(Winner for the 2024 Autocrit short story contest)

By L.L. Blacke

     Alice Larson hurried down the crowded city sidewalk, weaving between pedestrians and clutching her thin coat tightly around her against the biting cold. Her dull brown hair streamed behind her, tangled and wild in the breeze. Red flushes colored her cheeks as the chilly wind irritated her skin. Keeping her head lowered to avoid eye contact, she hurriedly moved forward, determined to catch the bus. Today was the worst day of the year—her most dreaded anniversary—the day she nearly died at age five.

     She pushed past a few people while staring at the walkway, avoiding sight of the dark mist hovering above some of their heads.

     As she avoided bumping into people and blocking their paths, some responded with angry comments like, “Hey, watch out,” “Look where you're going,” and, harshest of all, “Stupid bitch.”

She hurried forward, trying to keep her distance from everyone, fearing what might happen. Every year, on this cursed day, tragedy struck again. Someone nearby would die—someone shrouded by a gray cloud, their doom seemingly sealed. Alice couldn't comprehend why this terrible event repeated itself. It just did.

     On most days, the dark mist clouds above people's heads were smaller, though a few individuals constantly carried large, ominous clouds. Even on days that weren't the anniversary, if she touched someone with these extreme clouds, they would die.

     Because of this, Alice avoided making friends, kept to herself, and remained isolated—especially today, anniversary day. She feared forming close bonds, only to lose the ones she loved. The pain of losing family or friends was too unbearable for her to risk.

     When she was young, she had no control over the people around her on that day: her mom, dad, grandma, grandpa, Aunt Mary, her brother Billy, and her best friend Janey. All of them passed away because they were close to her on that day, and their clouds had grown enormous. She believed it was her fault, and guilt weighed heavily on her each time tragedy struck. As a result, she learned to avoid close relationships and steer clear of lasting friendships. Even though people continued to die around her, the pain became less sharp, and the stigma less intense.

She repeatedly tried to end her life to escape the relentless depression and torment, fearing her presence might cause someone else’s death. Each attempt was thwarted—either something intervened, or she was discovered before it could succeed—leaving her to wake up in a hospital, trapped in her suffering once more.

     Alice lived in a tiny studio apartment in an old four-story walk-up building without an elevator. She never used the lift even if it was available, fearing the cramped, enclosed space would trap her, especially if dark clouds hovered over people’s heads. When the dark mist drifted nearby, she could feel its tendrils of death reaching out and the cold seeping over her, causing her to shiver. Yet, the people beneath the mist remained oblivious, going about their lives as if nothing ominous was threatening them. 

     Alone in her flat, which overlooked a narrow alleyway, she spent her time reading or watching television, secretly wishing her life mirrored the adventures and romances of the fictional worlds she adored.

     She occasionally took long walks, usually late at night when few people were around. Despite the apparent danger—mugging or even murder—she felt no fear. Her past, marked by failed suicide attempts, had convinced her that luck was never on her side. It seemed that something sinister wanted her to endure this torment, forcing her to witness the heartbreaking ends of others.

When a person died, the dark mist turned into a white cloud before vanishing completely. She realized they had passed on as the cloud disappeared, a brief moment of relief would wash over her, knowing that they no longer had to suffer in this terrible world.

     ***

     At just five years old, Alice was a joyful and lively child. The world around her shimmered with brightness, each detail radiating beauty. She eagerly bounced her ball on the sidewalk of her neighborhood. Along the way, she paused to chat with Mr. Anderson, her reclusive neighbor on the corner, who was busy mowing his lawn with a grim expression etched into his face.

She had listened to her mother speak with Judy, the next-door neighbor, about Mr. Anderson. “It is so sad how his entire family has died over the last few years. He always looks unhappy, always with a frown on his face,”

     Judy shook her head, saying, "I guess I’d be frowning too if I’d lost that many family members. I tried to reach out to him, to be friendly, but he simply went inside and slammed the door behind him." 

     Over the past five years, Robert Anderson had lost his wife, three children, and brother—each death occurring on the same day of the year they died.

     Alice remembered this conversation and, with a bright smile, approached Mr. Anderson. She had an idea of how to make him happy. He stopped and turned off the lawnmower when he saw the glowing child standing on the sidewalk. 

     “Hi, Mr. Anderson. My mommy said you’re sad because your family died.”

     He gazed at the glowing girl and returned her smile, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth and happiness radiating from her. 

