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magic_fratboyHe wasn’t ready.
Flat on his back with the muzzle of the gun not fourteen inches from his face, Tommy knew he wasn’t ready to go. He could see his loft, filled with work he had to finish. His desk at the office, stacked with proposals and a handful of jump drives filled with images his co-workers wanted opinions on. He had projects, art...he had a concert to go to with Jay and Benji come the weekend.
There was heat under the chill of cold sweat on his skin. The pulse beat in his ears like a jackhammer, too fast and too hard. Still, it beat...blood flowed, glands worked, and his stomach churned as muscle contracted.
As the shot rang out, his hand came up...and for a moment, Tommy was sure he’d died. His body exploded in pain, the heat under his skin rushed out as he tried to move with an abruptness, a speed and desperation he’d never known.
No.
It was more than a thought, it became a law of nature. The force of it sang inside him like a choir of angels, only instead of a sonorous melody, they were all screaming in unison. His life was about to be taken, and he wasn’t going to give it up. Even as he bled, even as he died...he wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet.
He had only moved his arm. Something tore, broke, bled...every nerve was wailing in agony.
And ecstacy...he’d never felt so alive in his life.
By the time the snowy white haze faded from his vision, six seconds had passed between the time the mugger had knocked him flat and the gun had gone off.
His arm was up. His fingers were frozen in a fist, nails digging into his palm with painful intensity.
Something hot was burning him. The gun went off, and he was still alive.
It took him a full five minutes to recover after his assailant ran off to lower his arm and open his hand to find the bullet meant for him clutched in his fingers.
Flat on his back with the muzzle of the gun not fourteen inches from his face, Tommy knew he wasn’t ready to go. He could see his loft, filled with work he had to finish. His desk at the office, stacked with proposals and a handful of jump drives filled with images his co-workers wanted opinions on. He had projects, art...he had a concert to go to with Jay and Benji come the weekend.
There was heat under the chill of cold sweat on his skin. The pulse beat in his ears like a jackhammer, too fast and too hard. Still, it beat...blood flowed, glands worked, and his stomach churned as muscle contracted.
As the shot rang out, his hand came up...and for a moment, Tommy was sure he’d died. His body exploded in pain, the heat under his skin rushed out as he tried to move with an abruptness, a speed and desperation he’d never known.
No.
It was more than a thought, it became a law of nature. The force of it sang inside him like a choir of angels, only instead of a sonorous melody, they were all screaming in unison. His life was about to be taken, and he wasn’t going to give it up. Even as he bled, even as he died...he wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet.
He had only moved his arm. Something tore, broke, bled...every nerve was wailing in agony.
And ecstacy...he’d never felt so alive in his life.
By the time the snowy white haze faded from his vision, six seconds had passed between the time the mugger had knocked him flat and the gun had gone off.
His arm was up. His fingers were frozen in a fist, nails digging into his palm with painful intensity.
Something hot was burning him. The gun went off, and he was still alive.
It took him a full five minutes to recover after his assailant ran off to lower his arm and open his hand to find the bullet meant for him clutched in his fingers.
