Chapter Three

1 0 0
                                    


Down the dirty streets I went, alone again, away from the 99 cent dreams sign. Daisy. I was to meet Daisy. Did I have to find her, or would she just come to me? The streets were busy and smelled like lemons and sweat, and the crowd was pushing past me, everyone having better things to do, better places to go. But not me. It was just me and thoughts, and I already missed Franny.

A man from behind shoved me forward, rushing on, briefcase swinging, not caring as I fell to my feet, getting trampled by several feet. I was in a moment of panic for a second, trying to get up as the feet pushed me farther down, but was whisked to me feet by a gloved hand. In that moment, on my feet, everything was fine, but then I was thrown a heavy suitcase and pushed back out of the crowd of everyone and onto a sidewalk. Stunned, my brain trying to process all that had happened, I just sat on the sidewalk, holding the heavy briefcase. I quickly thrust the briefcase off of me, disgusted. Why were people so busy with themselves, too busy with themselves to care about others? I tried to push myself off of the ground, but instead was pulled by my hair into the alleyway close to the sidewalk. I tried to let out a scream, but it got stuck in my throat. I tried to push it up, to scream with all my might, but still couldn't.

"Where's the suitcase?" A gruff voice asked. I opened my eyes, which had previously been clenched tight, just like my teeth, and saw a large man with a beard covered in dust. He smelled like sweat and mold.

"I...I'm not sure," I stuttered. "Someone gave it to me, and it's out there."

"Likely story. You're just a filthy spy! A dirty, filthy Knockwood spy. And didn't I tell you to bring someone with the money or you by today? If we don't get the money, we'll bomb Knockwood, I swear!" The man was yelling in my face, beads of his spit hitting my face.

"The suitcase is out there!" My heart thumped in my chest, so loud i was afraid it was going to burst out. "It's on the sidewalk!"

The man grabbed my arm, making sure I couldn't get away, and walked into the sidewalk. He grabbed the briefcase before anyone else could, and slammed it into the alley. Gleefully he opened it, expecting money. Instead he got handfuls of packing peanuts. I knew then and there that I was done for. Was this Daisy? When was I supposed to make my friend? I would die lonely, missing the company of Franny and my sister. The man charged at me once he saw the contents of the briefcase, and I knew that struggling would be useless. I bit him. Hard. He instinctively pulled back his bleeding hand, but was still much faster than me. Once again, I was caught by my hair. "Get back here!" He yelled in anger, kicking the briefcase aside and punching me in the stomach. I doubled over, groaning as he pulled out a knife. I should've run, should've ran far away, should've screamed for help, but I was frozen. Frozen as I watched the knife come closer to me. Watched as the knife cut through my chest. Watched as my blood flooded the alley. As soon as the man saw what he had done, he ran, letting the knife fall behind him, crashing next to me on the ground. I made no attempt to get up, because I knew no one would care. I knew that no one would care that I lay dying, bleeding for someone I didn't do.

After twenty minutes, I took my last breath. For a minute, all I saw was darkness, but my mind was still living, still thinking. If there was some sort of afterlife, where you got to see all your friends and family who had died, I would be reunited with my sister. Happily. Unless I was to burn in some sort of fiery Hell, then so be it. It reflected my thoughts on the words, after all. Except for what the tarot card had said-my mind was loving and compassionate. Yeah, right. If my body were alive, I would've laughed. Maybe longing for love and compassion, sure, but my mind wasn't there yet. It was peaceful being dead, peaceful having no responsibilities...

"Alice. Wake up." I was shook gently by an old woman with wrinkled fingers. But I was dead, not dreaming. Wasn't I?

"Alice. Wake up." The woman croaked again. I slowly lifted my eyes through the thickness that held them shut. "Ughhh..." I groaned, coughing. A short, old woman stood over me, her knitting tucked under her arm. "Hello, Alice," the old woman smiled. "My name's Daisy, although you may know me better as Death."

Death Short StoryWhere stories live. Discover now