     Then, with a softer tone, he admitted, "Your mommy is right. I am sad because I miss them all.”

     The gentle, innocent girl who saw no evil in the world suggested, “Come to our home and become part of our family. You’ll have a new family to belong to, and you won’t feel sad and lonely anymore.”

     “I wish it were that simple,” he said with a knowing smile at Alice, but the truth weighed heavily: no matter where he lived, death would always be his shadow. 

     Alice reminded him of his daughter, Mary, who had passed away two years ago—her smile capable of bringing happiness to everyone she met.

     In the distance, the roar of an automobile engine echoed through the streets as revved-up motors prepared to race down the avenue. Teenagers behind Mr. Anderson and Alice's house were always racing around the neighborhood, their souped-up cars ready for competition. 

     Every weekend, they competed at the local drag racing track, which hosted open races on Thursday nights. It was actually a Wednesday, and the teens had been working intensely all week to fine-tune their cars for the upcoming race.

     Bobby and Jimmy fiercely debated who had the superior skills in tuning and upgrading their vehicles.

     Bobby ran his fingers through his long brown hair, wishing Jimmy would shut up, and shouted,      “You couldn’t tune an engine if your life depended on it.”

     Shorter than the other boys, Jimmy was always trying to prove himself. 

     He yelled back, “Oh, yeah. You think you know everything. Let’s find out right now. I’ll race you around the block.”

     Listening to the argument, Evan realized it was a bad idea and interjected, “Come on, guys. You can race tomorrow at the track.”

     Bobby snapped, “No, we're doing it now,” glaring at the irritating competitor, fed up with Jimmy’s endless, ridiculous comments. This routine happened every race week. Jimmy refused to admit he was clueless. 

     The two teens jumped into their vehicles and started the engines. Jimmy shouted loudly to Evan, “You stand between us and tell us when to go.”

     The young men lined up their cars, with Evan carefully ensuring they were even at the starting line. Standing between the two vehicles, he raised his arms, signaling the start. Bobby and Jimmy locked eyes through their windows, determination burning in their gazes. Both revved their engines, eager to prove themselves, as the cars roared to life—shaking and rumbling with anticipation. 

Excitedly, the boys reflexively gripped and released the steering wheels and gear shifters, their hands trembling. Exhaust fumes billowed out the tailpipes, filling the air with a sharp, pungent odor and a thick haze, signaling that the race was about to begin.

     Evan shouted, “Ready!" as both teens firmly pressed the clutch and shifted into first gear, their excitement palpable.

     “Go!” Evan shouted, dropping his arms instantly. The two vehicles screeched their tires and surged forward, roaring fiercely down the street.

     While talking to Mr. Anderson, Alice accidentally dropped her blue-and-white ball. It rolled into the street. Startled, she hurriedly rushed toward the toy, eager to retrieve it.

     Bobby ahead, he quickly reached the end of the block. Without hesitation, he popped the clutch, shifted into a lower gear, and slammed on the emergency brake, drifting expertly around the corner. The red Mustang's rear end swung wildly, blocking Jimmy as he struggled to navigate the turn. Forced to slow down and swerve sharply to cross the intersection, Jimmy's yellow Camaro with flames painted on the sides lost speed and lagged further behind.

     Bobby laughed maniacally as he sped forward. Turning the corner, he spotted a young girl with a ball in the street. He swerved sharply to avoid her, nearly tipping the vehicle as two wheels lifted off the ground briefly. Despite the chaos, he kept racing down the street.

     Jimmy accelerated, closing the gap on Bobby's Mustang. He pushed himself to make up for lost time, expertly drifting around the corner before hitting the gas pedal and roaring ahead.

     Alice stood in the road, clutching her ball, when a red Mustang suddenly sped past her. The wind from its passing whipped her hair and dress fiercely, nearly knocking her over. Frozen with fear, she watched the car race dangerously close within inches of her.

     Robert Anderson shouted urgently, "Alice, get out of the street!" 

     Shocked and frozen with fear, the girl stood in the street, clutching her toy, her eyes wide with terror. Without hesitation, Mr. Anderson dashed into the road, risking everything to rescue her from the oncoming danger. A speeding Camaro screeched around the corner, and in a split second, Robert pushed the girl forward and away from the roaring vehicle.

     The speeding Camaro's grille struck Mr. Anderson, propelling him through the air and crashing onto the pavement. Jimmy slammed on the brakes, squealing to a halt a little further down the block. The engine stalled, and he sat there, his head against the steering wheel, panting and eyes closed, haunted by the image of the man’s body flying through the air.

