One Life
FleetusMcGee posted in The F*-Word
By: Zach
The clink of a metal lighter echoes through the barren room, a metal chair scrapes the floor. An inconsistent flickering of the fluorescent light above my head attracts moths in from the open window. My shadow is convulsing on the floor. The stench of cigarettes drifts through the room, clinging to my striped vest, and black tie. I cough once and stand from the rusty, metal chair. The room grows quiet with anticipation, all eyes turn to me. One of the three sitting around the collapsible card table follows suit and stands, putting his cigarette out in a coffee can. As the smoke winds through the air, I hear a stifled scream.
Clutching my head, I ruffle through the pockets of my aged, leather jacket. The scream I heard didn’t come from the busy streets of New York outside the window, nor the room itself, it came from inside me. My fingers touch a small plastic tube. I pull it from my pocket only to discover that the bottle is empty. Cursing under my breath I sit back down caressing my temples. “There are lives at stake…we can’t just sit around the table.” A muttering of agreement. Making an offensive gesture to the speaker I take a bottle of aspirin from my jean pockets and pop two. “Alright, then let’s go and stop talking about it.”
Groaning as I stumble out of my seat, I see two shadows in the alley below. Stopping only for a moment the pale street light catches a woman’s face twisted in fear, and a man with a knife at her throat whispering threats into her ear. In my left ear I hear the three men rushing me, in my right I hear the quiet pleas of help. “Just a damn minute!” I watch the scene in the alley for a moment more, and then divert my eyes. Hundreds of people were supposed to die tonight if I didn’t get a move on, but a woman would be scarred for the rest of her life if I didn’t do something now.
The honking of a car horn brings my senses back to reality. I grab my wilted fedora from the table and shove it onto my head. I take one look back at the alley, the two shadows are gone. From outside the sound of tires rolling on gravel makes my headache return. “Those boys are gonna pay.” I take a seat by the window pull out a single flaccid cigar and light it. The silhouette of a woman blocks the light from the street; tears are running down her face. In her hands is a pair of crumpled jeans. I look at her face… it belonged to my sister.
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