A God's Last Death

Oh, Crap

Wind blows and the leaves flap around me. The blackened lips of the night kiss the resting forehead of the city, and I can't help but admire the dome of stars above me. Just for now, I forget the incident at the station and try to enjoy this precious moment of calmness. I know they won't be granted to me for long, so I strive to make the most out them. I love the peacefulness of this hour, when the streets are deserted, and the quietness of the—

"Have you lost your mind? What the hell are you staring at? I'm telling you, kid, every time I see you, I'm questioning your sanity."

And the moment is now ruined. Great.

I look up at the woman staring down at me from her balcony, her dishevelled hair a bright white halo around her wrinkled face. I let out a sigh. "Good night Mrs. Pérez," I wave at her and step on the building's porch.

"And where the hell is my husband again?"

"Twenty feet underground, Mrs. Pérez, like he has been for the last four years. Nothing's changed."

"You think I wouldn't know if—"

I slum the front door and head to my apartment on the fifth floor. I glare at the never-ending stairs, but I also know there's no point in me holding it off. I would have taken the elevator but guess what. No. Fucking. Electricity.

After a solid eternity, a manage to reach my door, thankfully still alive. I turn the key and step in my apartment, locking the door behind me.

"I'm home!" I announce, although I'm sure she can hear me entering anyway.

There's no reply.

"Won't you come and greet me?"

Still no reply.

I leave my bag on the kitchen-counter as quietly as I can. I take my shoes off and start sneaking towards the bedroom, hoping that today is the day I'll finally scare the hell out of her. I pass the bathroom door and then I stop before my room. My hand touches the knob, my fingers encircling the cold metal, and I—

"Meow."

"What the—"

Where the hell did that come from? In a state of confusion and total freakout, I look around the corridor, but I can't locate the source of the sound. Now I'm starting to think that Mrs. Pérez was right; I am losing it.

"Meow!"

My eyes snap to the ceiling, and I bit back a gasp as instantly notice her glaring down at me with her deceitful green eyes. If I could speak catish, I would hear her say something like: "Next time I won't be so lenient."

"Oh, save your empty threats, Jenny!" I roll my eyes at her and head back to the kitchen. I often wonder if she really likes me or stays here just for the food. I hear her jump down the shelf and a smile appears on my face. I take her favourite canned food from the cupboard, empty the tin and slump on the sofa with grace.

Sometimes you just need to lay on the couch and sleep for a couple of years, but I don't have that luxury. If that's how knowing when you're going to die feels like, I might just have to forget my own age, so when I become 29, I won't know to fear. What if I—no, there's no point in holding on to hallow hopes when I know there's no escaping this.

At that late hour, I lie on the sofa with a book, all the while hearing, several rooms over, someone dragging boxes, cursing, and kicking at them. Upstairs, the floors and ceilings creak, seemingly of their own accord, and the footsteps below might simply be something else: branches of a tree tapping against the siding of the house, the steady beating of one's own heart. As the night outside progresses, my mind travels back to the stranger at the station. Images flash back in my memory, all tangled and hazy, but one suddenly stands out the most. 

I jerk up from the couch, my heartbeat filling my hearing. The seconds trickle by, and I'm becoming more and more certain of what I saw. And what I saw slowly makes me believe what I'd never imagine happening. That I might have met the leader of the biggest criminal group in the whole city.