Chase slid the crisp hundred dollar bill into his pocket and drove off, checking his rear view mirror with every turn. Flashing lights weren’t his favorite sight and even in the day time his skin crawled with anxiety just thinking about them. Dealing wasn’t his ideal job, but he was damn sure good at it. He could blame his less than admirable profession on his deadbeat parents, but he knew that’s be a lie. It was the machine that made him do it. The day he turned 16 and the card slid out was the day he upgraded from petty dime bags to the big leagues. Most kids spiral into a deep depression when they find out how they are going to die, but not Chase. As soon as he knew the streets weren’t going to kill him, his mind set changed entirely. No more house parties and fucking behind the school, he dedicated his life, or whatever he had left of it, to dealing drugs and making money. To Chase, the streets were his kingdom, full of life, possibility, and dirty creatures to whom he could capture.
His most recent victim, and girlfriend, was a young high school girl named Cecy. She was about 5 foot 4 with perfect grades and a body to match. Usually girls like her would end up with a guy that had a lot more going for him than Chase, but she found something comforting about him. His presence when the stresses of high school became too overwhelming for her made her feel safe and secure.
It was Cecy’s 17th birthday yesterday and Chase knew he fucked up by leaving early to pick up his most recent batch of methamphetamines. He decided surprising her at school with her late birthday present would make up for his absence the day before.
As he pulled up to the school he passed the security guard and pulled out his ID and a twenty sack. Handing both to the guard, he was immediately let through. People will do anything for money or drugs and Chase took full advantage of his resources.
As he turned off his car, he realized he had been sober all day. Immediately he pulled out his rolling papers and weed and started rolling. The car filled with the stench of skunk as soon as he opened his container of weed. He needed something to put at the end of his joint, to filter the weed from going into his mouth as he inhaled, but had no such luck finding any trash in his car. He’d forgotten Cecyy cleaned out his car and thrown away ages of fast food trash and receipts.
“Im gonna kill her” Chase muttered under his breath right before he remembered his death card. Even though he kept it a secret from everyone, he kept it in his wallet at all times. His friends probably figured he’d die from a GUNSHOT or TWEAKER or maybe even OVERDOSE, but he knew his death wasn’t that dramatic. If everyone knew he’d die from a SPIDERBITE, his street cred would be ruined. He ripped a piece off the side, figuring he’d at least use his death card for something useful, and stuffed it into the empty end of the joint. He lit his doobie and traced the trail of smoke as is danced across his dashboard....