That Night...

• Heath Lines, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2014

It was dark, and cold he realised. It had been so long since he had been able to feel anything other then the pain of others. Once again it seemed the world was falling in around him and he stumbled blindly against the dirty streetlamp that was the only halo of light that remained along the dark, cold street. It had happened a few times now. Nothing major just the occasional swirl that sent hi into fits of nausea. He slowly slid down the lamppost until he sat on the rubbish littered ground. A piece of glass was digging into his thigh to the point of pain but he didn't care. all that was important just then was getting to the kill. Getting there before it happened. He had the gift, or the curse, depending on who you talked to. He could feel the pain of those around him bot present and future. Tonight was the night that he was going to finally put that gift to proper work. To work for good. A little girl was going to get stabbed three times tonight. Once in her throat and twice in her chest. He didn't now for what or who would do it but he could still feel the pain. The curse of his gift was that he had already, since it had begun, died fourteen times. Not literally but he had felt what it was to die. Hopefully he would be able to stop that feeling again tonight. He slowly got up and ignored the sudden pain in his forehead as he begun the walk to the end of the road. It was the last house on the right, his destination. He couldn't tell when it would happen but he new it would be soon. the pain always mounts the highest towards the actual event. Right now it was painful to the pint of excruciating pain but previously it had become much worse then that before it finally stopped. He heard a scream from down the street and quickened his pace. It definitely had to be the girl. There was no other pain around. He begun his fast loping strides that he would get him to the house faster. He had a slight limp due to the first time it had happened.
He was a medic in the army and a man, no, a boy, little more then eighteen, had come in with only one leg. One look at him and there was no help coming his way. He was as good as gone. That was when it had begun. Soon after that he had taken a bullet to the leg attempting to save another man and gotten a semi-honourable discharge. Since then he had been a wreck and only now was he getting his act together. So the limp was a psychological thing more than anything else.
He was outside the house now. A large house with boarded up windows. He broke down the front door with a single kick as the single high-pitched scream came again. in his haste he tripped over a fallen chandelier and gashed his leg. He fumbled his way, more than half blind with such little light till he reached the highest floor. He couldn't see a thing beyond his nose and had no way of finding her. He kicked open the nearest door, nothing. A little way down the hall he found her. Tied to a bed and with a slit throat. Already he could feel the life slipping out of her. He had failed again.
The End