Pushing Up Daisies

 Pushing up daisies.

That's what they call it, right?

Pushing up daisies.

I didn't want to push up any damn daisies. Not in this lifetime or the next. Nevermind that I didn't know the meaning of the phrase when Hofcolt was shoving my limp body into the ground. All I knew was that things were looking mighty grim and the hole I'd been dumped into was pretty deep. I peered up and onto my captors as they circled my would-be grave and scoffed at my bloodied remains.

I had once been called “Stumpy”. Now the title seemed fitting.

As clearly as I could tell they'd taken my left forearm clean off. I could feel nothing beyond my waist and I dare not inch my eyes down to see if something lay beyond my ass. Instead I focused on the remains of my cigarette and the cold eyes looking down on me. Analyzing me. Betraying me. Mocking me.

God. I could use another pack right now.

This one wasn't going to get me over to the afterlife.

I could see Bruno's fat lips moving as his little lackies began filling my hole up with dirt. Hofcolt hadn't the decency to see his right hand man into the great beyond... He only stared me down one final time before that flaxen coat twisted in the wind and the man himself was off and back to his BMW. My opportunities...my prospects...now his.

If I could I'd give him the bird, but my right hand was mangled and torn up. Didn't really care to see if the dogs left any remains of my fingers or not so I continued to puff away at the only thing left to me. This precious and meager cigarette blunt. And now that heavy dirt was piling onto my waist...my neck... And the air in my lungs was stolen away. And the last I could see was the faint glow of that cigarette before it too disappeared.