Ordinary

[ It Happened Fast ]

I.H. was, by all outward appearances, the epitome of normalcy. She lived in a comfortable home nestled in the grand city of New York, cherished by attentive and loving parents. Every morning, like clockwork, she would rise from her floral sheets just as the new day was dawning, the routine so familiar she could almost navigate it with her eyes closed. The rhythmic clatter of her preparing breakfast—a simple act of buttering toast—marked the start of yet another seemingly ordinary day, her school bag slung over her shoulder as she departed for another day at school. Life unfolded predictably, as the days of the week blended into the next: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Each day is a neat, unobtrusive slice of sameness. However, on this particular day, her routine would be disrupted by a series of unforeseen events, moments that promise to be anything but ordinary.

She liked being normal and the security the routine provided. Her whole life had been normal and she didn’t want that to change. And she was happy.

It happened on a day like any other.

Imogen woke as normal, the alarm at 06:50 .

She did not know that the events of this day would change her normal, peaceful life forever.

With the final bell ringing, Imogen waited patiently by the school gate, lifting her head at every car coming towards her.

Sighing, she faced the looming heavy grey clouds and closed her eyes. Focusing on the smell of the earth right before the rain, the starry lights of the cars that swoosh while swiftly driving by, and the snippets of strangers’ lives, who she will never meet or see again, as they passed her by.

Imogen didn’t mind being alone, being the one who sat out while the other kids played; it never really bothered her. She found herself more entertained by observing ants near her shoes than by the surrounding activity. Although solitude rarely troubled her, today felt different—perhaps due to the threat of rain or the gradual onset of evening as the night ink slowly bled over head. An increasing sense of urgency compelled her to return home. Imogen adjusted her bag and tightened her coat, hoping her father would arrive soon. When his car did not appear, she considered her options and decided to check the nearby corner, recalling that he had parked there before. Upon rounding the corner and finding no sign of him, she sighed again, debating whether to continue waiting or begin the long walk home.

While thinking, an icy drop of water hit the brunette’s pink cheek. Feeling the cold run down her face, she made the decision to walk home. She knew of shortcuts that could save her from the next pour of rain, but she deferred and walked along the main busy streets of New York. Apologising to the people who walked into her, making her regret the destination a little bit.

As Imogen approached the familiar streets nearer to her home, the urban congestion persisted, presenting significant challenges to her navigation. Increasingly determined to reach her destination before the imminent rainfall, she maneuvered assertively through the dense crowd. Suddenly, a hurried pedestrian collided with her, disrupting her balance and propelling her unexpectedly into the road directly in the path of an oncoming car. In that brief moment, Imogen’s body reacted instinctively: her muscles tensed, her breath caught, and a wave of panic surged through her. The abruptness of the encounter and the realization of her vulnerability in the face of chaos intensified her sense of disorientation and fear. Her mind went blank.

Something cold and chilling washed over her as she froze, staring at the blinding headlights of the car. Her throat became dry and her hands sweated as her breathing became labored and her heart felt like it was going to rip through her chest. The noise of the busy street muffled under her rushing heartbeat and ragged breathing.

The abrupt sound of the driver’s horn, accompanied by his shouts, shattered Imogen’s immobilization, prompting her to blink, adding moisture to her now dry eyes, and regaining awareness of her surroundings. The ambient noise of the city returned, highlighting the indifference of the passersby, none of whom intervened as she stood vulnerable in the street. As the driver resumed moving forward, maintaining persistent pressure on the steering wheel, Imogen’s alarm intensified; instinctively, she turned and fled indiscriminately from the scene. Eventually, she located a quieter area where she paused to recompose herself, wiping rain from her face only to discover traces of familiar crimson on her fingertips from her face, before the increasing rainfall obscured them. Disoriented and unable to recognize her location, Imogen took a deep breath and resumed walking, guided solely by the hope of encountering a familiar landmark leading toward the warmth and safety of home. Instead, her search brought her to a diner, where she entered, shivering and drenched, and stood upon stained tiles where show now has created a puddle. Exhaling, she began to look methodically for a telephone in order to contact her family, marking the transition from the chaos outside to a temporary sanctuary within.

Unable to see one in the dim glow from the old bulbs above her, Imogen makes her way towards the retro-styled counter. Taking a seat on one of the circular stools, she listens as it creaks under her weight, the sound echoing in the quiet diner. She leans on the surface top to get a glimpse of anyone working there, so she can ask to use the phone. When none appear, she huffs and rests her head on the counter, the cool surface providing a momentary relief. Now, from her new angle, she can see into a backroom, where what seems to be a phone hangs on the wall.

“Bingo!” she whispers to herself. Looking around again, Imogen sees no one else. So with a deep breath, she slides off the stool, leaving her school bag and her dripping coat behind as she rounds the counter. Her wet shoes slap against the floor, breaking the silence. Just as she reaches the other side, the bell above the door chimes, making her freeze in place.

‘Shit.’

Quickly ducking down, the brunette noticed that the stained tiles may once of been a lovely polish bright white. Hearing the footsteps stop she let out a breath and decided to crawl her way to the open door where the phone lives. Imogen was not used to being secretive. Just as she reaches the door, the bell chimes again. To the noise, Imogen freezes. Letting out a sigh, she shakes her head ‘What on the green earth are you doing, Imogen!’ she voiced to herself safely in her head. ‘What if I get caught? I could just leave, try to find my way home.’

