Written in response to the Creative writing prompts weekly prompt competition: January 18th.
“You got this.” some scrawled graffiti that lay beneath the strewn Autumn leaves told me. The harsh white font gritty and speckled on top of the concrete while the fallen shreds of the trees danced to a solemn until they became skeletons and rotted away.
What have I got? Life? You have life until you loose it, gone within a second, so quick you wouldn’t even know. It’s needless to say I have life, anyone looking at those words would have it. So what else then? What is “this”?
Is “this”, the struggles? If they are struggles then you haven’t “got” them, just yet, otherwise they would be successes. What is this? What do they mean. I cannot understand the people that graffiti nonsense. You got this? It is not even English. Just someone attempting to be motivational but making a fool of themselves in the meantime. Why?
I walk down the street further, still conscious of the nonsense ‘inspirational’ message graffitied on my pavement. My thoughts then clear as I hear a high pitched scream. Sharp and piercing in the soft wind dancing with crinkled leaves. More screams follow the woman’s, all yelping in fear. I rush round the corner, curiosity getting the better of common sense. As I round the corner, I see them. A loud thunder crack bounces of the side the buildings and time seems to slow down as everyone in the square wonders where the bullet will strike. To my left a spider webbed crack spirals out of a window, slowly expanding in the rupturing of the glass.
A second crack echoes around the square, and as it hits the mark, I remember thinking to myself: “You haven’t got life now.”
Strange everyone’s last thoughts before they die. Some of hope: “not me”, or oblivious of the striding cloaked figure: “Carrots, I need them for the bolognese, Pete likes them.” Sometimes they are fearful, or doubtful: “The chance of it being me, pffft….” and then there are those like me, a last laugh.
Not that I died, I’m still talking, complaining, eating, drinking and farting (they give a lot of protein packed food in hospitals it seems). No, it only hit my leg, I just fainted, apparently “bullet wounds hurt”, they tell me. No shit? There was one in my leg two days ago.
I guess I’m lucky, any higher, it could have hit a major artery. I’ll have to have my last laugh another day.