The Space in Between

By Millie Armstrong

Life, death — neither particularly interested Angela, but the one that she really could not stand was the space in between. Regretfully, that was the space she was in. She was probably dying; she could definitely see blood, which was never a good sign.

She had quite simply misjudged the timing a bit. Angela had no rhythm, in fairness, and she was in a hurry. But being hit by a car really changes your perspective on things. She knew she would miss her mother's birthday party. A smile crept onto her face, realising there's no way her mother could be mad at this excuse.

She stared up into the sky, trying to amuse herself so she wouldn't pass out. She knew that if you fall asleep while bleeding out on the road, you're not asleep — you're dead. The problem was, she was an extremely amusing person — to no one else but herself. She began thinking about Karl Marx and Frederick Engels making out in a 90s rom-com. She didn't quite know where this came from, but it was hilarious to her. Her own comedic sensibilities mixed with massive blood loss sent her into a giggling fit, much to the dismay of the driver who was on the phone with 111.

As the ambulance came, all they could see was a 19-year-old woman lying in the street in a pool of blood, giggling to herself, and a very guilty and upset-looking middle-aged woman. Because of Angela's general vibe, they asked a lot of questions about drugs and which ones she was using.

Angela decided to fake confidence; fake it till you make it, as her doctor always said.

"I'm using most of them," she said, lying. She got jittery if she had a full cup of coffee. She was trying to sound cool for the hot ambulance medic. He responded in turn — very impressed, I'm sure.

"Which ones specifically?"

His face was almost on top of hers, staring down at her and her head trauma.

"Who cares, man, just go with the flow… you single?"

She sounded so chill, which was probably the blood loss.

"We may be using medication that will conflict with recreational drugs or prescription drugs you are using."

He was all business, no fun at all. She responded, delirious as hell:

"Fine… You know I'm taking the cool ones. Like the, the, the ones in brat like the… up-the-nose ones and the, ummm, through-the-shoulder ones."

"Are you saying you are on meth, ketamine, and cocaine?"

Saying those words out loud sort of grossed her out. She had been taught so long to hate those and the people who use them.

"What?! No, what are you, a cop?"

And then she passed out. All things considered, probably the right move. She didn't want to come on too strong. The ball was in his court now.

About the Author

Millie is a young writer trying on every genre she can get her hands on and seeing what sticks, mostly because she just really loves to write.

She has a passion for absurd, offbeat commentary reminiscent of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, mixed with a fascination for politics and identity.