• By: Nathan Jensen


    Walk to Death

    I set down my newest issue of Superman. I couldn’t go a week without reading a couple of his comics. I mean come on, Superman was the real American hero… or was that GI Joe?
    I was sitting at a table in the rain, eating my sub sandwich. The red and yellow lined umbrella fixed on the table, protected me and my comic from the torrents of falling water. I continued to read and felt a tingle in the top of my head. I looked up to see a passing 396.
    After seeing this guy in the low hundreds I immediately shoved my comic into my brown trench coats inside pocket, grabbed my sub sandwich, and pursued. As I crossed the street after him, he stopped and turned; quickly scanning the area, and continued down the next street.
    A rainy day was always the best time to find low number people. The rain itself increased the chance of accidents and suicide. That’s why I loved those gray wet days. I always had a show.
    I frowned as the man doubled his pace. I got down to the butt of my sandwich and flicked it into the gutter, and sped up.
    165. Half the fun was guessing how it would happen. Like right now. What was going to happen to this guy on an empty street in town? Hit by a car? Fall down some stairs? Get stabbed? I was real lucky to have seen one about four months ago.
    I was following this man in a rainstorm on the edge of town. We were climbing this hill on a small road. He was walking fairly fast and had a large umbrella. I jumped when lighting struck about half mile away. I was only about 15 feet away when his numbers reached 1. There was a blinding flash, my ears popped, I felt sick. I looked around, ears ringing, but the man was gone. I ran to where he was, there was melted rubber and black marks all across the pavement. In the bush nearby, the man was crumpled, and smoking, with pieces of charred clothes falling like autumn leaves.
    I shook out of my reminiscence and followed the guy around another street corner.
    89. This guy I was following couldn’t have been much younger than myself. I couldn’t see him very well from this distance, but I did get to see that his blonde hair was neatly combed over to one side.
    32. He suddenly turned into a small alley between two apartment buildings.
    I pulled my trench coat closer to my neck and walked through the front door of the nearest building. It was the average apartment, spots of the wallpaper were peeling and dirt and garbage littered the floor.
    I walked up the stairs, passing a few people, until I got to a window. Thick smudges made my viewing through it heavily impaired, so I flipped the lock, breaking its years of encrusted grime, and lifted the window. I slipped my head out into the rain and looked down into the ally.
    It took me a while to find him. He was deep in the ally crouched by a dumpster. I leaned farther out the window for a better view. The number twenty-three now swirled around the guys ankles in a silver glow. Parts of the number broke away as rain hit it, but were quickly replaced. It seemed to constantly contort and deform, but initially kept the general shape of a twenty-three.
    He was talking to a man with a shaved head and anther person that I couldn’t evaluate from this angle.
    The guy paced around.
    22… 18… 6…
    He stopped and exchanged something with the people and after fiddling with whatever he acquired, put what looked to be a syringe to his arm and pushed down on the plastic, injecting the contents.
    Minutes passed and he stumbled as if the ground was shaking, his hands reaching out. 5… 3… 1… The silvery number one exploded, sending writhing bits of mist into the air, and he slipped and landed lifeless on his back.
    Bits of the sinewy mist floated up towards my head. They sped as they drew closer and flew through the wall of the building and absorbed into my torso. This was always the best part. Whatever it was, it counteracted the natural pity of seeing the death. It was amazing to see how average people die, though. Most of them didn’t know that they were about to be claimed by death. Happy, just moments before. But I always knew it was coming.
    When I was a young boy it was just a feeling. I didn’t see the numbers, I just felt them. Until I witnessed my first death, where I began to picture these numbers in my mind, and even took a second glance where I thought I saw them. I started to follow certain people around, and after witnessing their death, would feel an unexplainable ecstasy enter my body. I almost felt stronger, wiser. I eventually saw the numbers, faint at first, then more distinct. Until I saw the silvery mist, which became almost impossible to ignore.
    I looked back out the window and noticed some other flecks of mist seep into an unsuspecting couple as they walked by the ally. I herd the man blurt, “Holy s**t”, to the surprised look of his companion. What was left just rose into the air and disappeared from sight. By now the bald guy and his companion had high tailed it. And before any police could show up, I did the same.
