Too Late: Day 15

 Word Total: 90,008

Year to Date: 660,166

Summary of Events:

Callan talked with his teammate about his desire to propose marriage, which his teammate recommended he wait to do until he'd known Amarina a little longer. Amarina sat down and wrote her will before going to work, having decided that death was the only way out. Callan was called by the counsellor, who told him that Amarina had yet to answer her calls, which worried him; he rushed through his lunch when he saw Amarina walk past his flat and hurried to Arsenal's stadium, where he found the seventh verse outside before finding the security in disarray because a young woman had broken in, Callan urged them to find her and headed for the dressing room to search himself. . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Finally, however, he reached the dressing room and heaved the door open. So much was red in the room, but there was no grey coat or blue jeans. There was a spot of black, though.

Callan turned and saw it was at his stall; he rushed over and saw it was a mobile with a sticky on it that had the little ant’s familiar writing on it, informing him that the passcode was 272727.

She’d been here. She was close.

Taking up her mobile, Callan pocketed it and looked around.

“Little ant!” he cried. “Little ant!”

He hurried about the dressing room, searching for her everywhere while frantically calling her name, especially as he got no response and found no sign of her.

Having searched the whole room, Callan turned toward the pitch and rushed out.

As soon as he could see the pitch he could see something red on it.

“Little ant!” he screamed, running faster.

Emerging onto the pitch to silent, empty stands, Callan saw the rather familiar figure of the little ant lying on her back at the centre of the pitch, looking in a peaceful repose.

Despite his not wearing his cleated football shoes, Callan was able to race across the pitch quickly and dropped to her side.

“Little ant,” he said, shaking her. “Little ant, it’s me.”

She didn’t rouse, she looked eerily lifeless.

Callan put his finger under her nose. No warm breath exhaled onto his finger.

Shifting his finger, he pressed it against her throat, but he couldn’t feel anything, nor was there a throb when he felt her wrist; indeed, when he clasped her hand it felt cool to the touch.

“No,” Callan said, tears flooding his eyes. “No. I’m too late.”

An anguished sob convulsed him and he buried his face into her lifeless shoulder, screaming and sobbing agony into the material.

How had it all gone wrong? How had he let this happen? How had he not been fast enough? He’d failed her. 

He felt raindrops land against the back of his neck and felt a gratefulness that the heavens were just as broken at what had happened as he was and continued to sob into her shoulder, yearning to be able to hear her heart beat through the flesh and clothes, but no such sound reached his ear.

Eventually he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.

“Do we need an ambulance?” a calm, kind voice asked.

Callan didn’t want to have to respond, but he knew he had to. He strove to rein in his anguished sobs enough that he would be able to speak before raising his face off her shoulder and elevating his upper body by putting is forearms underneath it.

“No,” he replied. “No. We need a coroner.”

Feeling weakened by the effort, Callan immediately dropped himself back against the lifeless little ant and screamed into her shoulder, devastated that he should have been too late.

Next Post: 31 August