How People Die

Yesterday I found out how people die. At least I thought I did. But not like from cancer or a car crash or whatever, but how they are, like, chosen to die. The guy that always hangs out on the corner told me. You know him? I think his name’s Rosskar. Probably his last name I guess. Anyhow, he even told me where I could see it for myself.

So like there’s this warehouse near the recycling plant. And every night at the same time a woman walks into a room, picks up a photo and someone dies. I know, I know – this sounds crazy. Sorry, wait a sec, let me back up.

Ok, so there’s this warehouse, right? And on the floor of the warehouse are photos of everyone on this planet. Or maybe it’s everyone in America? Or just Chapel Hill? Shit, I don’t remember exactly what the guy said. But whatever, there’s this big ass warehouse and the floor’s covered with tons of photos of people. A few times a night, he didn’t say what times, the room glows blue and an old woman walks into the room like a ghost, you know, and randomly picks up one of the photos. Then she rips it in half and drops it on the floor. That’s when the person totally dies. I don’t know if they, like, die immediately or what, but they totally die. And trust me, I saw the whole thing with my own eyes.

Rosskar even told me where the warehouse was so I went there last night. I was totally there, like right there in the room. I stood the corners just waiting. I was completely freaking out. Then suddenly everything lit up and the creepy woman came in. She looked like she was floating. She bent down and grabbed a photo, tore it in half then turned right around and went back through the door. I assume the person’s dead now. Which sucks. But I guess it wasn’t anybody I know. I haven’t heard anything. And my phone’s always on.

So the next time I saw Rosskar told him I went to the warehouse and he said he was just kidding about all that stuff. Said he made it all up. I told him no way, I saw it happen you know, the blue light and all, the old woman and all. But he just laughed and told me to shut up. Can you believe it? He said he made it up because he likes to make shit up. I told him that’s messed up and asked him what happens when the lady rips up the photo. Does someone actually die? He looked at me like I was an idiot and was like, seriously, I was totally fucking with you.


“New York Torn Beauty” by Louise Haggberg

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