Prologue

I’m going to tell you a story. Normally, I’d tell you not to believe a word I say, but I promise you, every word is true. It’s also the reason you will never see me again. So, right down to its core, this is the story of how I died.

Let me start at the beginning.

Day One

Running late was almost expected of me. 

I thought I had found the perfect routine, but I still end up late. Late to every lecture, appointment, or interview. It wasn’t my fault, really. Something always happened. The day this all started, the subway had stopped unexpectedly and everyone on the subway was stuck for twelve minutes. Afterward, it was a mad rush to exit the station; I got my scarf caught on the escalator railing which pulled me down, and none of the taxis would stop for me, so I had to run. I had hoped that once I started attending college my old habits would cease but it just wasn’t meant to be.  

Deciding to accept that I wouldn’t make my lecture I stopped running and stood outside the old college building as it began to snow. Honestly, I dislike the cold, but something about snow itself was quite refreshing. I watched the students and teachers around me bustle, trying their best to maintain a social life and get good grades. 

No longer in a rush, I had turned from Hunter College to walk home only to stop at the convenience store on 2nd Avenue. Buying two sandwiches and two bottles of water, I continued to walk towards the Pulitzer Fountain where I usually run into Shelia. 

Shelia is an older woman with a hunch, tattered grey hair, and two different colored eyes, one of grey despair and the other,  green emerald. I believe it’s called heterochromia iridum. She was often passed and avoided in the street because of how she looked. Her clothing you’d consider quite typical of someone in her position. Of the few jackets she wore all at once, you could tell most were a little too big for her, as were the pants she used from the donations box. I’ve seen her almost every day for the last seven months, ever since she saved my life. I won’t go into details, but it was very heroic and there was no way I’d ever truly repay her for my life. 

Many years ago she lost her home and all her possessions in a fire. She frequently sits by the fountain and it’s where I bring her food when I’m not in classes or working. Shelia is very kind and grateful but doesn’t speak too much, mostly listens.. That day she was a bit more talkative, she told me about the son she once had, a really cheeky boy that was always mischievous but had a good heart when it mattered. She didn’t know what he was doing now, or if he even thought about her. In fact, she assumed her son thinks she abandoned him. It was truly sad, so in return, I told her that I grew up not knowing if I even had any family, although I do consider that the kids I had around me in the orphanage were like my siblings. I’m not sure why I told her about my past. I felt like she needed to know that even without parents I was okay, hopefully implying her son would be too. 

That day I noticed she was shivering a lot so I gave her my red scarf. Shelia asked me why I was kind to her so I told her that everyone deserves a second chance and that I’d be there to see her second chance come along. Of course, I didn’t mean to make a homeless woman cry but at least it showed me she was just as human as everyone else that passed us by. 

In response to what I had said to her, Shelia pulled something off from around her neck and put it around mine. An old rope necklace with a large pendant. It was beyond the description of uniquely beautiful. The large tear dropped shaped amethyst stone encased in a peculiar metal that swirled around it like vines and leaves. I told her that I couldn’t accept anything like this from her but she insisted, and also insisted that I was never to take it off because it would not only help me where I needed it but protect me when I’m scared as well. 

It was a strange request but I didn’t want to refuse an old homeless woman that was just crying minutes before. She thanked me for bringing her food and sitting with her, then told me to go home before it got too cold and I caught a chill. As confusing as the whole situation was, I thanked her and left. I took the usual shortcut home through the park. 

Typically, it was always a bad idea to travel alone through Central Park, but it was the middle of the day and I had nothing to worry about except my own clumsy feet getting stuck in the snow. To state this very clearly, I am a klutz. Floors and walls are my greatest enemies. The building I go to was directly off of Central Park West, actually known as the West Apartments. The outside of the building was rustic but elegant, and if you were a full paying tenant of the building you’d also experience luxury internal designs year-round. But I was not a full paying tenant, and technically I didn’t actually live in the building, but behind it, above a store that sold unusual merchandise - merchandise I’d never ask about no matter how old I got.   

My apartment was small, to say the least. It was the best I could afford between education, busking, and a part-time job, but despite the creaky floors, leaking windows and odd holes in the walls, it was my home. The entry, kitchen and living room were all within the same four walls, which only had one other door which led to my bedroom. Occasionally I don’t turn on my main lights, but a secondary switch I have connected to hundreds of tiny tealights. I had thrown my jacket onto the couch and kicked off my shoes, attempting what I could to relax before needing to get dressed for work in an hour. I sat for about thirty of those minutes at my laptop, continuing the fantasy adventure story I had been writing for the last year or so and posting online for people to read one chapter at a time. I get a lot of good feedback. If you have read any of my previous work, you’ll know that my work is a little juvenile and basic. Don’t worry though, this story is far more entertaining. I had sometimes wished that a publisher might one day pick up my online story and I would be able to afford a better home but I also knew to be realistic. Busking was how I paid my rent most of the time, as I usually got more out of it than my part-time job. I consider myself a rather skilled magician, which is why it was so easy for me to make a lot of money from a cheap set of playing cards. It was a lot of smoke and mirrors honestly. It was one of the older kids in the orphanage that taught me how to perform magic tricks, and I’ve done my best to learn more, but who has the time? I just didn’t have the time to learn. Things were easier back then. 

I’d had a quick shower and fixed my hair into a short ponytail. It wasn’t my intention to cut my hair at my shoulders but honestly, it was my fault for following internet trends. Thankfully, because it was bright and blonde it meant I could pull off most hairstyles, including messy.

That day I managed to make it to work right on time at the convenience store, which resulted in a lot of teasing from my manager.

Day Two

Technically, the end of my shift marked the next day, since it was a little after midnight by the time I had left. I’ll admit it wasn’t the best idea to take another shortcut through the park but I was tired and walking the long way around would take forever. 

Eleven minutes was not worth the short cut. It was a huge mistake. 

As I walked briskly across the park's dimly lit paths, this guy came out of the nearby bushes and grabbed onto my shoulder bag, insisting I let it go and give it to him. Instinctually I screamed and he yelled to be quiet - but the gun in his hand just made me scream louder. I was the type to panic in such a situation, not at all a tough New Yorker. I wasn’t even trying to hold my bag, it was just stuck around me and my hood was doing a great job of holding on even tighter. 

That’s when he held the gun up to my face. 

That’s when I heard the gun go off.