She Can't Die

1. Shot in the knee is never pleasant. Shot in the stomach? Now, that's a bitch.

A shot in the knee is never pleasant. Shot in the stomach? Now, that's a bitch.

"Hey! You! Hands in the air!"

Uhhg! Again?
Sometimes I wonder why I even bother.
I work all hours of the night trying to save what little is left of 'humanity', all while working a full time paying job mind you, and this is the thanks I get. Held at gun point on what was meant to be my first day off in five months.

Okay, granted, I was in fact leaning over a dead body, knife in hand and caked in blood that wasn't mine. But seriously, Why do these guys always seem to show up AFTER the guilty guy has got away, after bashing me in the head, and AFTER I've tried to bring back the poor guy at my feet only to find there's nothing I can do, thus moving away from said body. I mean, its like they have a sixth sense about choosing these moments to fully fuck up my day.

Sure his gun couldn't actually kill me but that is, so, not the point. Getting shot at hurts. Period. I let out a deep sigh and turned to face my new prey, hands high in the air.

This kid is obviously straight out of the academy, or where ever it is they train these guys, his uniform is on point, probably ironed his undies and everything. He's not all that bad looking, warm brown eyes, that my or may not be glaring, deep chocolate hair, cut short, and he's got those full lips, which seem to make the girls go wild, pulled tight. Too bad he also has a gun pointed at my chest, that never bodes well. Well there was that one time...

"Drop the knife! I don't want any funny business, now."

I snort and open my hand releasing the knife. What the hell was this a 1960s sitcom?
I cant believe how my day had taken such a turn. This morning I'd planned a day by the peer, no worries, no angry dude with guns, nothing but me, the sea, and the sun.

Maybe if I closed my eyes I could try to imagine chilling on the beach, and that carabean coctail I'd had planned for today. Maybe even some eye candy? I let that thought settle.
Yeah work that tight booty. Boom chucka woah woah. Man, I needed a night out. Or just a night off. I don't even remember the last time I had a proper meal. Food is great, huh. one of those things that just makes everything better somehow.

"Walk slowly over to the wall and turn around."
Uhg. Go away. Mr. QuickDraw mc twitchy-fingers was still very much here.

"No funny business now." He grunts, I think he's attempting to intimidate me or something.

Funny business again. For serial? What did he expect? For me to start cracking jokes? Nope. This guy was ruining it. Asshat. toad-feet. big-lips. I really do hate cops.

I was just suppose to be in and out, hopefully saving the guy face down on the ground behind me, on the way. That failed. He was gone before I even made it through the door. I knew I should have just ran after the creepy black blob thing, eating his organs, but then I went and tried to bring him back. Like I said, I failed. Again.

This is the last time I agree to go on one of Cade's wild goose chases. She says for the hundredth time.

"Get down on your knees." Twitchy orders, voice slightly breathy. Is he going to pass out? Because that would work out great for me. I see his peepers, flicking back and forth, between me and dead guy. He looks a tad green.

How to handle this?
Option one. Do as the little twitchy-twitch-fingers says, wait through all the filing, and investigating, and hounding, and all other bull-hockey that comes after my ass for months, to finally be let free as case is left unsolved...
Option two. Beg cop for freedom, possible with added girl tears, and possibly bargaining sexual favours for freedom, but sadly never actually delivering said favours...
Or option number three. Fly like a ninja, dodge bullets and nock asshat out, thus walking coolly into the distance...

Eany meany miney moe, catch a copper by his toes, if he shoots you, don't let him go, eany meany miney moe.

I don't even get into the air, I'm down and out in seconds.

Why, oh why, do I always have to go for the dramatics? So much for my ninja moves, but hey I blame the five months chasing these fugly creepy things, lack of sleep, food, love and attention from my mummy, and let's not forget that I haven't had my nails done in over a year.

Fuck me though. A bullet to the stomach does not feel warm and fuzzy. At least it's not the head this time.

I hear the cop 'wonder boy' move closer and he coughs, nervous. Or was that a gag?
"Miss? Miss?" He whispers, like he seriously expects me to answer right now. I guess the gaping hole in my abdominal isn't clear enough for the guy. I mean, if I was a normal human in no way would this be okay. Scratch that, Its not fucking okay now.

The numbness has started to settle over me, as my body sets its energies to heal. My vision is fading.
"Shit. Shit. Shit." Mc fingers swears under his breath, finally panicking over what a fuck up he's just created, for the both of us. Mc Fingers? Wait I like the sound of that one. Sounds very fun indeed...

I feel my lips twitch into a smile. What is wrong with me? Its got the be the lack of sleep. In fact Ill just take that nap now.

Before I'm completely out, I let out a quiet and breathy chuckle. What a fucking day.