Hues of Me

by Laura Clow

2017 SPX Writes Writing Contest winner for short stories

Ash slowly opened her eyes, but to no avail. Her pain constantly sliced through her mind like a blade. She didn’t know what was causing these episodes of anguishing pain-or the blackouts- and neither did her father. Neither did the list of doctors she had visited. Ash sighed as she rolled off her bed and walked to her wardrobe, the spear between her eyes dug deeper. She needed to get out of the house today and away from her ubiquitous father. She longed to visit the bookstore down the road. She should never have told him about the pain in her head. But how could she hide the sudden blackouts?

The headaches started four months ago. Ever since that, the headaches turned into migraines and the migraines into something disabling. One month ago, her father had decided it best that Ash stay in bed most of the day… Every day. But, not today.

She grabbed a pair of ripped jeans, a midnight blue blouse and riding boots; ready to face the day. A boom sounded from outside and out of nowhere, rain started to pound Ash’s bedroom window. She reached for her raincoat; apparently she’d be facing Earth’s unpredictable weather as well. Peering into the hallway, Ash heard her father’s music playing softly from his study. Grabbing her messenger bag, she tipped toed down the hallway, past the closed door of her father’s work room and out the front door.

The bell on the door sounded as Ash walked through the bookshop’s doors, lowering her hood from her head and shaking out her damp braid. The smell of old parchment and church monasteries filled her nostrils as she took in her favourite scene. Rows and rows of books.

A shuffle sounded amongst one of the nearby stacks. It couldn’t be the shopkeeper. She was an old woman who mostly sat in a back room in front of the surveillance cameras, reading cheesy romance novels. Ash once made the mistake of going back there to inquire about the price of a very old copy of ‘A tale of Two Cities’, when the woman threw a softcopy of a book whose cover depicted a bare chested and muscular man at her. Ash was usually alone in the store. You could thank that for the lack of advertisement of the place. Probably so that ‘moth balls’ can happily read ‘Love in the Jungle’ in peace, she thought. It was because of this that Ash followed the sound instead of wandering amongst the stacks she called home.

Now in the section at which “Science” and “Fantasy” collide, Ash headed for where she had earlier heard the shuffling noise. It seemed to have stopped the moment the owner of the sound sensed that Ash was headed towards them. Turning a corner, she saw a flash of a boy’s face and black hair before he was suddenly behind her, holding a swerved blade to her throat. “What the hell?” Ash said, her voice hitching as panic began to take control of her thoughts.

“Shhh,” the boy said curtly behind her. Before she could think of a snide remark, her assailant spun her around so that he could see her face. The boy before her was tall and slender, with hair of ink and deep emerald eyes.

“Ashlyn,” eyes of forest widened as he took in the sight of her. His eyes shone with tears of what seemed like grief- as though he’d found something he’d been searching for for a very long time. But how did he know her true name?

Ash just shook her head, the spear between her eyes digging so deep she fought a blackout. And while secluded with this lunatic, she could not do that. Why was he armed and where did he get a knife like that? Not a knife, A voice of steel whispered at the back of her head. The word dagger danced in her mind as her gaze swept towards the weapon now latched in the boy’s belt. Who was this guy?

“Ash, listen to me carefully. I am not here to hurt you. The only reason why I held this to your throat when I first saw you,” the boy motioned to the dagger at his side, “was because I hadn’t seen your face. Look, you’re being hunted. You’ve been lost for months, which was safe for you at the time, but now it’s not. The darkness is coming, Ash and we need your help.”

Ash was ready to run at this point, having already deemed this boy mentally unstable. But something he said caught her attention. “Did- did you say months?” The boy crossed his arms, now leaning against a bookshelf. Ice chilled her veins when she asked, “How many?” The boy’s lips turned up at the corner a bit, as though he knew exactly why she was asking. He seemed to take pleasure in her reaction, as though he had been waiting for this moment for eons. “Four.”

