Illusions

1- i'm not ready to die.

My parents were divorced, and yet here they were in front of me, sitting close enough to each other that my mom could push my dad's arm playfully when he cracked a joke. My stomach twisted itself into knots the longer I watched them. "Can we leave now? We're all done eating, right?" I abruptly stand, a forced smile on my lips, and they both look up in surprise at the sound of my chair scraping against the floor. 

 "I mean, I guess." My dad opens his mouth as if to say something else, but upon exchanging a knowing glance with my mom, he just shrugs and calls over a waiter to bring the check. I don't wait and instead weave through the tables and people waiting in line to get seated.

Once outside, I close my eyes and breathe in the cool, winter air of the night. No one told me divorce was going to be this hard . . . it's just too soon to see my parents together acting as if everything is alright, when we all know that it isn't. 

When I finally open my eyes with a sigh,  a man in a black trench coat is standing in front of me. My vision immediately zeros in on the pistol clutched in his hand that is peeking out of his trench coat at me.

Eyes widening, I instinctively try to scream, but he points the gun at me and puts a finger against his lips, signalling me to stay quiet or die.

"Get your parents, kid."

"They're coming out in a second." I'm surprised that the words come out intelligibly, as my mouth has suddenly gone dry. The man grabs my arm roughly and whirls me around so that he's behind me, and I'm facing the entrance of the restaurant. Goosebumps snake up my arms and legs at his touch, and I try to calm my racing heart.

I have no other choice but to wait helplessly, acutely aware of the barrel jabbed into the small of my back, until mom and dad leave the restaurant. Once they spot me, they quickly walk over, eyeing the man in black beside me warily.

"Let's go, honey." Mom mutters, pulling on my arm,but I jerk it from her grasp.

"Mom, just do what he says."

"What?" Dad steps forward, but the man abruptly shoves me out of the way so they can see the gun. Mom inhales sharply, but dad only pales.

"Follow the girl around back." With that, he nods for me to move forward, and leads me around the building until we reach an empty lot beside a dumpster that reeks.

"Please don't hurt her. We have money." Dad finally says with a persuasive, calming voice, but the man just silently moves the gun from my back to being pressed against my dad's temple.

"You'd better." With seemingly no fear, just an angry glare, dad draws his wallet out from his pocket and hands it to the man. Even when faced with death, my dad seems to be strangely without fear . . . almost calm. We all watch with baited breath s the man inspects the contents of the wallet until he says with a level voice, "Thank you very much."

I sigh in relief just as the man pulls the trigger. The first shot stuns me; I see the flash and hear the loud crack of the gun. The man then turns from my dad's limp body and to my mom, who is screaming uncontrollably, and he swiftly silences her. The man finally points his gun to me, and I cannot help but cry out in terror as I am faced with my worst fear, but after eyeing me for a moment he just . . . walks away. I am left just standing there; jaw slack, body stiffened. Oddly enough, nothing goes through my mind: it is like a blank slate.

I'm not sure how long I stand there, blood pooling around my shoes, but eventually I hear screams and sirens, and police officers and paramedics swarm around us. Someone puts his hand on my arm, and for some reason the contact shocks me from my trance; acutely attuned to the scene once again, my eyes stray from my dead father to my dead mother.

"Mom? Dad?" I mumble, rushing to them and shaking them, willing for them to just sit up and laugh as if it was all just a joke- a prank. But they remain motionless.

I sit down heavily on the pavement as if drunk. In the edges of my vision are police officers and paramedics trying to get my attention, but their voices are muted as if the volume button on a radio had been turned down to zero. I can't think clearly-a fog has settled over my mind. My life . . . is it over now? I mean, I'm an orphan now.

The people come into focus again, and I wearily glance up at a police officer. "I'm tired." I say slowly, but my mouth stumbles over the words as if it's never spoken them before. Before he can respond, I find myself slipping into darkness.