text: I died today. It started as most days do with a song I had grown to hate blaring from my phone. It ripped me from my sleep, from my dream about seashells and sandwiches and... and a bridge? I couldn’t pull it back, the dream was gone and I was awake. I turned off my alarm and crawled out of bed, made my way to the bathroom and peed like I had been holding it in for a year. I turned on the shower and climbed in, willing myself to wake up as the water rushed over me. I used the good shampoo, the one that smelled like honey, Emma was working today and it always made my hair soft and easy to manage. I suppose I thought she might like me if my hair was soft. As I brushed my teeth I studied myself in the mirror. I looked like my dad, like the picture of him and his best friend from their fishing trip 30 years ago that hung in my parents house. I looked just like him, then, but with freckles. Mom always loved my freckles. Maybe I could swing by their house after work, I hadn’t seen them for a while. I got dressed, grabbed an apple and a dog treat from the jar by the door, patted myself down *phone, wallet, keys* and left. It was a beautiful day. Early enough that the sun wasn’t blinding but the sky was a welcoming blue, spotted with clouds. I could hear the seagulls but I couldn’t see them, I thought how this might be a good thing, how I wouldn’t get shat on. Looking back now it would have meant going home to change and missing my bus which maybe would have been a blessing. Funny to think that bird shit might have been a blessing. Isn’t there one of those sayings about it being lucky? Toby was at his fence waiting to greet me as I walked past, as he had been every day since I started my job and as he probably will be every day now that I’m gone. I stopped for a second to pet him and threw the treat into the garden for him to chase after. He’s a good boy, I hope he meets a new friend. The bus was quiet, just about the only perk of working so early on a Saturday, that and seeing Emma. I thought about how the office would be quiet too, we were only going in to get a few reports finished and then maybe Connor would let us leave early. I knew he’d rather spend the day with his girls anyway, the twins started school after summer and he was trying to squeeze in family time while he could. As we passed houses and trees, half listening to the small boy chatting excitedly about what he would play on at the park to his mother, I thought about the family time I might one day have with Emma. Maybe we would have a boy who looked like me but with her blonde hair. Maybe we would have a girl with my freckles. We could get a dog like Toby and a house like my parents’ and grow old together, sitting on a porch swing like one of those cute old couples. Not now though. I walked into work and past Gladys, the sweet elderly lady sitting at the front desk. A few weeks from retirement we had already planned her surprise party, but she most likely already knew. She always was the office gossip, although I don’t think any of us really minded. I was sitting at my desk when I heard the first shot. A sharp, loud boom that left a ringing in my ears. I thought maybe there had been a car crash outside, or Dan had left his fork in his pot noodle in the microwave again, or the roof had fell in, but it was Gladys, still sitting at her desk, mostly. The rest of her had been splattered against the wall behind her. I didn’t know someone could be so *red* on the inside. Then I saw him. He walked around the corner and fired another shot at Clay, who sat in the first cubicle. He hadn’t been here long but was quickly securing his position as “the office partier”, not anymore though. I recognised the shooter, while I was standing up, it was Emma’s ex. The one she cried over while Gladys handed her tissues, the one who keyed her car, the reason I walked her to her car every day, the asshole who gave her a black eye at the Christmas night out because Clay bought her a drink. I barely had time to stand, I didn’t have time to take a breath so I could shout something, I didn’t have time to do anything. He saw me, he shot me, right in the chest. I fell, knocking my chair over and landing right here where I died. I could see the window, and amongst the gunfire and the screams I could see the sky, the same lovely blue, and I could almost hear the seagulls. ---------- I wrote this in response to a writing prompt but the post was removed so I thought I would try posting it here. It’s the first thing I’ve written for a long time, and the formatting sucks because I’m on mobile (sorry!) but I’d really love to hear what people think. I’m a sensitive soul so please don’t be too mean but constructive criticism is happily accepted.