Heaving now, from both the pain in her head and the lunacy of the situation, Ash tried to formulate a plan that would get her away from the likely schizophrenic boy before her. She looked at his stance; back leaning against the bookshelf, arms crossed and his hands away from his weapon. It’s a worth a shot, she thought. Before she could second guess her instinct, Ash feigned for the boy’s dagger, still sheathed to his belt and waited for him to turn toward her. Before he could grab the hood to Ash’s raincoat, she twisted and kicked him flat in the stomach. To her surprise, the boy and the bookcase he leaned on went flying. She didn’t leave a moment to ponder where that strength originated from before she dove for the door of the store and ran into the street, the pain in her head momentarily easing.

Knowing that the boy would be out of the store and after her in a matter of seconds, Ash dove into a close alley way. Covering her mouth with a hand to silence her heaving breaths, she used the other to dig around in her messenger bag for a possible weapon. A boy clad in black ran past as the rain poured hard into the street outside the alley. Heaving a breath when he was far enough down the street, she knelt down on the pavement; emptying the contents of her bag on the ground. Her finger met a damp notebook and pen, headphones and a container of advil that no longer helped her pain.

Suddenly, the air seemed to drop a few degrees and when Ash exhaled, her breath came out in tendrils of smoke. Turning slowly, she saw a shape begin to form in the corner of the alley. What the hell is that, she thought, as the thing grew eight sleek black legs, four on each side. The thing had a serious underbite with yellow teeth the size of Ash’s arm, its long tail curved, ending with a ruby stinger. The spear between Ash’s eyes came back in full force as the creature came running at her with the speed of a flying frisbee. She screamed when the creature pounced and landed on her, waiting for the mammoth teeth to sink into her neck. But, they never did. The thing stilled and went stiff.

Pushing the creature off of her, Ash saw through black blood and gore that a pen had been stuck in its throat. A burning sensation consuming her right hand had her looking down at it, where she found identical ichor. Looking again at where the pen on the ground had been when she emptied her bag and to the one sticking out of the creature’s throat. Not creature, that voice of steel said again at the back of her head. Demon. And yes, you killed it. She had gone completely mad. That voice answered her thoughts again, this time less cold, You’re not crazy. You’re just remembering.

She heard someone running towards the mouth of the alley, but did not turn until they stopped directly behind her. Eyes of forest met those of storm and the boy from the book shop quickly assessed the scene around them, then Ash for injuries.

“You killed it?” His tone was incredulous. Ash was about to say that she didn’t see anyone else around that could have, when a sharp pain in her side had her doubled over. As her knees buckled, the boy swept her in his arms and lowered her to the ground. Burning with the still piercing pain in her head and a fever unlike any she’s had, Ash failed to ask what was happening when blood came out of her mouth, as opposed to words. The boy swore as he undid her jacket and lifted up her shirt, revealing a deep gash in her side. The wound looked like nothing she had seen before. “You’ve been stung,” said the boy. He heaved a sigh and put a hand through her now unbound hair asking, “When will you learn to be careful?”

Ash gasped when he said that. She had heard him say it before, so many times. The pain in her head lifted and light burst out of a corner of her mind that had gone dark. The last thing she said before the venom from the wound in her side swept her away was, “Aran?”

The Single Sleeved Shirt

by Nic Curcio

First place in the 2017 SPX Writes short story contest

I woke up bright and early that morning, earlier than I usually did. I sat at the kitchen table where a soggy bowl of cereal was waiting for me. The sounds of my brother’s loud voice rang through my ears, as he reminded me how late I was going to be for school. Regardless, I continued on with my routine.

I arrived at school, a bit later than usual. I walked into my classroom, opened my notebook, and prepared myself for the mountain of boring that was about to come my way. When we were seated, we began to write in our journals, explaining our day and how we felt. “June 27th 2013, last day of school! This morning was rather boring, but I will manage. After school today, me and my friends will be meeting up for ice cream! Summer time!” I came to a sudden stop, as the creaky speaker in our classroom echoed, “Can Elliot, please come down to the office.” Never had I ever been called down to the office. I was shaking because I was so worried of the possible trouble I could’ve been in. The audible “oo’s” from my classmates did not help.

