Throwback Thursday: ‘The Death of Me’ by KL Mabbs

Standing on her front porch, her eyes crinkle up in that way I love, the laugh lines flowing up from her cheeks, the shadows, as the moon rises overhead, lacing her cheeks. I haven’t told her. I won’t. But she’ll know why when I don’t show up for dinner two nights from now. I made reservations. You see, it’s our anniversary. I wouldn’t miss it for any reason, and she knows that.
I know how I’m going to die. It won’t be pretty and it won’t be easy. It’s two days from now and it’s no way near time for me to go.  

The day it starts, I’m walking to work down Granville Street. There’s talk of opening it up to traffic but that idea sucks. I like it like this, closed off and intimate. The day is sunny, a complete opposite to what the weatherman has ordained. That’s why I’m strolling. The air is calm and heady with decay from the trees lining the boulevard, and the hot asphalt of the road. The red and gold stains of autumn litter the curb, the slight aroma of rotting plants hover on the air. I’m on my way to Main and Hastings and the Detective Division.  

A street magician is ahead of me, already set up for the day’s work. A small table is beside him for his props. He’s charming in that hypnotic way of Copperfield and Mandrake. I get a wash of feeling from him that’s odd, as if he’s there, and then not there. Familiar and strange.