I’m participating in Mel’s Midweek Writing Menagerie #7 and chose to use the first sentence starter. Enjoy!
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The first time I died, I was nineteen years old and resigned to my fate; the second time was a different story. Life with it’s strange plot twists, I think back, and my fate of dying with cancer was more dignified than where I am now. I fought the fight. I freaking kicked its ass! Let’s be clear here, it was no walk in the park. I had many conversations with the Almighty and my doctor’s who thought they were the almighty, about my situation. It was just that, a situation. One last option – surgery.
I died on the operating table…coded, flat lined. Sayonara everyone, that’s all she wrote. Okay, well she put the pen back down but dang if she didn’t wait a good thirty seconds before she jumps starts my heart.
In case you’re wondering, that shocking back to life f*cking hurts! So yeah. I was technically dead at nineteen, well at least three whole minutes. When I came to, life was ahead of me. Cancer was kicked to the curb, although it’s headline stayed with me for a year until I was given the all clear sign from the almightys.
So here I am ten years later, trying to shield some innocent girl during a freaking convenience store robbery and who gets shot? Nope, not me. Oh no, that’s not what happened. That would have been better, a hero’s death.
The innocent girl gets shot. I pull her out of the way. She was in her early twenties, who was weathered from life at a young age, not all that different from me. Although I was bald at her age – thanks, chemo, she had a headful of rainbow colored hair. She was crying and clutching her side that was soaked red.
Squeal of tires and the rev of the car engine sent the message the robbers were outta here.
“Hey? You back there?”
I looked around the corner and saw it was the owner behind the register.
“I’m good, the girls been shot.”
Me, the owner, and another bystander rallied and had the girl, Mandy, bandaged up when the ambulance and medics arrived and took over. She asked I grab her backpack and ride with her. Okay, so I might have thought we might have a moment here. So the good guy I am, I did exactly that. She wasn’t typically my type, but you don’t mess with fate, right? Wrong.
I should have known better when she claimed I was her boyfriend to the medics so that they would allow this request. Let’s just say I was flattered and went with the flow. Why not, she looked like she needed me.
Nope. It was the backpack she needed, not the chemo surviving IT guy over here.
How do I know this while she is in surgery? It’s because I’ve been in the waiting room for three hours, and I decide to invade her privacy. Seriously, don’t judge me – you know you would do it too. Well, any guy would right, gotta figure out who this Mandy chick is?
1 – semi-automatic handgun
5 – bundles of $10,000 cash
2 – tee shirts
1 – small toiletry bag with makeup and a toothbrush and,
the piece de resistance 1 – picture of me sitting at my desk at work.
What the- Sh*t!
There is a mother and father sitting in the left corner holding hands waiting for news on their daughter in OR 2. On the right of me, is an elderly man who keeps nodding off and waking up most likely waiting on someone in OR 1. I’m there waiting on OR 3 or was about two minutes ago until I looked into that backpack. I shrugged it over my shoulder and headed for the elevator. Self-preservation is kicking in; she targeted me for something. There is money in here. Okay, I can’t ignore the gun either, was that convenience story robbery just my lucky day or a plan gone wrong?
I’m a nobody. The average looking decent guy who is good with computers, but not like super computer guy. When I step out of the elevator, I leave the backpack there. I look to the left and the right and realize I’m not in the lobby, strange that was the floor button that I hit. This area was a part of the hospital they are doing construction on, wires are hanging down, plastic sheeting is everywhere.
I get tackled from behind; a bag placed over my head, my hands are zip tied behind me. Not a big struggle from me, because the obvious muscle throwing me around like a rag doll has got to be Dwayne Johnson’s twin brother or something. Finally, I’m knocked out cold.
When I come to, I’m in a box of some kind. No, longer head bagged and hands-free of the zip tie. Feeling around it feels like a coffin, it’s dark, and there is little air, it smells like salt water. I also feel wet, did I pee myself?
Yes, this isn’t how I thought I would die. How do I get in these situations?
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Sure was fun participating in this week in the prompt, it’s been awhile since I participated. You can participate and check out Mel’s Midweek Writing Menagerie. Loads of fun and some good entertaining stories to boot.
If you enjoyed my flash fiction/short story, click like below and let me know. If you have a critique of the above I welcome that too.
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