Dead Gorgeous

Killing Me Softly

December 17th 1996

Mum was in the kitchen. I could smell her curry goat on the stove permeating through the whole house infusing every room with the rich flavours and spices woven perfectly together, the result of decades of practice. My stomach groaned as I stepped out of the shower, starved after a long day.

"Mum! The water went cold after 5 minutes again!" I shouted, pulled some pj bottoms over my aching legs, and headed downstairs with a towel around my neck.

"Alright I'll call the water company in the morning" she replied in a thick Jamaican accent, popping her head around the door "for Jesus sake boy, put a top on!"

I just grinned and ignored her, heading into the living room and turning on the radio, changing the station until I found a song I liked, singing along and falling back on the sofa. "Returnnn of the Mack come on! Returnnn of the Mack oh my gah... mum! How long til we eat?" I shouted through to the kitchen.

"HUAHH? What did you say?" I can't hear you over the music" mum yelled back.

"MA I SAID HOW LONG TIL WE EAT?"

"SPEAK UP SON!"

"Oh my god!" I muttered under my breath sighing and going over to the radio in a huff. Yelling over my shoulder "I SAID HOW LONG TI..."

BANG BANG BANG...

Gunshots.

It was like everything went in slow motion just like in the movies. My head whipped around to the window that I was directly in front of, my breath caught in my throat as I realised what was happening and my abdomen seared with pain as I felt a bullet pierce my skin.

'Oh my god'

I saw the car with a white boy hanging out the window, a smile dripping off his lips that would make even the toughest man shiver, gun in hand, begin to speed off. He knew what he was doing.

My brain began to shut off as my body came to terms as to the reality of the situation.

I was going to die.

I looked down at my hands, stained bright red by the gushing wound  just under my ribs.

'Wow'

Staggering backward, I was acutely aware of my mother rushing into the living room, wooden spoon in hand, hysterical and panicking. It broke my heart to see her heart breaking as I felt my limbs grow weak, unable to hold my weight up a second longer. I was in shock and as my eyes widened trying to focus on the one person that I knew I could rely on and keep that image and try to hold onto it, I realised that she will never be the same, and that's all my fault. It was the only one that could bring me peace but it was tarnished by utter devastation. I stumbled back and fell onto the side table, smashing the lamp underneath my body.

I landed on my back struggling to breath, my blood flooding the green carpet under me. My mum was gripping my face begging me to stay alive, screaming prayers and crying as the song on the radio changed to what in my final few moments I recognised to be The Fugees 'Killing Me Softly'

'How ironic.'

I looked intently at my mum, my eyes communicating what my mouth couldn't; all the love and emotion I had always tried to show her, all the times she has been there for me, all the times she has made me laugh, smile, feel valued, all the times that we have had those deep conversations where she's helped me explore and realise my feeling. She was such a good mother and as I felt myself losing consciousness, drifting into an eternal sleep I realised I would never forgive myself for causing her this pain.

My name is Ty Campbell. I died on December 17th 1996... and I've lived in this house ever since.