13

My name is William Snow, of course, I didn’t know that at the time.

In fact, I didn’t know much about anything at the time. All I knew was that I had suddenly woken up on a concrete floor one cool, isolated summer night.

My eyelids had felt heavy and when I finally managed to open them I was met by bright blinding lights. I remember thinking something along the lines of “Is this heaven?”.

Looking back on it now I realize I couldn’t be further from the truth. I stayed on the cold floor for a few moments longer, the taste of bile becoming more prominent each passing second. My senses felt dulled, but wow, lucky me, that was only a short lived experience.

I became quickly overwhelmed with the smell of smoke filling my lungs and the ringing in my ears soon turning into a loud siren.

I slowly sat up with a groan and a sharp headache, I massaged my temples in an attempt to ease the pain, taking in my surroundings as I did so.

I was in some sort of supermarket, scattered pieces of produce everywhere, spilled liquids and broken display cases. The only thing half intact was a sign dangling from the ceiling on thin strings, with what I could only assume was the supermarket’s duck mascot, smiling down at me letting me know there was a discount on all items in aisle 9.

When I stood up my legs felt like rubber, regardless I began walking towards a flickering pharmacy sign in the distance, hoping to find some sort of pain reliever; I was a very optimistic man.

Staggering over discarded items and making my way through this maze of aisles had only heightened my pain. By the time I actually made it to the pharmacy I felt like ignoring any and all caution labels and stuffing my face with whatever looked vaguely familiar.

I found some small white pills that, in hindsight, could have been anything. And without an ounce of hesitance they found themselves struggling to make it down my more than dry throat.

Uh, did I mention I was also pretty stupid?

Fortunately for me, even if these totally not questionable pills were something bad—they wouldn’t be in my system much longer.

After convincing myself that whatever mystery pill I had taken was helping my headache subside, I decided to try and begin making my way out of this absolute mess of a supermarket.

And hopefully, I could figure out what had possibly caused this ruckus on the way.

Surely these aisles weren’t always this disorganized; I mean, I’m aware minimum wage isn’t the greatest but I can’t imagine it would spark this kind of a reaction.

As my senses began to slowly make their way back to me along with it came an uncomfortable awareness of a putrid smell— it was something that I then assumed to be the decomposing sad excuse for fruit and vegetables mixed with questionable cheap wine.

But to my horror, turning the corner made me realize that it would be something much worse.

Now, I really want to tell you that I was calm and collected when I found it– the first body, I mean. That I was this nonchalant, badass, super cool guy you see in crime shows.

The truth is... I threw up, and then I cried, and threw up some more. It was mostly stomach acid, and as promised, our mystery pills found their way soon back to where they came from– out.

It was a child, with a bold black number branded into their cheek, “18”. Their t-shirt was torn and soaked in dried blood. My senses were instantly replenished, and suddenly the smell of smoke seemed a lot more inviting. At least, in comparison to the rotting flesh of a nine year old. Where her eyes should have been were maggots and where her arm should have been there was bare bone with what appeared to have been hatchet marks. I only looked at her for a few seconds, it’s all I could muster, but that’s all it took for the image to be burned into my mind. Even now, I sometimes see her when I close my eyes.

I still think about her and my innocence tied to her, of how seeing a dead body actually made me feel something: anger, remorse, disgust, shock, something.

I miss living with the naivety that was thinking murder wasn’t a common thing, or that it was something that only happened on the news far far away or perhaps some mediocre tv shows that needed some extra spice for audience retention.

To me, murder had only ever existed behind a screen or in news articles. It was something that could possibly happen to adults who’d lived lives long enough to satisfyingly find an end. And to some people, that quite honestly, probably made enough mistakes in their life to have deserved it.

Still, the body was what was in between me, and the only way out I could see. I couldn’t simply ignore her even if I tried.

And somehow, somewhere in the mix of my emotions, I had convinced myself I could help this poor girl; someone who had clearly been long gone.

I regret what I did, I really do. Because, in that moment, I had made her a shut eyed promise, a promise that I would find help and I would come back for her.

Little did I know, I would never get to see her, or that duck mascot again.