    * * *
    “I’m home.” I said as I tossed my coat to the floor. I knew no one else was, but saying so seemed like there was someone who cared. I looked at the grandfather clock for the time, and after putting my damp clothes into the laundry, went to the living room for some television. Of course the TV was set to my father’s channel: a constant infomercial, featuring his amazing stock program taught by him, in 7 easy steps.
    I instantly lost my appetite for television and turned it off. I walked down the hallway and up the stairs to the third flood and into my room.
    I had seized the attic when I was15. My father’s money allowed me to completely refurbish it into my ideal room, large bed and bookshelf, and a spacious 1 way window that took up the entire north wall. It almost looked more like an office than a young adult’s bedroom.
    Our house being built on a small hill, plus the high powered binoculars I owned, allowed me to easily view the city through my window. Large buildings blocked some of my view, but I could still see the public park, the bridge across the river, and a large portion of housing.
    I could see peoples number from this distance too. Sometimes, while looking through my window, I found low number people, ran down the stairs, jumped onto my motorcycle, and sped after. But by the time I got there they were usually long gone. The best way I found low numbers was by walking the streets, which I did almost every day, What else would I do? If I can see numbers, why not pursue it? And when I wasn’t doing that, I was reading comics. But I didn’t find death every day; I was lucky to get 2 a month.
    I sat down at my desk and set the digital clock for 5:30 AM. I lifted my legs and kicked against the desk, rolling across the wood floor to my filing cabinets. My fingers flew over the keypad, some internals clicked and the door opened. I pulled open the drawer and found the file for today’s date. I pulled out the paper and with another kick, wheeled back over to the desk.
    I ran my fingers through my short black hair and eyed the paper. By now I could probably fill it out with my eyes closed. Time…place…sex…appearance…cause… Under cause I scribbled, Some relation to drugs. I filled out the rest and filed it away. Keeping record of the day’s exploits were like my attempted tribute to their life.
    I skimmed through the newspaper, Crime rates have double in the last 8 years… New Sharons Bank has been stolen from twice, and another robbery is likely within the week. I tossed the paper in the trash and raided my small refrigerator. While eating PB and J, I finished my superman comic as I fell asleep.
    * * *
    It was no longer raining, but specks of clouds still littered the sky. A small one wafted from my mouth as I exhaled and I stuffed my hands in my pockets. The outside air was chill and crisp, almost fresh after a night of rain. I moved on the winding path, away from my house. The many surrounding trees bore yellowing leaves, which fell unchecked to the ground forming a crunchy autumn carpet.
    I exited our properties gate at the base of the hill and walked down the sidewalk to a small road. This far from the city, the sun just peaking over the mountains gave the only light for me to see by, save a mile away, the dull blur of streetlights.
    As the trees started thinning, more houses appeared. I met the first real street and followed it until I came to a McDonalds where I got breakfast. I sat at a nearby bench and ate as I watched people and cars go by.
    This early, most people were just in cars on their way to work, but as the sun climbed the sky, more were found walking the streets. An old couple passed by. 2,700 was floating at the females ankles. I stretched my legs and threw my leftover Orange Juice into a dumpster. I laid across the metal bench and shut my eyes. In the blackness I could see people’s numbers as they walked by, 20 million…49 million…14 million. Most people had about 50 million steps in their lifetime, and of course as they got older, their numbers went down. But I was looking for those people in the hundreds or low thousands that were not older.
    I had been to a couple of hospitals but the people were just sick or old, absorbing the mist of a person not expecting death was much sweater.
    I heard the hum of a car pull up. I opened one eye to see an old Accord and sat up. I recognized the dented fender and the cow antenna topper. Harold rolled down his window and laughed,
    “Mr. Clides, you looked like bad news with your trench coat and all.”
    I stared at the comic store owner’s hairless scalp. In the silence he lost his grin and shifted in his seat.
    “This Wednesday we should be getting in a new set of the comics you like.” he cleared his throat, “Hope to see you then.”
    With a wave he rolled back up and drove away, and I laid back down.