     People rushed out of their houses, their eyes fixed on Mr. Anderson’s battered, crumpled form.

Still reeling from the fall, Alice struggled to her feet on the rough asphalt, her knees scraped and aching. Her mother hurried over, scooping her up into a tight embrace, voice trembling with concern: 

     “Are you okay, Baby? Were you hit?” Her mother anxiously cried.

     “No, Mr. Anderson pushed me, and I fell,” confused by what had happened.

     Still clutching her daughter, her mother pushed through the crowd surrounding Mr. Anderson. Above the injured man's head, a white cloud swirled—a fog only Alice saw. As she watched, Mr. Anderson smiled faintly, and the fog dissolved. He was gone. 

     The shrill wail of sirens grew louder—ambulance and police racing down the street. Robert Anderson was dead. The girl buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, tears streaming down her face. Without hesitation, her mother quickly took her back into the house.

     One year later, on the same day, Alice’s Grandpa died unexpectedly while they were playing Chutes and Ladders. The girl had just won the game and hugged her grandfather. Suddenly, he grasped his right arm, his face flushed, and began panting heavily. Throughout the day, a dark mist hovered above his head, but Alice didn’t understand what it was. She asked him about it, but he only smiled and brushed it off, saying it was just a shadow, thinking she was still playing a game. The dark cloud continued to grow throughout the day.

     Alice rushed to her mother in the kitchen. 

     “Mommy, something's wrong with Grandpa!" she cried. 

     Her mother hurried into the living room and saw her father lying on the floor, eyes open. The last of the strange white fog over her grandfather faded, visible only to Alice. He had died from a heart attack. Alice remembered a similar cloud above Mr. Anderson. Overwhelmed, she ran to her bedroom and burst into tears.

     Each year, someone in Alice's family died on the same day she was almost hit by a racing car. Over time, she came to believe that her survival caused these tragedies, and she blamed herself. When she shared her fears with her parents, they dismissed her, and no one believed her. For the past twenty-five years, these devastating events have consistently occurred near her on that same day, haunting her every year. 

     ***

     She didn’t want to go to work today, but she had no choice. Her depression had caused her to take numerous sick days. Despite trying various antidepressants, her anxiety remained unrelieved.

     Alice hated being near others, so she hurried under the bus stop's shelter. Several people already huddled there, trying to escape the biting wind. She glanced up, noticing a dark mist swirling above some of the crowd. Peering down at her feet, she wished to erase their faces from her memory—just in case they were the ones to die today.

     A golden glow caught her peripheral vision, prompting her to turn and see its source. A man with an extraordinary smile approached and stood beside her. His body seemed wrapped in a shimmering golden light, illuminating the otherwise dull day. To Alice, all days had felt bleak, with colors muted and lifeless. But around this man, everything burst with vivid color—his blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and even the air surrounding him seemed alive with brightness. She found herself smiling at him—a gesture she hadn’t made in years. Somehow, his presence had pulled that smile from her.

     He gleamed at her, “What a great day, eh? This is the best day.”

     Alice reflexively responded, puzzled by her own words. Usually, she remained silent when spoken to on the street. 

     “If you enjoy cold winds, I suppose it would be wonderful."

     “Sure, imagine it: the wind sweeping through the streets, blowing away loose leaves and garbage into corners for easy collection. It clears the air of smog and pollution, leaving the city smelling fresher and cleaner. Isn’t it more refreshing now?”

     Alice took a deep breath, feeling the crisp, invigorating air fill her lungs. Realizing he was right, a gentle smile returned to her face. 

     “I guess you're right.”

     The bus arrived, and everyone hurried to board. It was nearly full, with only a few empty seats remaining. The glowing man quickly pointed to a seat for her and grasped the pole next to it as the bus started moving.

     He continued their conversation, “I’ve seen you at the bus stop several times. Do you live nearby?”

     “Yes, a few blocks down. I’m on my way to work.”

     “The same here. I think we get off at the same stop.”

     “Oh, yeah. Where do you work?”

     “At the Waverly building.”

     “I work at the Benson’s Bagels across the street.”

     “Really, I’m in there all the time. I don’t remember seeing you there.”

     “My job is in the back making the bagels; I don’t come out front much.”