I stumbled down the hallway, and finally reached the main office to see my mother waiting for me. The adrenaline in my body was rushing, and my heart was beating as fast as streaming rain. My mother confronted me with a smile and said, “I am signing you out early!” A huge smile replaced the adrenaline coursing through my veins, especially because I was able to get out of history class. I packed up my school bag and rushed outside. I got in the car, and waited to hear the reason as to why I got out of class. My mother looked back at me, and told me, “It’s your grandfather, he is not doing so well.” My heart sank. My grandfather had been in a long term care facility; alzheimer’s had taken over his body. I knew that he wasn’t doing his best, but nothing could have prepared me for that moment. The car ride was silent. I had no idea where she was taking me, and I did not want to know. So, I remained silent in the back seat.

We pulled up to a large, ominous building, and I could hear the sounds of ambulance sirens screeching in my ear. It was too much for me. The sound was too much for me. The atmosphere was too much for me. I did not want to be there. My mother squeezed my hand, as she walked me into the hospital. As we walked into room 304 I saw my grandfather covered in a blanket. Although he no longer remembered me as his grandson, he usually greeted me with a faint smile. But this time, there was no smile. As I moved closer to the creaky hospital bed, my mother and grandmother began to leave the room. The feeling that this was my goodbye was like a punch to the gut. I grabbed my grandfather’s limp hand and squeezed as hard as I could, as I repeatedly whispered in his ear, “ I love you, and I will never forget you.”

My mother came back in the room to get me; she said her goodbyes and we walked back to the car. The moment my car door was closed, a tear dripped from my eye. I wiped it away quickly, as I did not want my mother to notice. She looked back at me and smiled, the reassurance that I needed. When we got back home, I saw my two older brothers who both kept a blank face. To keep our minds occupied, my mother bought a movie for the family to watch together. While the movie played, I heard the phone ring. My heart began to beat out of my chest. My mother got up to answer it, and within 10 seconds she ran out the door. My father gave me a soft smile as if everything was going to be okay, but in my mind I knew the outcome would not be “okay”. I sat on the couch, awaiting the undesirable news. At 11:06 P.M. my mother walked through the front door with a crooked smile. I unwillingly asked, “Is Grandpa okay?” Her voice cracked as she said, “Grandpa passed away.”

Everything in my body dropped. Tears flooded my face as a million questions rushed into my head. I leaned over and hugged my mother as hard as I could, and did not let go.

The next morning I noticed my mother typing grandpa’s obituary. I thought my first instinct would be to cry, but I instead found myself smiling. A smile, because I realized that grandpa was no longer suffering; All of his pain was gone, so I felt all of mine should be gone, too. As she finished typing up the obituary, she told me that we were going to pick up grandpa’s belongings at the long term care facility.

I slowly paced myself through the doors, and remembered all of the Saturdays I had spent eating breakfast here with grandpa. When we arrived at the elevator, an older man in a wheelchair greeted me with a smile. The elevator’s ding signalling the 4th floor, brought me back to reality. The wobbly doors split apart and we began to march to my grandfather’s room. There lay his empty bed. Next to it was a stack of two boxes of his clothing, which my mother planned to donate. I picked up a box filled to the brim with fishing lures and trophies, and began the march back to the elevators. We stepped back into the elevator, and as the doors closed my mother jammed her arm between the closing doors and ran back to the room. I ran behind her and yelled, “What are you doing?!” She shouted back, “His favourite shirt, I need it!” She sprinted into his room again and checked the closet, which was empty. We checked in all of the boxes; nothing. We checked under the bed; nothing. We ran to guest services, they hadn’t seen the shirt either. I watched, helpless, as the disappointment spread across my mother’s face. We trudged back to his room to the same empty bed and remaining boxes. Something was different this time though. Dangling out of one of the boxes was a single sleeved shirt; My grandpa’s favourite shirt.

Rejuvenation

by Max Parent

Second place in the 2017 SPX Writes short story contest

One second is all it takes. A mere moment of distraction, to take away everything that you have, have done, and have yet to do. One mere second can destroy all. I had taken that one second for granted, until I myself fell into its unforgiving trap.

The road was one of those that wound itself along a cliff-side. Giving a pristine view to a deep wooded valley, and a flowing river hundreds of feet below. Tall growing pines attempted to reach the guard barrier of the road, but always fell short in height. Their tops never being seen by my eye. The day had been quite beautiful, with a bluebird sky and the occasional billowing white cloud. The air was crisp, but not cold. An early fall morning in mid September, where the tree leaves danced in vibrant red, yellow, and oranges.

