CONTENT WARNING: This story contains guns, knives, violence, blood, and death. Please proceed at your own volition.
Growing up, you never really appreciate the life you’re given until you realize it’s all borrowed time. From whom? One can ask but never truly know the answer. Time goes from being long hours stretching over intense periods to wondering where the weeks went that were just in the palms of your hands just seemingly minutes before. By the time you recognize the pattern, life has passed you by, and you’re on your knees begging for more time. Just one more day. One more glance. One more minute. One more second. One last smile. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Everyone lives to die in the end, right? So why is it so haunting? Always right around the corner, a lurking, ticking time bomb. But we don’t want to see it, so we shut our eyes. Even before we knew it was there, our eyes were covered to shield us from it all.
Often, I think back on the times we lived oblivious to the expiration date of our lives. All those late afternoons spent fleeing from the cops and hiding in the trees until they passed by. I remember the early morning and late evening swims in that stupid freezing creek, only a 10-minute walk from the base only we knew. Not to mention all the pranks we pulled on our fathers and the ammunition we stole from our enemies.
Life was fun – scary but thrilling. The pure rush of adrenaline when you know you could be caught at any moment yet escaping by a hair. There is nothing quite like it, but only with him. It was us against the world. Yet, I never realized how lonely and consuming the world could seem until I was forced to face reality that day.
Ever since I met Zi in training when we were seven, we were inseparable. We did everything together: missions, heists, combat training. You name it, we did it. Even outside of the Mafia, we became best friends. We were as carefree as someone who is surrounded by weapons 24/7 can be. But eventually, we grew up. Although we still hung out, it just wasn’t the same.
We had jobs and responsibilities, including all the people who counted on us. It wasn’t as if it was new to me or even him. We had been prepped from day one to take over our Elders’ jobs, including my older brother Ashido.
Ashido was next in line to lead us all. He, unfortunately, had it the worst and lightened the load on my shoulders. I am fortunately only second in line. I always saw my father arguing with him and my mother pleading with him. They knew he didn’t want to lead, but what other choice did they have? Their son’s passion was elsewhere, yet they refused to set their sight anywhere but him. It wasn’t like they had the time to train a new leader to bring us “glory” and “honor.” We all knew the fate that my father had been consigned to- his expiration date had been signed and predicted to come soon.
To be quite honest, the only reason I truly stayed was for Zi. He made the chore life had become seem fun somehow still. Our families had been close long before we were born, so it was natural for them to pair us up on all our assignments and jobs together. We meshed so well that it was hard to even find us apart.
There are so many stories I could tell, like that one where he lost his swim trunks down in the lake one spring. Good times. But there was one time I really loved most of all. We had just turned 21 and went out drinking. It was a wild night- we danced, bought rounds of shots for people and even let one of the girls convince us to sing karaoke. The best part, though, was after we left the bar. We were outside on a bench when Zi looked at me and dared me to get a tongue piercing, saying I didn’t have the guts to do it. So, I told him I would, but only if he agreed to dye that pretty blonde hair of his some crazy color. After a minute or two of squinting at me, he shook my hand and struck the deal. Safe to say, by the end of the night, his hair was all tie-dyed and my tongue was freshly pierced. That hangover was killer the next morning.
Our lives went on as normal: training, missions, sleep, repeat. Later, that same year, Zi found himself in a dispute with an opposing family from The Revyn Branch. They were second in power to our branch but were still fiercely competitive. One of their family members challenged Zi to a knife fight to “restore their family honor” after he had wiped the floor with them in the last encounter they had. This wasn’t alarming because this happened often enough that at this point it was no big deal.
The next morning, we got up with the sunrise, around 5:30 a.m. Zi brought his best knife and nothing else, per the rules. Then we headed to the beach to meet them. Once we arrived, we saw them walking up, his right-hand man trailing like a shadow behind him. I had been selected as Zi’s- why would anyone ever expect anything else?
When they made it to us, we all exchanged glances and then walked out onto the vast and empty beach. The waves lapped at the shoreline as we went over the rules, each man brandishing their respective knife. Zi’s eyes were cold and calculating, taking in every move, twitch or fidget the other made. It was incredible to see him in the field; it was like he was a completely different person.
