IF: Life and Death

Chapter 1: Death as Sharp as Knives

DEATH AS SHARP AS KNIVES

Dark clouds loom over the silent earth, stirring heavily as it indicates that a storm will hit the place any moment now. Few cars pass forward and counter but the sound of the mourning of the wind is much more evident than their honking horns. Taft Avenue is like a different place; it is as if it has never been too crowded; it is as if it wants what is actually happening that moment.

The sky draws a sharp light of swift light across the be-darkened vast sky as the first thrust of knife penetrates Leo's nape. It causes him a sudden jolt, sending piercing pain that has him lose most of his balance. The knife isn't pulled as fast as it is buried in his skin, but when the mugger does, it seems as if everything resumes in slow motion.

And it does.

He tastes blood as he coughs for a couple of times and as he keeps his clutch and battles still against the culprit that's trying to get his bag away from him, he feels the knife inflicts a second wound on his nape yet again, just below the first one. His knees instantly become weaker and he feels like passing out but he doesn't.

He may want to change himself but his never giving up demeanor is the one he doesn't want to hide away. After all, those are just two random scumbags who have pulled him down that alley; those are just two wounds behind his neck. But albeit inside that bag is less worthy than the wallet inside his pockets, though it only contains pieces of notebooks full of scribbles, that bag is from her mother.

He's on the brink of death and maybe that explains why he thinks of the things he values the most. Series of images flash before his eyes, in a wisp, as swift as the drawing light in the sky, or maybe a little bit faster.

Leo goes down memory lane, back when he was the happiest. As tears continue to put his vision to a haze, his mind rewinds as if he’s staring at the pool of the past. Looking at the still water, he sees his younger self, riding a bike and tailing his little brother. It was in the middle of the summer and the sun was blazing against their skins but the smile on their faces showed that it didn’t bother them at all.  Fun. It was pretty much what they had in that motion picture he’s looking at. It’s nothing much but it’s always going to be there. He can see his reflection almost smiling at the thought but pain makes him jolt back to where he currently is at that moment.

He tightens his grip and groans but he feels more pain shooting inside him as he tries to move just a little bit harsh. "Just give it up, you son of a wench!" the culprit says, not wanting to give in in the tug of war that's been going.

"You think you're strong, huh?" the criminal says through gritting teeth before he launches three consecutive strikes that tear through a spot in Leo's back. "You tryna fight back, huh? Well damn you!" The words come out with drool spitting out but as Leo falls on his knees and almost passes out, he still can't keep from smirking in disgust.

The men tower over him in that position but he still wins in keeping the bag on his level. And that's when laughter is heard, followed by the menacing sound of thunder. The scene has almost felt surreal—the victim's all smug while the bad guys are the ones clueless and terrified.

The two men look at each other in inquisition. As Leo continues to laugh despite his hopeless state, they both are turning hesitant whether to just finish him off or not. They think he has already lost his sanity.

"Demon!" The one that's been trying to get the back from him steps back, hands trembling and eyes widened in horror. The other guy almost agreed if it isn't because of the fear-me-guy-facade he's hardly putting on.

But what they don't know is that Leo's laughing just so he can hide his tears away. That every time he forces himself to crack out a laugh in hopes of making those guys believe he's lost it, he's gradually draining out of life.

Because it hurts.

Five stabs hurt and the blood flowing down his skin just adds more horror to what he is already feeling inside.

"Just get the bag and let's go!" The criminal orders, fretted by the flickering light coming from what he assumed is a parked car.

Leo, seeing that the two goons seem to be out of focus, then takes that opportunity to scream for aid. "Help! Help me! Help!"

It gets them totally bewildered that they resort to keeping Leo quiet by stabbing him multiple times to wherever spot they can hit. They are both in panic, terrified of being caught. But Leo doesn't stop. Even if he can feel his own blood splattering everywhere on his skin and on the murky pavement; even if he can hear the sound of his breaking flesh and the ragged breathing of the criminal that seems to be engrossed in what he's doing—it's as if Leo is just some random livestock in the butchery.

He keeps on crying for help even though he's lost count on how many times the knife tastes his flesh. His vision becomes blurred and so are his senses. He's starting to become numb and what remains palpable are the smell of his own blood and the hot tears tracing the corners of his face. His mind starts rewinding once more.

There’s a ripple on the pool and it changes the memory from summer to a cold Halloween night. Just like trees being planted a long time ago, they were just a bunch of kids that frolicked about the streets of their hometown, “trick or treating” door-to-door, giggling at candies they looted before hurtling back to their homes.  Their youth was about smiles, he realized. It was like smiling too much through a day, sleeping it off, and then waking up the next morning so they could do it again. 

