Jamie's Story (standard:drama, 1780 words)
Author: The man in the lead codpiece	Added: Sep 25 2000	Views/Reads: 3871/2083	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
It was an ordinary day for a young, promising girl when the store where she works is robbed. She ends up paying the ultimate price when a gunman mistakingly shoots her putting her into a coma. This is a story of what goes through her mind the split se

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

his "granny" to come along and get out of there. She followed him out 
the door. As Jamie breathed a sigh of relief and turned to check on her 
boss, the male robber turned around. A twisted grin spread over his 
dirty, greasy features. "And just to leave our mark, I'm gonna finish 
you off, sort of a calling card, ya know? If you're a religious man, 
pray now," he told kindly old Mr. Donaldson, taking careful aim. "Oh my 
God!" Jamie heard her own words before she realized she had uttered 
them. She couldn't let this happen. Not after all that her boss had 
done for her. She knew what she had to do, and there was only a 
split-second to do it. She coiled and sprang into the air, leaping in 
front of her mentor just as the pistol fired. The bullet seemed to take 
minutes to reach Jamie. She watched its slow-motion spiral and thought 
about hers family and all of her friends. These were her final moments 
on Earth. What would happen to her? Where would she go? Who would she 
see there? What would she learn? She closed her eyes.  Death.  It was 
so final, something out of a paperback romance novel she liked to read. 
Something out of a movie.  It was something that happened to George, 
Marsha, people on the news, anyone else but not her. Never her. The 
bullet penetrated her flesh, searing the soft tissue and bone as it 
entered her.  It hurt at first, but then it didn't seem to hurt so 
much. This wasn't happening.  She always thought that life would go on 
forever. Sure someday everyone dies, but they live their life and they 
get old first.  The only ones who die before their time were strangers, 
and sometimes people in her family.  When that happened it was a 
tragedy, but still it was someone else.  I should have called in sick, 
she thought.  Then the bullet exited the other side. Her body did a 
little quarter turn in the air as she flew in her sickening, slow,  
path between the robber and her boss.  Her friend.  All my friends are 
gone now.  I can't see them anymore.  Zak is gone.  I wish he were 
here, he would fix all of this.  He would make it all go away, and then 
I could tell him I love him.  I do love him, and I don't know why I 
haven't told him. Her body fell slowly to the floor.  Is this what it 
fells like?  Will Nicholas Cage come and ask me what my favorite thing 
was now?  I don't see any angels.  Maybe I'm not going to heaven.  
Maybe there isn't one.  Maybe I wasn't good enough to get in.  I should 
have been better.  Am I dead yet? She was still thinking of death as 
the assailant and his accomplice left, and Mr. Donaldson screamed for 
someone to call an ambulance. At that moment, darkness claimed Jamie 
Parker, big sister to two, support system for friends and family, and 
one of the most gifted minds ever to attend her school. Later that 
night, Mr. Dale Donaldson sat on a torn, imitation-leather seat next to 
a hospital bed containing Jamie's comatose body.  The doctors didn't 
know when, or if, she would come out of it. They repaired her as best 
they could, saying, "Now it is up to fate." "Yeah, sure, right," 
Donaldson muttered to the walls, since they were the only thing that 
could hear him.  "It's this damn city," he told himself. "Too many gun 
maniacs. Scum.  Low-lifes. Killing young kids instead of old men like 
me. "Why!!!" he shouted out. "Why?"  tears spouted from his eyes, and 
dotted his cheeks. He looked toward the young woman who had saved his 
life. "Aw, kid. Why did you do that? Why, huh? I should be there in 
that bed instead of you." He asked the question of the young woman who 
might, or might not, be able to hear him. "Why?" His voice was soft 
now. He wiped tears from his face with the back of a trembling hand 
which seemed to have aged by fifteen years and reached into his pocket 
for his old pack of camels. He had quit the habit long ago but still 
kept a pack with him as a reminder. The cigarettes were dry, but he put 
one into his mouth and lit it anyway. He took one breath of the smoke, 
and his nerves instantly calmed. Well, calmed as well as could be 
expected for the situation he was in. He drew in another breath and 
thought about himself. This morning his mind was on store profit. Now, 
that was of no significance.  He was one tired man whose life was saved 
by a young girl now in a coma. So small and tiny that had anyone seen 
the girl, they more than likely would have broken out into tears right 
then and there.No one was there watching. He was alone with his pain. 
All that was left to do was hope. And pray.


Tweet