    I tried to avoid personalizing with people; if I didn’t get to know the person, I could bare the knowledge of their steps easier. Especially after my mother’s death… when I started seeing all these numbers. I had a feeling she was going to die, I was the one that made her go to the doctor in the first place, and after months of tests and medicines she still died, I couldn’t raise her numbers, and I can’t change fate. I’ve seen people try their hardest to save their loved ones, in many situations, but no ones numbers had ever changed.
    Once I understood the concept of the numbers I even tried saving a mans life, I couldn’t cure his depression, I couldn’t stop him from pulling the trigger. I hated that I was so helpless.
    To know the time of someone’s death; if it weren’t for me absorbing the broken numbers, I probably would be in an asylum… or decaying on the bottom of the river. Occasionally I found myself feeling sick after seeing the deaths of children or good people, but aside from the mist, it was amazing to know what no one else did.
    Cars drove by. I heard a bird calling to another in the next tree over. My eyes flung open and I sat up. Across the street, a woman that seemed a little older than myself was holding a child’s hand, waiting to cross the street. The child was in the low 50 millions. But a slivery 924 was hugging the woman’s legs. I watched them cross to my side of the street and pass the corner of the McDonalds and out of sight. I stood up and walked to the corner and looked around it. They continued down the sidewalk, the child occasionally looking up at the lady to say something.
    From a distance I followed them, through the streets, towards my house, until they went right where she left the kid at an elementary school. She waved a goodbye and turned towards me. My heart jumped, I had never been noticed tailing anyone, and I wanted to keep it that way. I turned left and looked both ways down the street; I crossed and sat down on a bench next to a bus stop. As she walked by where I had been standing she looked over at me. I felt her looking me over, my trench coat with the collar popped up, my black pants and shoes. Looking away she continued down the street and around the corner. I waited a couple seconds to give us some distance the, crossed back to the other side and continued after her. I cautiously rounded the corner, keeping a good 50 yards of distance. She looked over her shoulder and my muscles tensed. Upon seeing me, she increased her speed. I ran across the street and into a deli where I looked out between the giant letters painted on the window. She looked back again, and slowed back down.
    I had been following her for almost a half an hour now. As I caught up I would nonchalantly enter a store and watch, then pursue again. Her number was now at 89 and with every step decreased.
    We neared a somewhat empty street. Her number was 4 when she stepped into the gutter to cross. Another step, 3. My hands were sweaty and body ached of anticipation.
    Farther down the street, a black Sedan pulled out from New Sharons Bank and screeched down the street.
    She took another step and glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes widened and she twisted towards me, the mist still undulating at two. I just froze and stared, like a deer into headlights.
    She held her arms out like a plane, one to the street, and the other towards me, and yelled out, “Can I help you with something?”
    As she finished with the word something, the racing Sedan, clipped one of the ladies outstretched arms with a loud crack. Her arm ripped back as she flung to the ground. I looked over at the car speeding off, and back to the woman. Normally I would be happily taking in the moment, and move on. But the number two still hung at her feet. I walked closer, to the edge of the road.
    “Two steps” I whispered. Why wasn’t she dead yet?
    I gazed upon her body, her waist twisted and her arm broken in a backwards 40 degree angle. Her leg twitched. Someone on the other side of the street was frantically talking on their cell phone, looking at the scene.
    Suddenly the number two shrank, followed by a flash of light. I recoiled and held my arms up to my face.
    11 million. The numbers at her feet were now 11 million. She screamed out in pain, suddenly conscious, as an ambulance rounded the corner and stopped at her side.
    I plopped down onto the gutter, fixed on her changed number. Had I changed her number? No, it wasn’t possible, my mother was proof.
    I racked my brain for answers.
    But mother was sick, maybe this….
    As my mind exploded with thoughts and possibilities, a paramedic walked up to me. He asked if I was alright but all I heard were the words buzzing in my head, I can change their fate.
    I let the men help me into the back of another ambulance. Instead of reveling in people’s death, I could somehow save them. Those doomed, low number people that no one else could save.
    Sitting in the ambulance, between two paramedics, my fingers fumbled to pull the comic from my trenches’ pocket. I drew in the cover of Superman, and smiled. Reality was now my comic book.