Life was fun and if he’d be given a chance to continue living it, he’d do everything just so he could.

Leo finally drops to his chest, sniffing the smell of the earth touched by drizzles of rain. The scumbags scurry away—he can tell as he hears running footsteps fading low.

He coughs and he sees his own blood spitting from his mouth and he feels like just closing his eyes and pretending everything is okay. His whole body is already numb because of those eighteen stab wounds. That number is something he is not aware of—but he should not give up. He is yet to step on the starting line as that person his parents would be proud of, so that night is definitely not his finish line.

With a teary vision and a weakened state, he forces himself to stand up—hoping that the wall of mold colonies will be enough to provide him balance. He cannot depend on his feet as every time he takes a step forward it will just wobble and it is as if he is knocking himself back down.

"Help." It comes out as a whimper but he still repeats it over and over again, hoping anyone in that once busy place can hear him.

The sky became more violent when he finally made his way outside the alley and to the sidewalk. The sound of cars passing on the opposite side of the avenue fills his ears and almost drives him out of focus but he tries hard to look for any random vehicle that he can call out for help.

But no one is there. The world seems to be in a hopeless apocalypse and everyone has fled except for him. He averts his gaze to the entrance of his school not too far away in hopes to see Ronald and his white towel on his shoulder, but then he realizes that eleven at night is already too late.

He suddenly recalls how stubborn he was as a child growing up. He’s not the type to want to make his mother cry, but he did; a lot of times. If there’s something he truly regrets, that is putting tears to his mother’s eyes. He talked back, he broke rules, he lied, and all the other things a mother wouldn’t want her child to do. Leo knows he’s never a good son but he’s hoping he can still be.

Maybe it's too late for him.

He's on the brink of losing hope when a light catches his gaze—a car approaching. The faith inside him rises to the brim as he forces to lift his limped arm up. He cannot speak anymore; froth from the mixture of blood and drool will just come out from his mouth every time he will try to do so.

He takes a step off the curb but every move seems to get a little harder as every second goes. "P-please...help." He's not able to utter those words but he's screaming it in his thoughts. As the car reaches the spot in front of him, everything then again becomes slower. He can even clearly see the driver behind those windows.

The driver spends a glance at him. He did—a nervous glance before he looked away as swift as the world moved normal again; as swift as the car drove further to avoid Leo's pleading eyes.

"Why?" he asks himself but he can't think of a single reason for that man not to help him.

He's thought for a second that there's no way he can be saved, that it's the end of the road for him. But when two cars just drove past him, followed by three and four and few, he realized something.

He finally gives it up and falls to his chest, face slamming against the concrete as his body hits it with a harsh thud.

It's not the end of the road for him.

It's the end of the road for humanity.

His gaze travels as distant as it can get from his losing consciousness as he continues to cough blood. The lower half of his body—his legs—are moving on their own, but he can't feel it. All he knows is that his eyes are too heavy to stay open but his lids won't shut down, in fact, he can't feel even their fluttering.

His blood-soaked mouth hangs open, forming the slightest shape of O. He tries to breathe but merely trying has him coughing more blood. Then he starts to grasp for air.

He's drowning even if he thinks he shouldn't be. He flips his body and ends up lying sprawled, eyes turning to the concrete-covered view of the sky. No trains are passing overhead and it's starting to get a little bit quiet. The avenue is always busy but the odds aren't in his favor that time so it reveals the aesthetics of the concrete jungle.

"The irony," he thinks as tears stream down his face, one drop after another. Slowly, his vision starts to blur, gradually fading into black, second after every second, until he succumbs to darkness. If he’ll be asked for a reason why he doesn’t deserve to die yet that night, he’ll probably say it’s because he still has a lot of things he regrets.

But life doesn’t just give out chances. Some get one, others may get none. All these “Ifs” Leo thinks of before he loses his consciousness are chances he can no longer take. 

Eventually, blue and red lights and the whispers of people he hasn't seen when he's still conscious will crowd around his lifeless body. The world will finally notice him but not just yet; only when he's bathing in his own blood; only when his eyes remain wide awake; only when his mouth utter silence; and only when he can't stare back at it. He will lie there, ignored for quite some time.  

Only when someone is gone will people find their worth.

***

The blood splattered across the wall of the alleyway is still fresh yet the stench is already too strong to lure a presence. Pants were heard earlier but now that no one’s there except for a body of a college student clutching his bag to his chest, the silence becomes eerie.

Except for a few cars occasionally driving by, the place is dead, fitting for what’s in it that time. Lights from lamp posts standing a few meters apart start to flicker. The wind gushes and from nothingness, a shadow seemingly dissolving both into the light and the darkness of the night appears near the body on the ground. Footfall breaks the silence and just a few steps after, the sound stops once it reaches the scene. The wind makes a sound from time to time but if anyone is around at that moment, they’d know what’s heard is not the wind after all.

