Catharsis [Novel]

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

            He stabbed me.  I've just been stabbed.  I'm bleeding.  Am I going to die?

            The same four thoughts keep repeating in my head on an endless loop as I stare at the man screaming at me.

            "No lil Chinagurl (I believe the murderous trash monster has his racism all confused.  Now's probably not the time to educate him about it, though.) gonna 'nore me whens I talking.  Dat spit (He didn't say spit either, but I think you get the idea.) ain't hapnin wit me.  No way.  No how.  You lissen when I talk, and you ansser me ness time.  Nows you dun got stabbed and gonna die wiles I..."

            His rant continues as he jabs the knife back and forth punctuating the air where periods should go (Not that he stops for a breath at any time during the excited ramble.).  Bright red drops of my blood flit through the air and splatter around the alley each time he flicks his wrist to make a point.  The ground around me is becoming a Jackson Pollock-ian tableau of gore.

            My hands are warm as I feel my blood pool around my own fingers.  It's the sensation of spilling a hot bowl of stew in my lap and trying to keep it from leaking onto the floor.  It's an interesting – yet horrifying - sensation.

            I'm going to die.  In this alley.  Tonight.  The thought hits me as I hold my belly and stare at the unsettling sight in front of me.  Can I even die?  Is it possible?  I've thought about death several times since that night I woke up in the alley, but suicide has never been an option for me.  Ever.  Suicide is a sin.  It's a sin that sends you straight to hell according to my parents and the Bible.  I may not like whatever I'm going through right now, but I haven't committed a major sin that I know of (I still don't know what happened in that alley to the old man.  Was I responsible?  Was it an accident?) and I don't plan to start now.

            If I just give in to this now and allow myself to bleed out, is that a sin?  Is that suicide?  Or is that just allowing fate to run its course?  Can I just let this end right now?  Am I strong enough to do that?

            My insides twist as a wave of nauseating pain rips through me.  I clench my hand into a fist and dig into my intestines as much as my body will allow it.  It hurts so much.

            I miss my dog.  I want to see my dog again.  He's a good dog.  I have food for him.

            My brain seems to only want to work in short bursts.  I can't hold my thoughts together very well anymore.  I think I'm bleeding faster than I had anticipated.

            I miss my family.  I like my new home.

            My hand is sticky, but I don't notice it as much as I once did.  I think my fist is loosening.  It's not as easy to hold it as tightly as I did before.  I don't think I'm going to be around much longer.

            I work on focusing my eyes up again and I see the trash monster talking at me still.  I'd begun to forget he was even here.  I don't want to die with him yelling at me.  It's annoying.  He should stop.

            “shut up,” I whisper at him in the strongest voice I can muster.  Hmmm...that wasn't very loud.

            "...and dat's why you shuddna talked at me like you did.  Y'understann, Chinagurl?  Now's I gonna haff to take all yoor groshrees for maself.  You canna..."

            Either he didn't hear me, or he's in his own world.  His yapping is killing me (Ha!  I still have time for humor at a moment like this.  I kill me.  Get it?).  I can't take it.  I don't want to put up with this anymore.