     Alice looked around at the other passengers on the bus, something she rarely did. None of them had the dark mist above their heads anymore. Everyone was smiling, gazing up at the vibrant man, who was telling jokes that made even Alice laugh. Conversations started to flow among the passengers.

     When the bus stopped, Alice, the glowing man, and a few others stepped off. The glowing man grinned warmly, saying, “Nice to meet you,” his eyes shining with happiness. He stepped onto the street, head tilted up, gazing at something in the sky.

     Alice watched in awe as the glowing man walked away. Suddenly, she glimpsed two bicycle couriers racing down the boulevard, speeding uncontrollably toward him. Realizing they wouldn't stop in time and that a collision was imminent, she instinctively ran forward and pushed the man out of harm's way.

     ***

   The Always-On-Time Courier Service was known for its reliability. When Brian Martin, the manager, received an urgent request, he knew it was critical—the two containers needed to be delivered fifteen blocks away, immediately. 

     He gathered the available cyclists and commanded, “I need two of you to deliver these boxes now. Use any means necessary. The first to arrive will earn a bonus.”

     Red-haired Owen Burns raised his hand urgently, desperate for extra cash to cover his rent and avoid eviction. Willing to take any risks, he grabbed a container from Brian and quickly stashed it into his bike's saddlebag.

     Tall blond Duane Duran confidently raised his hand. 

     “I’m the fastest,” he declared. “I can reach there in record time. Give me the other box.”

     Brian handed Duane the second container and then showed both cyclists the delivery address.

     Owen said, “I think I can beat you.”

     Duane smirked, "You do, do you? Okay, let's make it a race."

     Duane called out, “Can someone time us? We’ll phone in when we arrive.”

     Larry said, “I’ll time you.” He pulled out his smartphone and set up the timer.

     Owen and Duane securely attached the saddlebags to the back fenders of their bikes. They tugged down their chartreuse Always-On-Time Courier Service jerseys, put on their safety helmets, and straddled the road bikes. Carefully, they nudged the front tires just inside the garage door's edge, ready to go.

     Larry shouted, “Go!” and punched the start button on his phone.

    The two cyclists burst out of the garage, their legs pumping furiously. Their bikes swayed with each pedal stroke as they raced through the traffic. Duane pulled ahead, squeezing between two yellow taxis moving slowly. Owen cursed as he braked to avoid a cab, falling behind. His front tire was inches from Duane’s rear tire, heightening the tension of the race.

     After a year working for the courier service and becoming familiar with the city's streets, Owen recognized the left turn he needed to take for the shortest route to the delivery address. Approaching quickly, he hoped traffic would be light so he could make his way through.

     The traffic light turned red, and Duane slowed down, nearly coming to a stop. Owen kept moving, then unexpectedly braked, extended his left foot onto the road, and executed a sharp, reckless left turn in the crosswalk ahead of his rival. He then sped into the bike lane on the wrong side of the avenue. Shocked and stunned, Duane couldn’t believe Owen’s daring move. After a moment of hesitation, Duane snapped out of his shock and immediately chased after him, now also on the wrong side of the street and against traffic.

     Vehicles raced past Owen as he hurried in the opposite direction, catching green lights at every block. As traffic thinned, he guessed a red light was looming ahead. Taking a gamble, he leaned his bike into the lane on the opposite side of the street, matching the cars' speed and weaving between them. Horns blared and brakes squealed as several drivers shouted in frustration.

     He needed to make a right turn at the next block onto a one-way avenue, fortunately in the correct direction. Behind him, horns blared, and tires screeched—likely Duane in the chaos. Traffic was heavily backed up, barely inching forward. He slammed on the brakes and slid between a blue BMW and a Checker Cab, his back tire hitting the Beemer's rear fender.

     Owen sprinted forward, his legs pounding and his lungs heaving. Sweat dripped down his back, but he was grateful he remembered his head sweat guard today. He risked a quick glance behind—Duane was only a car length away. As he turned his attention back ahead, a woman suddenly materialized out of nowhere.

     The red-head's bike collided violently with Alice, knocking her off her feet and into oncoming traffic from the cross street. She was flung directly in front of a brown Land Rover, which smashed her head with its heavy front right bumper. Her body tumbled down the road as the chaos unfolded. All the cars screeched to a halt, with some crashing into the vehicles in front of them.

     When Owen’s bicycle struck the woman, it immediately came to a halt, and he was propelled over the handlebars, executing a front flip. He landed hard on his back, gasping for air, and skidded across the pavement, narrowly avoiding the Land Rover that collided with Alice. 

