The infirmary men may count me dead,
What struck me first was the heat. It was an impact that tore through flesh like a butcher’s knife through pork. It was an odd sensation, ringing through my very bones, forcing my pulse into my ears. It wasn’t like I imagined at all, or how I felt it be shaped by the words of those mortal humans who felt it, or tried to describe the sensation of near death. It was a heat. Oh god, just… heat. It seared like hot coals in the most tender, untouched regions of my chest cavity. Four bullets. One in my chest; three in my stomach. It spread through my body, burning through my nerves and setting off the alarms in the primal part of my brain. Though I couldn’t react. I knew I was dying, I could feel my pulse slow in my ears. It was a desperate cadence trying to claw toward the light, but each passing moment seemed like eternity, and that eternity was growing dimmer.
The rainclouds had gathered overhead days ago, and never left this city. They hung like draped curtains over rods; high then low, waved through the sky with an inky gray and black. They were angry… foreboding. They were characteristic of home. They looked sharper now, like blown glass as gray eyes dulled to match their hue, upturned and listlessly watching as droplets of rain began to filter down and strike the pavement around me. They broke the puddle of crimson that seeped outward, trickling and winding through the grooves of brick and around pebbles. I had panicked at first when I saw it, but my weight was far too much to move in this state, and I had settled, knowing I’d be found slouched and in my own fluids. At least you didn’t shit yourself.
My mind never fled into the oh-so-talked-about moments before death, supposedly always reeling to watch your life pass before your eyes. You were supposed to see the faces of your loved ones, your enemies, and your happiest moments. It’s a survival mechanism, right? Showing you the things that you’ll be leaving to try to spur you away from the light. I thought I might see the faces of my family that was long gone; my little girl… and maybe that bitch that birthed her, long dead but never far from my mind. I thought maybe I’d remember my mother, my childhood dog, anything… but nothing. I was as sober as I’d ever been, and all I could think about was how pissed Theo was going to be; caskets for my size man can’t be cheap. I got the job done, hey. That counts still, I hope.
My frame shook violently as I coughed, heaving to the side as fluid trickled into my lungs. It burned worse than the pain tearing through my chest. The texture of agony was mesmerizing, and I focused to feel each shred of it, concentrating on the sparks of pain that tore outward from each entry wound. They kept me alive. They made me feel real, for once. Feel something. I never felt much when I could help it, and when I couldn’t; it wasn’t this. It was the other kind…The worse kind that sits in your head and festers like an abscess, growing into an oozing hole down deep into your consciousness. It hurt worse than each bullet did now, and the shrapnel in my torso was a welcome change.
The rate of blood loss had seemed to slow, or I figured it had. The heat was dissipating into a cold, and the only warmth I could note was beneath my fingers that sat in the sticky crimson around me. But, that too was leaving, and with a quickness. Steel colored eyes swam with liquid, my thoughts fading in and out, wrapped in a wet fog that gripped for me, asking me to come with it. I wanted to let it, lids heavy and fluttering over my vision as I shifted, fighting with my last waking effort as the recollection of a certain scent seemed to spear its way through that haze. It was laced with cigarette smoke and aftershave, but rounded with a hint of a starched suit. It was a pinpoint at first, but grew into a murky figure, details growing and blurring in the darkness. Cheeky grin, dark hair… fucking idiot. So this is to be my dying thought?
The pain returned as I forced out a faint laugh, the sound broken with a wet sob, red bubbles growing and bursting to trickle down the side of my chin as I pushed at the metallic taste with my tongue. I tried to rid it from my mouth, but couldn’t, blurry vision suddenly stained with tears as I warred with my exhaustion, shoving a fist into the pocket of my coat. I found the object I needed immediately, the slim shape of a mobile pulled from the cloth. I hate this fucking thing. My mind swam as I balanced it, a bloodied finger smashing at the screen, smearing the red across the glass as a familiar picture popped up and beneath it the little icon spun. Calling Felix.
The line rang through my thoughts, but the clarity of life had already left me, and lids fell once, then twice before finally losing the battle and falling shut. Lips parted to speak as the tones ended, broken by a voice sounding on the line, but I couldn’t find the breath to shape a single word. I could only heave through a sob of agony, grimacing at the pain as I hissed a curse through clenched teeth, managing to mumble the first syllable of his name before all will fled and I collapsed, lax against the stone backing with the phone tumbling from my hand to clatter to the brick. “Fe.” You cheeky bastard. I’ll see you in hell.
