Journey to Death

First Chapter of Journey to Death ...... Publication date TBC

 

The scream rose from her throat like a tidal wave crescendo, beginning with the smallest screech to the heart wrenching, death tugging sound that couldn’t be ignored. Yet.  People walked by, tutting as they went, complaining of the noise, thinking they were simply teenagers messing around. It wasn’t until the all-encompassing silence and the bitter red blood spilled onto the pavement, that someone took heed. But then it was too late, her final breath had exhaled from her body, her limbs now unfunctioning.  The blood matted chestnut hair in contrast to the tinged pallor of her neck, her eyes blank staring into the distance, an emptiness of black unyielding pools of darkness, her body still warm but unfeeling.

Running feet pounded on the street as the people who had walked on by, now stood gawking, at the macabre scene in front of them, guilt and disbelief on their stone faces. Still no one moved closer, each scared, frightened what if she was playing a game.

A thin tall guy, his hair streak with grey, knelt down and touched her hand, feeling for a pulse, a sign of life, nothing. He yelled someone call an ambulance, but he knew they couldn’t help. Taking off his beige overcoat, he gently laid it over her lifeless body, talking softly to her, reassuring her that all was alright, everything would be ok. Mainly for himself, but also for the crowd, so that they thought she was still alive. Murmured voices, what, why, how, question that seconds before no one cared to ask, now they all wanted to be part of the horrific scene being portrayed before them, a highly developed sense of tragedy, the adrenalin pumping through their veins as they realised that this was real.  Unlike like a play on the stage or the cinema screen. Their fifteen minutes of fame.

Sirens wailed, blue flashing lights approached through the darkness, shouting, pieced the walls of the swallowing buildings, who is she, can you hear me, what happened. No one answered because no one knew. It was just another night of violence, another murder, another life extinguished.  It happened all the time on the streets of Bridgington, tonight was no different.

Tomorrow, all that would be left is the stain of dried blood on the dirty concrete, a single bunch of flowers wrapped in cellophane that someone had brought from the supermarket, and whispers in the club about some poor girl who had be stabbed or shot, or maybe a drug over dose, so much speculation, no truths no lies.

The newspaper would cover the story for a few days, people would be asked how they felt, why didn’t they intervene, so many questions all predicable answers, then it would be yesterday’s news, yesterday’s tragedy, yesterday’s life.

But her life wasn’t yesterday’s news; she was loved by someone, once.  Someone, somewhere was heartbroken, someone knew her story.  But at this moment in time, no one even knew her name.  For now she was just another Jane Doe.