Something looms over the still body. It looks like a figure merged with its own shadow that it is barely recognizable, but one thing is for certain—it’s panting—and it doesn’t appear to be tired. The pauses in between breaths tell the figure is hungry—no—it’s starving. It’s madly craving for something he’s always had but couldn’t get enough of.

The wind blows once again but this time it is accompanied by a piercing sound; like the menacing sound of a gunshot in a vacuum. Something emerges from the figure that probably is its head. The light touches it and it does reveal a head thrice bigger than a normal person. The shrieking continues and the figure opens its mouth, exposing yellow teeth and broken fangs, drooling over the body beneath it like a predator of the wild to its prey; ready to devour its meal.

The figure stops from screaming and speaks without moving its mouth hanging wide open. “Your soul is no longer yours.” It laughs for a brief moment then it starts screaming again. It bares its fangs and buries its teeth to the body’s stomach. The sound of flesh being torn apart mixes with the creature’s heavy breaths but the wounds never bleed. It continues to cry but it does not do anything aside from locking its jaws onto the body, as if waiting for something. 

Those were a few moments of waiting until a light broke through the body’s chest and the figure loosened its grip before it took a step back. Blue light emanates from the open wounds, tearing through the skin like a tyrant begging to break free for so long. A force gets the body afloat and the warring light shifts it to different directions, like it’s trying to find a way to completely get out of the body. The creature patiently waits. It’s still panting desperately but it just stands there, waiting, knowing what happens next is going to be in its favor. The body arcs its back and takes a final jolt before it falls back to the ground. The light finally breaks free and a blue orb stays afloat beside the still body until it eventually takes a form. A normal person will definitely be bewildered if they see two identical bodies unconsciously lying next to each other, but for the creature, that’s exactly what it needs.

Arms come out of the creature’s body. It screams in excitement as it extends its thrawn hands forward, prepared to take a meal. It takes the body by the hair, lifting it to head level, savoring how it looks, jaw widely opened. It bares its fangs again but unlike earlier, it appears it’s ready to tear flesh from the bones and that this time for sure, there will be blood.

Footsteps striding to where the creature is standing make it lose its focus. Its head jerks left to right and even turns around in 180, expecting to see whom those footsteps are coming from. It carefully placed the body back on the pavement as if reserving a delicate meal for consuming later. Its stance changes, ready for hunting. Four extra arms come out of its body, skin peeling off the flesh, each one worse than the other. No one approached from the dark and the footsteps disappeared. In those few seconds the silence was absolute; the creature didn't even breathe, expecting something to break out. Its stance relaxes but it turns to face its meal again, the sound of chains thrown forward takes it by surprise. Before it can even react, the shackles wrap around its neck leaving the creature in disarray. Its hands desperately hold onto the restraints while it screams in protest. It’s starting to lose its balance when a pair of hands grabs it by one of its arms and tosses it away, tumbling to the concrete.

Back on its balance, the creature growls at the sneering figure in front. Black trench coats with metal accents donned over its small figure and bondages wrap all around its body.

“Well look what we have here.” The tone is so taunting it surely gets the creature hissing in disgust. A razor-rimmed hat rims over the figure’s face but the long hair swaying with the wind and its voice when it speaks reveal the figure is a woman.  “I knew it was you because this place now reeks of Rippers’ filth. I won’t let you get away this time.” The chain clatters to the ground, its sound seemingly reverberating in the open space.

“Your arrogance will soon get the best of you, Angela,” the Ripper hisses. “Soon your smug smile will turn into a frown when you watch all Reapers fall.” The Ripper lets out another scream. Sparks crackle before they fully ignite beneath its feet and black flames soon engulf it, forming a sphere around its body. Angela prepares for offense, hurling her chains overhead in circles. She dashes towards the foe but stops almost immediately when the sound in the air intensifies. It no longer only belongs to the Ripper in front rather it seems to be coming from all directions.  The wind is suddenly in an uproar, whirling small debris from everywhere. She is outnumbered but that doesn’t seem to bother her.

Angela entwines her chains into a coil and clasps it in her belt behind the coat. She takes a deep breath and whispers something to the wind, “Mortem.” And just like that, it is as if time stops. The air no longer breathes heavily and the debris being tossed frantically remains afloat for a moment before they fall back to the ground. Then nothing moves except for Angela and the other Reapers that appear behind her one after another. Angela breathes out and time starts wheeling again. The screaming stops and when the Ripper realizes the tables have turned, it lets out one final growl before retreating into the dark.