Life on a knife-edge

His gaunt face illuminated under his hood as he drew in hard on the last of his spliff. He nonchalantly flicked away the butt, narrowly missing a homeless guy bundled up in his sleeping bag home against the railings. He always kept one hand in his pocket these days, turning the knife over and over in his palm. A modern-day comfort blanket. As he stepped from the curb, Jackson, was oblivious.

He was oblivious to the twelve tonnes of red double-decker bus that was about to take his life. It would strike him on his right side. Oblivious to the fact that his skull would be shattered by the impact. His right shoulder would be violently dislocated, forcing bones to splinter. A split second after the collision, shards of bone would simultaneously puncture both his lungs and pierce his heart, before tearing through what was left of his ribcage then bursting through the flesh on his left side. He would spin away from the front of the bus, both feet leaving the floor, spraying blood at the girl standing just behind him who screamed at him to stop when she realized he was going to step out. She would endure years of therapy but that image would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. One of his trainers will be ripped off and end up twenty meters from the scene, leaving future passers by wondering how on earth it could be possible for someone to just lose one shoe. He would be technically dead before his forehead hit the pavement, although the paramedics, who will arrive within ten minutes of the accident will attempt to resuscitate him, it will be more for the benefit of the crowd of onlookers than for Jackson himself, who won’t even have made his sixteenth birthday.

Jackson was oblivious.

He was oblivious to the fact that everything around him, time itself, had stopped. Frozen. No movement, no sound. He scrolled through the tunes in his phone holding his thumb below the crack in the screen so he could find the one he was looking for. He was oblivious to the fact that he had also stopped moving, one foot on the pavement, one foot off. The only thing moving was his thumb on the screen. He selected the track and looked up. Lowering his hood, then his headphones in slow motion, his jaw hung open trying to make sense of the undecided world around him. All possibilities were still possible. On the other side of the road stood two men, one dressed in a black suit the other in a white suit. The man in the white suit was waving frantically at him. Jackson slowly raised his hand and began waving back. The man melodramatically looked up and down the motionless road before crossing. He skipped his way between the cars, sliding across the bonnet of a very expensive black BMW before landing right in front of Jackson, who was still precariously balanced, both on and off the curb. The man in the black suit crossed the road without looking. Walking over anything in his way. Jumping from one car roof to the next. As the men approached, Jackson, realised they looked identical. Not like identical twins, who always looked slightly different up close, but identical. Apart from the man in the white suit had a small tattoo on his neck. A white crescent shape with a small black dot in it. The guy in the black suit had one as well, but his was a black crescent with a small white dot in it.

The men jostled to get in front of Jackson. The guy in the white suit spoke first.

"Hey, Jackson! Darling!. . How are ya? I need to explain something to you real quick. Understand?”

Jackson nodded, mouth still wide open. The guy in the black suit said nothing, just eyed Jackson up and down menacingly.

“We’re here to help you make a decision, but you have to be quick. In-fact, you only have ten seconds to choose. Still with me darling?

Jackson said nothing just carried on nodding. Mouth open. The man in the white suit pulled a small bottle from his pocket. Unscrewing the lid, he held it briefly under Jackson’s nose. Jackson coughed. Reality grabbing hold of him he realized he couldn’t move.

“What’s happening? Who are you? Are you going to kill me? I have no money . . . you can take my phone but, well the screens broke so it’s worth nothin’. Wait, are you part of the east-point crew? I swear my boys will hurt you if they find out. Are you from the school? I only bunked off one day, just one day man, honest. I-”

“Sssshhh darling, Ssshhh." The man in the white suit placed his finger over Jackson's mouth. "Quiet, please. We don't have long. Now I need your full attention. Do you think you can give me that please? I'm not going to hurt you." He shot a look at the other guy. "But he might if you don't listen. Understand?"

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Life, and this ghastly monster next to me is death. He doesn’t say much, which is fine by me as I love to talk. You can see how the relationship works. Sort of a good cop bad cop thing. Are you with me so far?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. If you look to your right you’ll see that in a split second from now you will be hit, and more to the point, killed, by this huge red bus that you neglected to notice.” The man in the white suit paused as Jackson turned to look at the bus just centimetres away from his face. He gulped.

“Quite. Now the reason we only have ten seconds to sort this out is because we have stopped time on this planet. Completely. As you can imagine Jackson, this is a big deal, and not something we can do for everyone who neglects to pay attention. But, dear boy, the universe has chosen you as someone who deserves a second chance. Maybe it has bigger and better plans for you, who knows, not our department. But the rules are that you still have to make that choice yourself. Understand?”

Jackson just stared at them both. The man in the white suit theatrically pulled a watch from his top pocket, swinging it around on a gold chain. He let it swing like a pendulum.

“Tick-tock-tick-tock. Five seconds left! What are you waiting for Jackson? You’re a fifteen-year-old boy with years ahead of you. It’s-as you young folk say-a no brainer darling!”

Jackson started to grin.

“Wait, bro! I know what this is. This is a wind-up in-it! I don't know how you are doin' this, but this is a wind-up. Oh, that's well clever man. You had me proper goin' there for a second. Mate, we just learned about this at school. I believe you two dudes are what's known as a cliché! Yeah, you are a proper cliché man. That's wicked man, well wicked. You get me?”

The man in the black suit burst forward grabbing Jackson around the throat. He delved into Jackson’s pocket, flicked the blade open, and pushed it against Jackson's cheek. He whispered through gritted teeth, spraying Jackson in spit.

“Kid. Don’t. Call. Me. A. Cliché. I’m your worst nightmare, and then some. YOU are the cliché. You get me?”

Jackson nodded and made a small squeaking sound. He decided not to mention that they had just learned about halitosis at school as well.

“What do I have to do?”

The man in the white suit stepped in front of Jackson again.

“It’s simple darling, you have to decide if you want to live, or die. You have to decide if YOU want to stop being a cliché. You do have a choice. But you have to do it NOW!”

“I WANT TO LIVE! I WANT TO LIVE!”

The man in the white suit pushed Jackson backwards. The deafening noise of the city returned. The

bus flashed past. As he stumbled to the pavement he felt the back of his head strike the tarmac, then all was quiet.

“Give him some room.”

“He’s waking up.”

“Step back everyone, he’s going to be just fine.”

The paramedic shone a torch into Jackson’s eyes. He looked up at the sky and saw a crowd of concerned faces looking down at him.

“You had a close call their son. One more step and that bus would have flattened you for sure . . .I reckon the universe has got bigger plans for you, must be your lucky day. We’ll take you in and give you the once over just to be sure.”

Jackson reached into his pocket. He passed the knife to the paramedic.

“Could you do me a favour. . . could you get rid of this for me please, I won’t be needing it anymore.”

As he helped Jackson to his feet he noticed the paramedic had a small tattoo on his neck. A white crescent with a small black dot in it. The paramedic smiled, held Jackson close, and whispered.

“Good decision darling. Good decision.”