I was driving my vehicle down this winding cliff-side road. Just traveling from the small rural town where I bought the groceries, to the woodland cabin where Michelle awaited my arrival. She awaited the eggs, milk and bacon that I had in the grocery bags, so that a hot breakfast could be prepared. Both of us were tired of waking up to eating cereal and granola bars. Frankly, I wished to eat a hot meal with her just for the pleasure of it. It seemed more fulfilling and joyous. Just eating a hot meal, and looking out through the large glass living room window; Taking in the view of the lake. It would be quite lovely. But then, a question came into my mind, and I thought to myself for a moment.

Did I buy the bacon? The question formed. It would be a shame if I had forgotten. I thought to check, but I wouldn’t really be able to tell. Well, maybe just a glance to make sure. I glanced first in the rear-view mirror at the bags. I couldn’t get a good view, so I turned slightly, craning my neck to see if I had forgotten. A quick scan confirmed it was there.

Good. Didn’t forget. ...Then, there came a loud POP!, and a metallic scraping sound. A tire had blown. Then... there came a large jolt.

No...

The car lurched to the right harshly, and went into a viscous barrel roll! The roll sent everything within the car spiraling around wickedly. Groceries flew everywhere, and ironically, the bacon was thrown into the front seat with me, as if to show that it had in fact been boughten. A little bit of a late appearance I would say.

Shrapnel and metallic debris flew, whizzing by my head! My side door window exploded, and glass shards were flung into my face. I felt each little fleck and shard embed itself into my skin, and felt the warm ooze of blood following after. But, the barrel roll was beginning to slow.

Almost over, I thought. But then again, I was never usually correct about things. Just as I thought the roll had come to an end, gravity shifted. The car had broken through the steel barrier, and tumbled off the edge of the cliff...

Gravity ceased to exist, not for one moment, but for many, before reappearing. The car went into another deadly roll, going down the mountain side. As the car spun, I felt the front end compress, and felt as well as heard a snap in both my legs. The adrenaline was flowing too fast for me to really notice. I could feel blood penetrating my shirt, and streaming down my forehead into my eyes. But all was just too fast to process. The most I knew, was that the world was a spinning messy jumble of shapes. That was all my mind could grasp.

As I tried to contemplate what was happening whilst tumbling down the mountain, the car hit a mighty rock and was flung into the air! It flew for what seemed a fortnight, before smashing hard back into the ground! As it did so, My head slammed down into the steering wheel. Darkness followed.

Numb. Everything was numb. The kind of numb that you feel after you have worked the hardest you have in your life, and are waking up the day after. My eyes fluttered open to a mysterious, ominous environment. My surroundings were a deep inky black, with no definition of anything at all. No shadows, no color, or shades. But then out of the dim, light just, appeared. A faint hazy white light that took up a small place just a few feet in front of me. The patch of gentle light gave forth a sort of melodic hum, which travelled around the space and blessed my ears. It was quite beautiful.

For a moment, all I could do was watch and listen to it. That was all that was needed I felt. To let in the beauty. But then, the sound changed. It switched from a melodic hum to a quiet devious whisper. I had to find out more.

Over to the light I walked, listening to the whispers as I did, trying to decipher the language. I could hear familiar voices I couldn’t entirely recognize, childhood laughter, and the occasional bark of a dog. How strange.

I came upon the floating ball of gentle light, reached my hand out, and touched it. The light exploded with harsh blinding white! My arm instinctively came up to protect my fragile eyes. As the white faded away to black, I made out what appeared to be a massive screen. It must've been fifty feet long by fifty feet wide, just magically placed right in front of me. I was about to utter something, maybe a question to someone who could not reply, but the screen lit up suddenly. It flashed, and produced a soft low hum that was gentle and warm. My eyes focused intently on the viewing screen.

As the flash faded away to duller tones, pictures began to pop up, random and misplaced. As I looked at them closer, I realized something. They were of me, my family, the happy memories that I cherished to have experienced. A culmination of the beauty of life with my mother, father, and two sisters. How sad that they are gone. All of them gone too soon.

