowing its all to naught.

Like an answered prayer, a bright light shone from the skies. As his vision clears, he finds himself in a mansion. It's almost... breath-taking.

Black-and-white checkered tiles, white walls and truckloads of easels with photos. "These photos are familiar," he thought. As he shivered down the hallway, he was greeted by snapshots of the special moments of his life - the ones he hold close to his heart. For he knows, these moments means everything to him and he hoped for the best of them.

Ironical as can be, those moments sent a humanly chill crawling down his spine - almost as though... it was intentional. As he looked at the photos staring back, he knew it wasn't the same. The determined look in their eyes, the flame in their hearts, the never-dying attitude, the memories that it triggered... it's so different now.

As he looked down at those two hands, he wondered.

"With these two hands, you have formed bonds. With those bonds, you have formed a family. With that family, you have invited others to be part of the family. With the extended family, you have braved countless battles with the unknown. With the unknown, you have seen miracles again and again.

It's impossible without the family. Without the bonds. Without everyone's hands."

Which he wonders...

Just what the fuck, has these two hands exactly done?