I haven’t written anything Urban Fantasy based in a while (which as it is my main genre isn’t a good thing) and so I’m planning to do a three part series on the premise below. I hope you like it.
Electric: Part 1
My tears were a puddle under my chin on the cold floor. In my mind, my screams were loud enough to shatter eardrums but I was actually biting at my lips hard enough to taste blood.
I was going to die.
Call me macabre but I’ve often thought of the way I would go. Things like car accidents and being hit by a bus topped the list. Also because I was a major klutz I considered death by falling down stairs or choking on oysters. It just never crossed my mind that I’d be shot to death on the floor of a convenience store.
I pressed myself closer to the ground as another shot went off. God I wished I hadn’t decided to stop before meeting my ex-boyfriend in Central Park. There were some things he needed to tell me and considering how acrimonious our breakup was, I wanted my mouth to occupied while he got on with the bullshit. Staring at the pack of Trident in my hand, I started sobbing louder. I was going to die because of a pack of gum.
I hesitated. I had hoped that I’d managed to make myself disappear into the small corner between shelves of vodka, rum and cheap wine.
I do not think I ever truly felt fear until I came face to face with the barrel of his gun. It became something physical; the involuntary shaking of limbs and bile that rose to my throat. I tried to find the words to beg for my life but my voice stuck in my throat along with the bile.
This was it.
I closed my eyes tightly trying to come to terms with it. I was going to die. Time slowed to a lazy march as I watched his finger depress the trigger but in an instant I heard a sharp thud. The masked man glanced from his now empty hand to the spot beside me where the gun fell but he snapped out of his shock when he caught me inching my way towards the gun. The man lunged for my neck and squeezed. I kicked without aim but his hand remained wrapped around my neck. I shut my eyes willing myself to fight off the lightness seeping into my body. Maybe I should’ve taken my chances with the gunshot to the head. My mother was going to die when she finally found out that her only child was murdered. There would also be shock because I’d lied to her about where I was going today. I was supposed to be clear on the other side of the city. God, the last thing I said to my mother would be a lie. A fucking lie. Somewhere between the regret and self-loathing that crept up within me like rising smoke, I felt the pressure around my neck release. For a split second I wondered if I’d died but eventually howling screams brought me back to reality. The masked man was staring at his hands, or rather what was left of them. His flesh was not burnt into angry, red welts like my friend Sophie’s leg had been when she dropped the curling iron. His flesh was almost charcoal and sticking to what was left of the sleeves of his black hoodie in ways I always thought Hollywood invented. Remember that scene from the Dark Knight, when we first see Harvey Dent as Two Face, his face marred beyond recognition by the fire? Well that had nothing on what I found myself staring at. The movies never conveyed what it felt like to watch a man scream like a wounded banshee as he tried to soothe his disfigured arms while you inhaled the acrid scent of burning flesh. Although the mask covered his face when I stared into his eyes; the pain and sheer madness there was enough to loosen my bile-clogged throat until I was screaming along with him.
© Rilzy Adams, 2013