Kiss The Dust

• Jay Bassett, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2010

You could hear her from a street away. It was horrible. The gypsy was wheezing, coughing, as though the devil itself was taking over her. She stumbled along the dark street, banging desperately on the hard, barren doors, hostile eyes peered from behind curtains, shielding them from the horror on their doorstep. Someone showed mercy, and called an ambulance. The gypsy was shaking, trembling, frothing at the mouth. A siren echoed faintly around the streets, getting louder. The woman was blue in the face. She fell to her knees, her eyes betraying her fear. The ambulance rounded the corner as her strength gave way. She fell to the ground as the paramedics surrounded her. They worked on her for only a few minutes, then loaded her in the van, shaking their heads. They drove off, leaving us, the bystanders, to recover from our shocked state.
The place smelt of death. The gypsy’s wheezing still faintly echoes. We shivered, then we heard the tyres screech, and the screaming of the paramedics. We turned, and started running toward it. The streets were like a maze, trapping us, not permitting us to reach the screaming. We turned, corner after corner, faster, trying to escape. We were tiring, sobbing, whimpering for help, knowing there would be no answer. There was a disturbance behind us. Then a chuckle. Slowly, we turned around. I got a glimpse of a face; blue, eyes wild, froth around the mouth, before I crumpled to the ground.