The 11:59 ; a short story

A Short Story

The petite blonde girl sat on one of the logs in the circle of teens, a large fire crackling in front of them. They held sticky marshmallows that were as white as snow on the sticks, sticking at the end of them and resting ontop of the crackling fire. The youngsters hummed tunes and talked about their lives, then somehow got into scary stories. They told about ghosts, vampires, mummies, and zombies - but London didn't seem to be bothered by them as the words slipped from the story tellers mouth (compared to everyone, who seemed to have goosebumps across their arms).
Her hazel optics were gazed on the glowing fire, as she, herself, could tell a story in it. She shook off her thoughts as her turn came around the circle of teens. The girl opened her mouth, her voice was low, her tone soft.
"Kyle, Mason, Addison," she named a few of her old friends, knowing none of them would remember her by now.
"They all looked and acted as if they could change the world one day." The blonde's gaze looked at her bent knees, pulling her sweater up to the middle of her palms before setting her orbs on the fire. "Most of us did." she sighed before a chuckle arose in her.
"But then the 11:59 train arrived in departure for people..." she paused - "well, it looks like not even those could escape the train."
Silence.
It wasn't long before one person started to chatter from the circle.
"Do you know if they all.. you know.. ?" A boy who was the youngest of us asked.
Afterwords, a jet-black-colored male who looked like a senior responded to him quickly.
"I think just Kyle and Mason finally took the 11:59." He said, and London cut them both off.
"Face it: there is no escaping the 11:59."

****************************************

Time passed as they continued to pass great stories of their short lives. London finally stood up, gripping the strap of her purse. She murmured goodbyes to everyone, heading towards home.
She checked her watch, which read: '10:20 PM'.
The girl stepped over the log and into the woods. She knew there was no reason to bring a car in the first place, and walked the rest of the way home.
The walk was maybe a mile or so on the road, no sidewalks available, although the girl didn't mind, she lived out of the town limits; the country. She had few yet close neighbors.
With it being so dark outside, she strolled her way back home in the dark. Her eyes barely adjusted to the darkness of night, making it hard for her to view the warm paved road.
After about 2/3 of the way home, she saw her house light in the distance. Right after, her orbs looked down the road, a sharp pain came across her ankle, up against her Achilles' tendon.
She screamed, pulled her phone out as quick as she could and turned it on. London examined her cut, two little wounds only a few inches away from each other marked it. Blood trickled down her ankle, and she continued screaming with pain.
Soon after, she stuck her lower lip between her teeth to keep quiet, trying not to wake the neighbors. "Snake bite." She thought in her mind. It was too dark for her to tell what kind it was before it slithered away, venomous or not.
She limped back to her small house, which had felt like forever when she finally arrived. As she opened the picket fence gate and struggled up the steps, she heard a distant horn - rather as if a train horn.
She pulled out her phone from her back pocket, reading the time. 11:00!
"no," She murmured out loud, her tone getting louder by the minute. "I'm not ready to leave." The blonde said, her voice cracked.
She opened her front door and threw herself in. "I'm gonna make it." She screamed to herself. The girl sat down at her living room couch, thinking to herself and making a list of everything that could perhaps end her.

The thoughts only lasted a few moments before she stood up and limped/jogged over to her kitchen.
She unplugged everything.
Refrigerators, lamps, blenders, pancake makers, ect.
She then ran outside as quick as she could, turning off her heater, electricity, and water pipes. As she waddled her way up the wooden steps, she reached down and gripped her Achilles Tendon softly, the pain soon turned into a numbness feeling.
"I know I can survive this." She said to herself as she shut the front door and walked into her room. "I'm not going to eat or drink for 24 hours. That way I won't choke or be poisoned from bad foods." She had her plan all figured out, not finding a single flaw in her view. "I'm going to beat death." And so, she sat down on a wooden chair in the middle of the dark bedroom.
The clock on the table ticked each second.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
Hours passed, her stomach rumbled grumpily, and she rubbed it.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
Her memories flashed in her head. Like when she spent most days partying late with friends, going cliff jumping, ect.
Of course regrets also came. She thought to herself about how much she could have had a happier life, happier times. She could have stayed with the man she loved but instead continued her ruthless life of endless spirits and late-night parties. This must have been some part of the dying part.
Regret, sadness, overthinking.
She sighed to herself.

London had started to feel nauseous, as if her heart were to beat out of her chest, her head throbbing, and every feeling of hurling.
Ticking passed by, and her emotions grew more and more anxious. She cursed under her breath. "I need to know what time is it." She frowned.
Too anxious to care now, the girl seized a small box from her pocket and lit a single match, which soon burned off quickly. So, she lit another one and leaned over to the clock. It read in the weak yet glowing light: 11:29. Right after her hazel optics viewed the clock, she disposed of the match and sighed. "Just about 30 more minutes."
As time passed by, Chicago grew weaker and weaker. She became drowsy, her eyes turning into small slits as she swayed back and fourth to keep herself awake.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
The girl let out a raging scream, rubbing her eyes. She was going crazy. Using most of her energy from the rage, the blonde leaned against the groaning wooden chair.
"Almost there." She mumbled in the softest whisper, but the wait seemed almost eternal.
When her body had nothing to defend itself no more and her antibiotic fighters began to surrender, so did the holding back for sleep. An endless sleep.
The next few days were quiet without London. When her friends noticed she wasn't at their weekly parties, they went to go check on her. After prying the door open, they there found the decaying body of London sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair, and the clock stopping at exactly 11:59.