Once I had my talk with the opposition’s second and no common ground could be made, both men backed up 10 paces, facing each other. I smiled at Zi one last time before the fight began to encourage him, though he didn’t need it. Then the countdown began for the fight to start. The moment the last number left my lips, Zi launched at him. He took the defensive side, already precisely slicing his blade so it would land where he needed it to. But it never did. His attack was interrupted by a loud and startling bang. The man had pulled out a gun at the last second. The bullet sprawled from its chamber and soared directly into Zi’s chest. The blade fell as his hand loosened on impact. He made not a noise, just the sound of skin thudding against the soft sand as he collapsed. The blood poured from his wound, turning the white angelic sands a dark crimson red.
Before that day, I thought I knew fear, but nothing could have ever prepared me to see my best friend motionless on the ground in front of me. My emotions were frozen, but my body moved on its own as waves of shock coursed through my veins. I didn’t have time to get revenge or anything of the sort, I didn’t even have time to cry. I scooped him up as my arms shook furiously and ran as fast as my legs could to the nearest hospital.
By the time I arrived, I begged and pleaded frantically at the front desk for anyone to help him. No one seemed to get the memo of how urgent it was. I sat in the waiting room with him in my arms, his blood seeped into my clothes, staining my jacket and shirt. I kept talking to him, trying so desperately to
keep him from fading. It became increasingly in vain as his breathing became more ragged and his skin turned a sickly pale.
Eventually, a doctor came but it was too late. He was gone and there was nothing they could do to bring him back. His last breath had been taken in my arms when he suddenly fell silent. I clung to his limp body in the room they had brought him to. I couldn’t believe he was gone. He had been alive just hours ago. I kept waiting for him to get up and hug me saying it was all a really bad comical joke. But he never did. They had to pry him out of my grip as I sobbed for them to give me just a few more minutes.
His funeral was set for about a week or so from that day. That whole week was a blur. I mostly stayed in bed and stopped eating and training entirely. Ashido came and saw me every couple of hours and occasionally made me eat something. I slept for hours on hours. I guess a part of me thought if I slept for long enough it would go away. But it never works that way, so the dreaded day eventually came knocking on my door.
That morning, I had been dragged out of bed by Ashido and my mother. I wore my best green suit; his favorite color. I wanted to be able to honor him in some way. Then we all got in the car and drove to the church.
The moment I walked in, I saw him at the front of the church. He was lying lifeless in a white coffin, the lid left open, to show how they had cleaned him up all nice. He was in his nicest suit, his hands folded on top of each other over his abdomen. His faded tie-dyed golden hair lay in gentle curls surrounding his face. He looked like a beautiful angel that had just been taking a nap, which did not make it any easier. Just seeing him was enough to send waves of intense pain through my heart.
I sat in the front of the service with my family. Many people came as he was a kind and honest man and had respect built up even from some other branches. Once everyone arrived, the service began. I went up and read his eulogy. Then people were able to come see him one last time. Each person who came ended up passing me, a pained look on their face for me. They sympathized with my loss and gave their condolences through their glances. I’d love to say I bawled my eyes out cause that’s what I wish I could’ve done. But my father had raised me to believe that crying was weak. He told me no one can ever show weakness, especially in public where anyone could be watching. So, I sat there and watched like a lifeless puppet. I watched the service. I watched as we drove behind the hearse to the cemetery plot. Then the hardest one of all, I watched them as they closed the casket and lowered it into the ground. We all had our turn throwing a white rose down into the hole for him. I vowed a silent wish to mine and threw it along with the rest. Then as everyone trickled away and went back to their homes, I stayed. I stayed and watched as they buried him under pounds and pounds of stupid dirt. My eyes stung with unshed tears as they watered furiously. Nothing would ever change this. I hated that fact the most.
It’s been a year now. I still haven’t found the courage to revisit him since that December day. Maybe I will, someday… Maybe soon. I frequently wish I had gotten shot in his place so he could still be here today. I think I’ll have this guilt forever. But at least his death won’t be in vain. I decided I can’t live on borrowed time like this anymore. So, I decided to pursue my real passion for modeling, a real career that doesn’t leave me shaking hands with death every other day. A real hope. A future. I wish Zi could see me now. Sometimes I wonder if he’s looking down on me and smiling proudly. I hope he knows this is all for him. He was my best friend; no one can ever replace him. We always were and always will be best friends until the end.