Shoot Me Down

Part 4

Chapter Two

Death Becomes Me

            When I open my eyes the light sears them painfully. I blink frantically, and the blurry picture in front of me gradually comes into focus. I'm still lying on the floor. Electric jolts of panic run over me. I can't feel my body.

 Frowning down at me are Caleb, Larry and two other rough looking guys. Nakia is huddled miserably in the corner of the room, shaking with silent sobs.

            "We have to ditch the body," Larry says. He leans in closer to peer at me, and I notice he has a faded neck tattoo just beneath the collar of his shirt.

            "Get away from me," I gasp, and scramble backwards out of his reach.

            The room shifts as I move, spinning dizzily. I look back to see three men crouched over a girl lying on the floor in a wide pool of blood, and my stomach plummets. Did the bullet hit someone else?

            "It was an accident." Caleb, down on his hands and knees in front of the body, looks panicked. His face is white. "I can't believe this happened. She was attacking me."

            "Crazy bitch," someone mutters.

            I step closer, my skin flushing hot and cold with terror. The girl lying on the floor is dressed in a sweater and blue jeans, the cream colored cashmere is mired by a huge red stain on her stomach. Her long brown hair, stringy with blood, is spread in a halo around her head, and her round face is white, the color of paper. She is not a graceful figure in death.  Her sweater has risen up, exposing a pale roll of flesh, and her arms are splayed at awkward angles. The look on her face is pinched. But even in gruesome death I recognize her. She is me.

            A scream bursts out of me, tearing my throat. My chest constricts and I can't breath. It can't be me, it can't be! I look down at my hands, they're shaking, but they're there in front of me. My hands. Then who is the body on the floor?

            I take another shaky step, and my legs give out. When my knees hit the floor I don't feel it. In fact. I can't feel anything at all. I'm completely numb.

            "No!" I shriek, and rake my nails over my forearm, leaving wide tracks of red. Still no feeling, "No..no..no!" I scratch myself frantically, but as soon as the red marks show up on my pale skin, they fade away. I'm howling, screaming. But no one looks at me. They're still hanging over my body like vultures. They really can't see me. They can't hear me.

            "Tell everyone to leave," Larry says to Caleb. "Tell them that the gun went off, but nobody got hurt. Everyone's fine, but the police are on their way, so they have to clear out."

            "Everyone's not fine," Nakia's voice is ragged, thick with tears, "Oh my God, Caleb. You killed her!"

            He turns on her. "Shut up! Don't you dare talk like that. She attacked me and it was an accident. It was her fault."  Nakia cringes, she doesn't say anything else.

            Killed me. That means I'm dead. I can't be dead. This isn't happening. I double over, hands on my thighs, wavering. My breath is coming in heaving gasps. This isn't real. It can't be.

            Larry opens the door a crack and slides through. I can hear him yelling at everyone to clear out. My lungs are heaving as my body tries to fight the terror coursing through me, and I end up on my hands and knees. I stop screaming, try to concentrate on breathing. Deep and even.