A Feeling of
Impending Doom
by Michael S.
Collins
I thought I
was about to die today. I had a feeling of
impending doom, you see. The type that tingles
all the way down the back of your spine, alerting
you to fates unknown.
I first
realised something was up when I saw the blood
trickling down the mirror. Not my blood. It was
trickling down the other side of the mirror, the
reflection side, you see. If that isn’t a
bad omen, I don’t know what is.
So I went
about my day. Fired some people to try and calm
my nerves down. Didn’t work. Got into a bus
crash. Frayed my nerves, and got oil on my tie
somehow, but I didn’t die. I was convinced
someone was going to get hurt, and that someone
was me.
At lunch, a
bank robber took some pot shots at me. Thankfully,
he was a worse shot than me, and missed
repeatedly.
So the bus
crash didn’t kill me. The bank robber
didn’t. Neither did office stress. Or the
fact that I am forty-three, which seems a more
dangerous age to be than forty two, now you are
no longer the answer to life itself.
I got home
alright.
Not dead.
I looked at my
tired expression in the mirror once more, and
watched it clean itself. Strange, I was sure
someone was going to get hurt today. Can’t
think why. I must have been letting the spooks
get to me, or something.
I emptied my
pockets. The bloody knife and extra wallet fell
into the sink. I glanced at the knife once more.
It needed
washed. I washed it, smiled, and waved good night
to my reflection. He said good morning.
But he was
always contrary.
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