643 words: story of betrayal.
|I'm freefalling, spiraling down a hundred miles an hour toward destruction. Gosh, where's water when you need it? I wonder. But I'm out of luck. Even if water was beneath me, by the time my body reaches it, the surface will be hard as rock and my bones would break upon contact. I can already see my face go smush against the blue waves. If I'm lucky, I won't feel a thing. Maybe I'll pass out from lack of oxygen before I hit the ground.
Jason should have warned me. I told him time and time again, stay away from those creeps. He never listens. They scare him so much. I'm his best friend, at least I thought I was until now. Hard to believe that I could be so naive. I should have listened to his shrink, Tina and stayed away from him. Of course, she never thought he'd be capable of this.
I wonder if anyone would know what happened to me. "Jason, you're going to fry when I'm dead. I'll be sure to haunt you to your grave. Putting me behind those goons." It felt good to shout even though I couldn't hear anything besides the wind. Since when did friends put enemies before friends? I thought about the times I skipped out on dinners with friends for my boss, the times I regifted the presents my friends gave me to people I had to impress. It's not the same thing, I told myself. I wasn't throwing away their lives for my sake.
The microphone in my ear crackled. "I told you to stay away. It's not my fault. You made me do it." Hm. He can still hear me. I let out a magnificent litany of foul phrases any army drill sergeant would have been proud to use on his charges.
"When I'm gone, you'll have no one! I was your best friend. Do you get it? Your only friend!" Through the goggles my killers had been so generous to provide, I can make out the green and brown treetops. Where is he dropping me? The place looks familiar.
Jason, Jason, Jason! How could you do this? I'm not supposed to die. I'm supposed to save you from you. And that's when I realize my mistake. I thought I was helping him by leaving the country.
"Please, I can't stay here and stay clean. Maybe in Costa Rica. I've got enough money. Maybe start a new business, one that caters to tourists, something like skydiving," Jason pleaded.
"Come on, we don't even speak the language there," I argued.
"That's why we'll sell to tourists. Most of them should speak English. Besides, I can't do it by myself. You're the expert on skydiving," he said.
I should have gone to the police with what I knew and let Jason incriminate himself.
I wish I could turn my body around, maybe die on my back but with my arms tied up in duct tape I can't spin my body around. It's cowardly but I really don't want to see a closeup of the ground right before I go into it.
I shut my eyes knowing it will only be a few seconds more, maybe a few minutes at most. But patience isn't my strong suit. Never was. I found myself peeking and dreading peeking. I can make out the roads now. Was there any chance I could read the roadsign before I hit pavement? I shut my eyes and when I reopen them I realize I'm headed for a wide strip of farmland. The coffee plants look so soft, spread wide like a waterbed, gently jiggling in the breeze.
I was past the point of safe landing even if I released a parachute. Fortunately, my prayers were answered and I do pass out before I land headfirst into the coffee field.
New Prompt: Write a poem or story about a friend who is trying to get you to join him in a skydiving experience.