Tears began to well up in my eyes, and then spilled down my cheeks, as pictures of my mother alone, began to appear. I dropped down to my knees in agony, and began to cry a deep chest felt cry. Emotion flooded into me like water into a dry river bed, and flooded out of me as tears; all happening simultaneously. My shoulders slumped, making my head fall forward so that my tears fell to the ground freely. I could see them create small dark pools on the black floor, and thought to myself,

That’s how I feel. Dark, and void… Alone. But Michelle…

Her face popped into my mind instantly, and warmth flowed into my body, coursing through my veins and warming my very soul. I had Michelle. I had my best friend, my partner. She was all I had left, and all that I needed.

“I wish you wouldn't be so blue you big goof,” said a gentle soothing voice.

I recognized the soothing melodic voice instantly. I was about to raise my head, but felt soft hands underneath my chin raise it for me. As the hands raised my head, my eyes fell upon her. Her long and curly bright orange hair, her teal sparkling eyes, and a slightly pudgy face that always had a warm smile plastered on it. Michelle looked down at me warmly, with my sadness cupped in her hands.

“You need to lighten up,” she said kindheartedly, kneeling down and wrapping me in a tight hug. I didn’t know where I was, what had happened, or what was reality. But her embrace had felt to be the most real and loving thing that I had ever experienced. But after a moment, it disappeared .

“Michelle?” No reply came, so opened my eyes. She was gone.

Come home, her voice whispered in my mind.

Just as the whisper faded away into oblivion, I felt a strange buzzing in my chest. Then I felt an electric shock jolt through my entire body! The jolt left me stunned, and gave me no time to prepare for the second spine tingling shock. After the second I felt my body tire, and my vision faded away to white light. A last shock coursed through my body, and I fell into oblivion.

I awoke to the sound of sirens, and to EMT’s stooped over me with defibrillator pads resting on my chest. But my mind didn’t focus on that, as I saw her car roll up to the scene. Her blue Honda rolled to a stop, and she stepped out from it running over to where I lay, her bright orange hair flowing with the wind. I merely closed my eyes in happiness, and fell into a deep sleep. I know that when I wake, She will be right beside me.

Bacon and eggs by the lake. That sounds lovely, then my mind went blank.

The Girl in the Sea

by Anastasia Koulikovskaia

Third place in the 2017 SPX Writes short story contest

She never spoke, but the look in her eyes told of painful times.

* * *

Once again, as thousands of times before, she wails and beckons with her pale hand, her hair strung out long over her chest, twisted with weeds. Come, come, come to me. He is beautiful and he is golden, and he has lips like ripe plum, and she does so miss it, she does so miss the sun; the burn of it on her skin, the way it caresses her hair. She misses the taste of light. Come. She smiles, baring her teeth. He does not see them.

He is afraid, and he is not, for as she lifts a hand out of the inky depths and motions to him with a delicate finger, he stumbles to her like a fool, drunken with love. He does not notice the water pooling around his ankles, and then his knees, rushing up to his waist as he trips forward. The only presence in his empty mind is a song. Unheard by ears, but echoing with beauty and alluring power.

When he draws near, she lifts both hands out of the sea, grasping his entranced face gently, and softly pulls him to her. She does so miss the sun. He surrenders willingly to her touch, sleepily wrapping his arms around her waist. She lets him. He sighs. She does not blink. He feels her press against him. The song rages inside his head, and he grasps her tighter, not minding the slow rush of scales against his legs. He breathes in her scent of salt and wind. He did so love the sea. When the water is lapping at his chest, she drifts farther into the depth and he follows. He follows. Like every other.

The blinding, glowing song is getting louder in his mind. Around him, however, the only sounds that would be heard by the glistening moon are crackling of the wooden ship as it sinks to the abyss, the rapid breathing of men on board as they stare into the eyes of women in the water, and the roar of the waves.

He does not feel the tear escape and roll down his cheek as he looks upon the creation before him, floating in the churning sea, for he believes his life was pointless until he saw her. She intertwines her hands in his hair, leaving a trail of kisses down his neck. So warm. He is so warm, and he tastes like the sun and the forest and dancing that she does so miss. She can not help the traitor tear that escapes her eyes when she tightens her hold on his face. As she kisses him now, she is sobbing against his mouth, tears running down her pale, cold cheeks. Shaking, she presses herself harshly against him, clawing at his hot chest, soaking up any warmth she can find. Warmth. She does so miss it. She does so miss it, because of the cruelty of his species.

