Thursday

One Hundred And Eighty One Days (498 Words)



Six months, that's what doc said after she had poked and prodded my disease ravaged body. One hundred and eighty one days. Any other point in your life this might sound like a lot as a countdown towards the grave it's painfully short.

I wasted the first few days retreating to the internet, reading up on different diets and remedies to extend my tenancy on this realm. Looking to Google to for the answers that conventional medicine couldn't give me.

I found confusion, fear and prayers. I never had any room for Jesus in my life when I had a seemingly unlimited amount of time left, there was no way he is playing gooseberry now.

After that I lost the plot a little, I spent weeks in bed. pretty much just waiting to die, thinking I had accepted my fate. I was already writing the tributes to myself that my friends would trot out, I had lost my battle, I was so brave, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Then one day it hit me, this might be the end of my life but it doesn't mean I can't go out on a high. That was the day I decided to stop being the victim and became the hero of my life story. 

It's my story I may as well be the main character right? 

So I got my ass out of bed and got me some guns. Legally of course, three weeks later I was armed to the teeth with less than one hundred and fifty days left on this mortal plain.

I stalked the bad parts of town with an itchy trigger finger just looking for trouble.

Thankfully I didn't have to wait  long and while I still had over a hundred days left I killed for the first time. 

It was brilliantly cliched and a pure accident.

I was out and about in the wrong part of town when I started to feel sick. Doc had warned me about this and I ducked into a 711 to go spew my ring up. Wiping my breakfast off my chin and feeling more than a little sorry for myself  I walked out of the can at the back of the store to find some kid pointing a gun at the poor chap behind the counter.

He had no idea I was there and I was trembling when I pulled my piece out, I crept down the aisle thinking of something witty and action-hero like to say. I didn't get chance to deliver a killer one liner as he turned around and saw me coming.

His last words were "Jesus you look like death Holmes."

This made me giggle and I blurted out, "Its funny you should say that " and shot him.

 I tagged him in the throat, sending him sprawling to the floor. Where he lay kicking and gargling. Approaching warily, gun still trained on him I leant over and asked him.

"Whats it like? Are you scared? Because I am"

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