     Duane skidded to a stop, his rear wheel lifting off the ground. He managed to stabilize his bike, regaining balance on two tires, just in time to prevent it from crashing into Owen’s bike, which was sprawled in the crosswalk.

     He dismounted quickly from his bike, letting it clatter onto the pavement, then hurried over to Owen. The young man was gasping for breath, struggling to stay upright. Duane grasped Owen's arm, steadying him, and noticed the torn jersey was twisted, blood seeping through the fabric. Limping, Owen moved toward the crowd gathered around the woman he had hit.

     ***

     Alice lay on the street, her back against the pavement. She couldn't feel anything. As she opened her eyes, she saw several people gathered around her, leaning over and staring intensely. They all glowed with an eerie light, reminiscent of the glowing man nearby. He was also present but no longer emitting a glow; instead, he wore a frowning expression, like Mr. Anderson used to have.

     Tears poured down Gordon’s face as the haunting image of the woman’s shattered body on the grimy pavement burned into his memory. She was the woman who had saved his life. It could have been him who was hit by the bike and pushed into traffic.

     Alice gazed at the sky, captivated by its vibrant blue and the pure white clouds. It reminded her of the glowing man. This must have been what he was looking at when he stepped off the curb with his head tilted upward. 

     A smile spread across her face as she rose toward the robin's egg-blue expanse. With each lift of her spirit, happiness swelled within her, blending into the vast, heavenly blue. It was, without doubt, the most incredible day of her life. It was the best day.

     After giving his statement to the police, Gordon Janson limped to work just half a block away. He arrived an hour late, his bloodied and torn pants drawing immediate concern from everyone in the front office. They hurried to him, eager to understand what had happened. Mr. Ralston approached, listening intently as Gordon recounted the devastating accident.

     He described how he met a woman on the bus who suddenly pushed him aside to avoid a speeding bicycle courier. He fell, injuring his knee and tearing his trousers. Tragically, the woman was propelled into traffic, collided with a car, and died. As he recounted this horrifying event, it was as if he were watching everything from inside a tunnel, looking through a small hole.

     “Mr. Ralston, may I take the day off due to illness? This incident has really upset me.” Gordon asked.

     “Sure, no problem. Go home and take care of yourself.” Ralston said.

     Gordon left the office and caught the bus home, overwhelmed by the terrible events of the day. His mood was so distraught that everything around him seemed muted and dull, a stark contrast to the vibrant world just hours before.

     He limped down the street to his apartment and paused beside David, the local panhandler. Without hesitation, he handed over the usual dollar and shook David’s always offered hand. A dark cloud hovered above David's head, an unusual sight that caught Gordon’s attention. However, the shock of the recent accident clouded his mind, making it hard to focus on the oddity.

     David nodded appreciatively, “Thanks, Mister Janson.” Gordon moved on, turning the corner before entering his building's front door.

     David's head throbbed with intense pain. He leaned over and collapsed onto the sidewalk, thinking rest might help. As he closed his eyes, he suffered a fatal stroke.

     Later that afternoon, Jennifer opened the apartment door to find her husband sitting on the couch, looking unusually upset. It was unlike him—he was usually the happiest person she knew, the reason she fell in love with him.

     “Honey, what is wrong? I have never seen you look this way.”

     Gordon told her about the accident. 

     She responded softly, “It's tragic for that poor woman, but thank goodness she saved your life." 

     She approached him from behind on the sofa, pulling him into a hug, as she tried to erase the horrors of the day from his mind.

     Patting her on the arm, he said, “Yeah, she saved my life.” 

     But, something was wrong. No, everything was wrong. he should have been the one who died in the accident. Why did she push him? He wasn’t convinced that what happened was a blessing.

     While preparing dinner, Jennifer said, "This must be a bad day. You remember the old panhandler who sits at the corner every day?"

     "Yeah." Gordon's stomach churned, for some reason dreading what she would say.

     "I saw Martha, next door, coming up the stairs, and she told me he died there today. He just keeled over and died."

     Gordon asked, “When did that happen?”

     “She said, around 10:30.”

     Gordon thought, That was about the time I got home. He had that weird dark cloud floating above his head. It really is a bad day, but it started as the best day. 

     He shook his head, confused by everything that had happened.

     Gordon only picked at the meal Jennifer served. He wasn’t hungry, and nothing appeared appetizing. He decided to go to bed early, hoping tomorrow would be a better day.

The End