While Imogen’s mind was racing and her body frozen, she didn’t notice a set of eyes on her that was partnered with a smirk, seeing a girl on all fours trying to sneak into the backroom of the donut shop. Coming back to her senses, Imogen rushed for the door and shut it swiftly behind her, hoping no one noticed the slamming of the door in the quiet donut shop. Leaning against the door with her eyes closed and her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, she lets out a harsh breath.

‘Focus!’

Imogen slapped her hands on her cheeks, “phone,” she said, opening her eyes and looking around the room. As she reached for the phone she heard more footsteps and muffled words of a conversation. With shaking hands, Imogen didn’t know if it was from the cold or the fear pulsing around her body.

Dialing the number for her home, she held the phone to her ear as she rested her head on the cool wall, as the continuing ringing vibrated her brain. “Come on, pick up.” Imogen hushed, pleadingly into the phone.

Just as the ringing stopped with neither of her parents picking up, Imogen huffed and placed the phone back, when she heard loud noises coming from the front of the shop. ‘What’s going on?’ Imogen cracked open the door, peaking to see what all the commotion was, only to see stocky men holding guns all aimed at a single child in an unknown school uniform.

‘Are they attacking a child? What the living hell is going on?’

Overcome with emotion, Imogen opened the door more ready to walk out and tell the men what for. As the door squeaked open, an icy sensation trickled down the brunette’s back. Looking up, she sees one of the men aiming the gun not at the boy anymore but at her.

‘On second thought, maybe not.’ Imogen dropped down to her newly found friend, the old, once white tiled floor. Not moving and shielding herself with the semi-open door, she squeezed her eyes shut and the bullets ejected from the barrels of the too many guns.

Turning her head, she spotted the phone.

‘Police!’

Shuffling as quietly as she could, Imogen reached for the phone.

[9.1. ]

Just as her finger was about to press down on the one digit of the phone, she was knocked a side with such force that she flew across the small - what seems to be the break room - hitting the wall opposite the door with a loud thud. Her body is now a heap on the floor.

‘Son of a bitch! That hurt!’

Looking up towards her attacker, she mainly saw the barrel of the gun trained on her as he took cautious steps towards her.

“Up!” he shouted, motioning with his gun upwards.

Imagen did not move.

“Up! Now or I’ll shoot!”

Out of her fear, Imogen looked around the room as she slowly stood up.

‘I don’t want to die! Not like this ..’

Her frantic thoughts paused when she spotted a pair of scissors on the desk. Fixing her gaze on the man, she drew a deep breath, shut her eyes, and lunged for the scissors.

It all happened so fast.

The second her body moved, the trigger was pulled, making Imogen yelp and slam into the table.

‘That’s gonna leave a bruise.’

Her hands were frantically searching. With the cool, sharp metal in her tight fist, she didn’t think, didn’t breathe, or close her eyes as before the attacker could aim and shoot at her again. Imogen forced the scissors into his upper thigh and, with both hands, pulled the scissors down.

The gunman’s eyes widened, as did Imogen’s as they made eye contact. ‘Oh my god! Oh my god! What did I just do!’ Panic washed over Imogen as the man stumbled backwards, hitting the back of his head on the wall, leaving behind a trail of red as his now unconscious body slid to the tiled floor with a thump. Standing up straight, Imogen kicked away the loose gun and tried to check the man’s pulse.

“Shit!” she whispered to herself. Walking slowly to the door, she stepped out of the room and closed the door tightly behind her. Turning to face the rest of the diner, looking at the place her eyes widened at the smashed glass, blood and the multiple bodies.

‘Did that school kid do all this?’ Imogen slowly moved forward with glass cracking under her shoes. Not knowing how long she had stood there, she snapped out the minute she saw the blue flashing lights and the sound of sirens.

“I need to get out of here.” Imogen grabbed her bag and coat, not caring to put it on, as well as grabbing someone’s keys off a glass and blood covered table.

Outside, hidden in the dark, she looked down at the keys, she had taken, ‘oh what am I turning into? I am a thief now, as well as a murderer!’ focusing on the car key.

This was Imogen’s first time sitting behind a steering wheel. “Deep breaths. Deep breaths,” she repeated as she turned the keys and started her jolty ride home. Finally home, she threw the heavy front door closed behind her, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Mom! Dad!” she called out, only to be met with the stillness of the home. Hanging her now dry coat up and dumping her bag on the floor she kicked off her shoes, which are now newly stained. Imongen quickly looked away and walked towards the living room but only to find it empty. A frown made its way on her face.

As she reached the kitchen, which too was empty, she opened the fridge to find a plate of food wrapped in cling film and with a pink sticky note attached. Reaching in and taking the plate out, Imogen read the note.

Sorry for making you walk home. Hope you didn’t get caught in the rain. To make up for it you can have the last cookie ; )

Imogen smiled.

Here is your dinner for tonight, sorry again, we can’t be with you. Lots of love, Mom & Dad. XxXx

Taking the cling film off the plate of food, Imogen placed the food in the microwave and watched as the warm light came on and her dinner was slowly moved around and around.