She remembers that night as clear as day, that moment hundreds of years ago, when the sailors discovered a stowaway on their ship. A young girl, sixteen at most, dressed as a boy, trying to hide her curves beneath baggy trousers. Raven hair tickling her neck, wide eyes pleading, her tears were no use then. A woman on a ship is certain bad luck - condemning the ship and crew to death. And so, screaming, crying, pleading, her legs were tied together and she found herself grabbed by rough hands, and pushed across the wooden deck to meet her fate. Pain shot up her limbs when the hands grasped too rough, and tears of humiliation poured from her eyes when a hand lingered on her body. Now at the railing, she wondered if she was the only one meeting this death. She was not. As her life flashed before her eyes, she lashed and twisted, trying to bargain her life, but it was no use.

“The wench ‘ll kill us all...”

The cold sea embraced her. She writhed and tried to push her way to air, but her bound legs only made it easier to sink into the darkness. Needles prickling her skin, her body ached for air, only as she breathed in, her lungs filled with water. An unbearable pain shot through her legs and she let out an inhuman shriek into the abyss around her. That is what she was not anymore - a human. Her neck itched with newly grown gills and she had one thing on her mind - revenge. Revenge was on the mind of every other girl and woman who was thrown into welcoming waters.

And now.

As she kisses him, she is sobbing against his mouth, tears running down her pale, cold cheeks. Too many times, too many years she has spent caught up in vengeance, in blazing rage she sunk the largest ships, and drowned the strongest men. The first few hundred years the pain was raw and new, and her eyes were clouded with blood and her tongue wished for the taste of revenge. The first song she sung was savage and brutal. She drowned her first victim with murderous passion and ruthless joy. The first ship she sunk was shredded to chips by the churning sea of scorching revenge. Day after day, year after year, humans wrote about unexplained disappearances of sailors and ships - “lost at sea”, they would say. Day after day, year after year, the pain eased to a dull throb, and now she only misses warmth. She misses light. She misses grass. Although her new home buzzes in harmony with her, she cannot help but think of ripe plum. Around her, the shrieks of fellow sirens only tell her one thing - they are still raw and in pain, and all they thirst for is blood. Her immortal body will stay young forever, but at what cost?

Trembling now, ears ringing with the roar of the ocean and the wails of her sisters, her tears mix with the waves. The pain of her sisters at the injustice of the world engulfs her and she pulls the earth, forest and sun tasting man into the deep, until she finds no breath against her lips and he turns cold.

She only wished for warmth.

The Jumper

by Chris Pietrobon

Third place in the 2016 SPX Writes contest

Harry had just finished visiting one of his patients when he received an urgent call to some downtown apartment building. All they said was that there was a jumper. It was about 4:00pm and the traffic was horrible, not to mention the sickening downtown scenery. It was an incredibly depressing day; the rain fell steadily and the clouds smothered the sunlight. Some people liked the claustrophobic city atmosphere, Harry hated it. While some people saw historic buildings and exciting personalities, Harry saw run down neighbourhoods and drunks. Basically the opposite of where he wanted to raise his three-year-old daughter, Madison.

Upon arriving at the scene, Harry was immediately overwhelmed by the amount of police and firemen. As soon as he got out of his car he was approached by the guy that looked to be in charge. “Alright Mr. Sheppard, I’m not going to waste your time. My name is Paul Stevens; I’m the officer in charge of this assignment.” He continued, “Basically we’ve got a guy named Fernando Cortez standing on the edge of his 14th floor apartment balcony, here take a look.”

Stevens pointed upward and Harry looked to see a man standing awkwardly, holding onto the opposite side of his balcony railing. Despite the distance, it was very clear that the man was shaking vehemently. Mr. Stevens continued, “Nobody knows why he’s doing this but we assume that he plans on jumping.”

“So you want me to try and convince him that suicide isn’t the answer, right?” Harry asked, even though he already knew the drill.

