Word Count: 918
I don’t know when I first knew that a knife to the gut would be the end of me, maybe I always knew. It calmed me in a way. I used to imagine dying as a way to drift off to sleep, the knife going deep, the gasp of breath, the adrenaline spike, then the slow fall into unconsciousness. I guess my imagination skipped the pain part. And oh, god, is there pain.
I’m curled around the torment, moaning, shifting on the ground, trying to find any position to lessen the agony. But of course, it’s no use, I can’t get away from it; it’s in me, I am it. I want to pull the knife out. I can feel it digging in deep with every shallow inhale. I’m trying to be as motionless as possible, but I can’t help breathing.
I remember those arguments Johnny and I used to have about Hollywood physics. I was on the side of suspending disbelief and enjoying the movie for what it was. He was on the side of immersion breaking down with all the stupid, unrealistic shit the writers came up with. Johnny couldn’t help but comment. A bullet in a car door causing a flaming fireball? “Cars don’t just spontaneously explode like that”. A leap between buildings separated by two lanes of traffic? “Can they fly? They must be able to fly to make that jump”. The hero casually pulling a blade from their torso and continuing on their merry way? “Oh, so they’re dead now. That knife was the only thing keeping them from bleeding out.”
It’s strange the things that come to you as you’re writhing on the ground, blood leaking around your fingers as you try not to cut yourself even further on the blade. I hate being in wet clothes. I usually avoid the rain at all costs. I’m leaking, and my clothes greedily suck it in, sopping and clinging. The blood chills as it leaves me. I’m wet and cold.
I really want to pull the knife out, but Johnny, the fucker, was probably right; he always was. If I pull the knife out, I’m dead. I’m probably already dead, but survival instinct is a powerful thing. If there’s any chance I could make it out of this, I’m taking it. Speaking of, I should probably try to increase my chances.
My hand shakes as I fumble my phone out of my pocket. Huh, Face ID still works even though I’m contorted in pain. The touchscreen doesn’t even mind the blood smears I’m leaving on its surface. I wonder how they tested for that?
“Sh-sh-shit,” I stutter through chattering teeth, as I accidentally dial too many nines. Three, I just need three nines. 999. Does 911 work here? They must make it work everywhere; they’d be stupid not to. In an emergency, people default to the familiar, and America is everywhere these days.
“999, which emergency service do you require?”
I swallow thickly. I could do with some water. “Am…” I try again. “Ambulance.”
“Transferring you. Please hold the line.” Almost immediately, another voice takes the call. “Ambulance service. What’s the nature of the emergency?”
The person sounds like they’re far away. I press the phone closer to my ear.
“St-stabbing,” I gasp.
“Ok, is the patient breathing?”
Right. I breathe in. “Me.”
“Say again?”
“Me. I’m the patient.”
Silence for a beat. “Ok, you’re doing great. Stay with me on the line. Where are you?”
Things are getting a little fuzzy. “On the ground.”
“That’s fine. What’s your address? Where are you located?” Oh, of course, she meant location. D’uh. Focus.
“The harbour.”
“Great, you’re doing great. And what town or city?”
“Naas.”
“That’s good. I have you now. An ambulance is en route. Should be with you in about ten minutes. Is there anyone there with you?”
“No.” My breath is shallow and shaky. “Alone.”
“Ok, that’s ok. I’m going to stay on the line with you. What’s your name?”
“G-G-Gary.” I was never a stutterer. That’s all I can seem to do lately.
“Ok, Gary, my name is Bernie. We’re going to get you through this. You’re going to be fine, ok? Tell me where you were stabbed.” As an afterthought, she added, “Where on your body?”
“Stomach.”
“And where is the weapon?”
“Inside.”
“Ok, great. Gary, I need you not to touch the weapon. You might be tempted to pull it out, but it’s really important that you don’t. Can you do that for me?”
I nod to the empty street. “Y-yeah.” Johnny was right. “Tired. I’m t-tired.”
“Ambulance ETA is 5 minutes. I need you to stay awake for me, ok, Gary? I know you’re tired, but you have to stay conscious. You’re doing great, just a little bit longer. What exactly happened? How did you get stabbed?”
“I was…” The pain shudders through me, and I hiss. The adrenaline must be fading. I’m cold. Colder than I should be on such a balmy night. I try again. “I was walking. Then… a stranger b-bumped me… didn’t know… I… I was stabbed. Thought they… j-j-just hit me. But then… fell. And b-blood. Cold. I’m c-c-cold.”
“Gary, you’re going into shock. Just stay with me. The ambulance is almost there. Try to keep your breathing calm. You’re doing great, Gary, you’re going to be fine. You’ll be fine….”
Her voice fades away as the street flickers blue.
Header image created with AI assistance.