“Exactly, unfortunately we can’t use a megaphone due to the height and rainfall, so you’re gonna have to try and coax him down from up there.” Stevens reached into his pocket. “Try not to startle him,” he handed Harry the key to Fernando’s apartment.

“Good Luck Mr. Sheppard, his room number is 1407.”

When he made it to the room, Harry made sure to calmly knock so that Fernando wouldn’t be too panicked by his presence. No one answered. Harry took a deep breath and delivered the lines, “Hello Fernando. My name is Harry Sheppard, I am a police psychologist who is here to help you. I’m coming in.”

Then suddenly the door opened! Harry jumped back in shock, only to see the barrel of a gun pointed directly into his face. He opened his mouth to yell but the gunman made a sudden movement, striking at Harry’s head, knocking him out.

Harry awoke from a restless sleep and noticed that his foot was restrained to the leg of a bed with a bike lock. He saw the man with the gun talking on the phone. Harry was able to understand pieces of the man’s broken English and deciphered that he was talking about his two hostages and listing off demands. The realisation hit Harry harder than the butt of the gun. It was now clear that both he and Fernando were being held hostage by this mysterious gunman. The guy likely made Fernando give the appearance of wanting to jump, so that someone like Harry would come up and give him a more valuable hostage. It was a relatively clever idea, but in all of his years on the job Harry had never seen a hostage situation go well for the culprits. It usually ended with either dead hostages or criminals, often both. And the odds of the criminals actually receiving their desired bounty was humorously low. Whoever this guy was, he couldn’t be too intelligent. A deduction that put Harry even further on edge as unintelligent criminals often acted unpredictably and without foresight.

The gravity of the situation finally set in and the idea of escape now became a priority. Harry noticed that he still had his Swiss army knife in his concealed jacket pocket. He slowly grabbed it and began unsheathing the different cutting tools. It took a few minutes of cutting and slicing before the final wires were separated. The man was still talking on the phone and Harry realised that if he acted fast enough he might be able to make it out the door. The thought of imminent escape clouded his judgement and he decided to make an immediate pounce toward freedom. The man’s reaction time was flawless. The flash of the muzzle triggered a dazed and confused state of panic from Harry, primarily because of the bullet wound which resulted. It took a few seconds for the pain to register but when it did, it was relentless. Every fiber of his torn up flesh accumulated into one cluster of pure torment. The man displayed no remorse, he tossed Harry’s body on the balcony and began screaming threats in a language that was likely Spanish. Maybe Harry was a bit delusional from all of the blood he was losing. Maybe he just wanted to be a hero. Either way, somehow he got an idea. A very bad idea.

It all transpired within a seven second window, but it felt as though time itself had stopped. The plan was quite simple, especially considering the lack of forethought. Without hesitation Harry grabbed Fernando and jumped off the balcony.

They say that right before you die your life flashes before your eyes, but for some strange reason Harry could only think about the future. As he plunged to his certain death with a man that he didn’t even know, Harry could only think about the world in his wake. He imagined what people would say about a psychologist committing suicide. Then he thought about his wife and daughter. Would they understand why he jumped? Did he even understand why he jumped?

No! Harry didn’t want to die! What was he thinking? This was an unbelievably idiotic decision! Then he realised that he had forced Fernando to fall with him. He had impulsively caused the death of another man. He was a murderer. He began fighting against an overwhelming amount lunacy and self-loathing, but quickly accepted the inevitable fact that he was about to be splattered all along the sidewalk.

He snapped out of his pre-death trance and prepared for the sudden impact. His velocity surged as he flew at a ninety degree angle to the ground. Then, just when the G-force seemed unbearably strong, he hit something. Something rubbery. Within a second he was whiplashed back into the air and then back down onto an elastic mesh. A safety net.

Harry didn’t know what to think. No, he didn’t want to think. He couldn’t think. He just saw the unconscious man right beside him and the hundreds of people simultaneously crowding the net which was hosting their disheveled bodies. It was all just too much to process. With the last bit of consciousness he could muster, Harry exclaimed, “No more hostages!” The sudden switch from dread to euphoria pushed Harry over the limit. He immediately regurgitated everything in his stomach and passed out.