Quick Draw

The noise of the coffee shop was loud, boisterous, and energetic. It always was on a weekday morning in this, my favorite part of the city. The bottom floors of tall skyscrapers can be seen from the window, like ancient steel and glass trees that have taken root thousands of years ago. Cars move in and out to the time of the traffic light visible through my vantage point in the window.

I was here watching for a particular woman. This woman is visible in my drawing pad. No, I've never met her before. In fact, I'm willing to bet that I've never seen her in my entire life. That's why, when I look down at this sheet of drawing paper, I don't see her face. When you look down at it, you'd see nothing. Of course, you'd see nothing, I haven't drawn anything there yet.

What do I see? A gory scene. A bloody mess in a kitchen with a body that's been mutilated, violated, and desecrated. A body, that's missing a face. That's why I'm here, to try and make sure this doesn't happen. If only I can warn her somehow. Catch this mystery woman before its too late, then maybe I can stop it. I don't know her name, or even what she looks like, but I know a couple of things. 1) I know she will be here soon. 2) I know what I see on the paper. But that's all I know. I can't draw it yet; I definitely can't write anything down.

Why can't I draw it yet? Well, what if she walks in when I got my head down on the paper? Remember, I can't see her face. What if she walks right on by while I got my head down busily trying to draw out this gory scene, and completely miss her face. Then what I see on paper will happen. It will have come true, and I didn't do anything to stop it. To me, that's almost like holding the knife myself.

So, why didn't I draw it at home? I didn't see it there at home. It doesn't work that way. I don't know why it works the way it does. I know to go to a place, then look for a face. When I get to the place, I can see the scene on the paper before me. It could be a blessing, that lets me help these people. It could be a curse. All I know is that if I don't do something, the images I see on that paper come true.

Through the crush of people at the register, I see her face. Almost pale white, with piercing blue eyes and red hair. Recognition pulls at me, pulls my pencil to the paper. Now, I must make my move. Working quickly, I sketch as fast as possible, my pencil gently brushing over every line and curve I see. It's not a beautiful picture, but then again, it's not supposed to be.

I occasionally glance up at her while I'm drawing. She's not quite through the line yet. The crush of people waiting for coffee on this dreary drizzly day has spilled out the doorway and partially onto the sidewalk. I see her behind the large guy in the business suit. Still four people in front of her. Should be enough time. Hopefully.

I look down and concentrate on drawing. Up and down, circles, the soft hush hush of graphite marking lines on paper lost over the din of patrons shouting orders and baristas taking money. The floor is shaded, just so. The blood is now darker gray splotches on a gray mess of lines meant to represent tiles. Before I begin to work my way up to the kitchen counters, I look up and check.

The fat man in the business suit is now at the counter. Oh great. I haven't got much time. I look skywards and say a silent prayer 'please make him indecisive', then look down and begin to work more. The fridge outline was easy to draw, but there is just so much more to do.

The decorative counter tops, the wall, the image outside the picture window. The detail is just as important in these things as the crime. Without including the everyday details, I see in the drawing, the potential victim may just think that they have this random, weird drawing and won't take heed of the warning and instead just throw it away. I know that has happened before. I cannot let it happen now.

Continuing with my artwork, I begin working on the body now. The limbs are easy and quick work, as well as the face. I look up at the counter in time to see the red head now handing over cash. Great. I need to make this happen now. But something is missing. I look down at my drawing. The countertop is there. The floor is too in perfect vivid detail. I look over at the body, the face it's all there. But what about the fridge?

On the lower left-hand corner of the fridge is small refrigerator magnets spelling out a simple message 'have a good day', surrounded by fruit. That's all there, though. I look up, just in time to see her, grab her cup of coffee and turn to leave. Pausing at the door, she takes a sip, then makes a face. Yes. They got her order wrong. Thank God! I might have just enough time.

As she walks back to the counter, I look back down at the artwork. Something in the fridge is missing. The message is written, the handles, the picture. Picture! I quickly trace the outline of what is obviously a child's handiwork. Sunshine in the corner, house on the hill with smoke, two men standing back talking. The works.

I tear the drawing off of my art pad and shove it aside. As I start to fold it up, something else catches my eye. The clock. There's supposed to be a clock on the wall. There has to be a clock on the wall. I flip open my trusty pencil box and snatch a pencil. The others go flying in all directions. I don't care. Clock, I have to draw that clock. It only takes me seconds to finish the hands on it. Below it I scribble the only warning that comes to mind at that moment: "Please don't go home tonight."

The art pad clatters to the floor as I stand. The glass door that served as an exit rattled to a close, with a familiar red head of hair behind it. I was too late. She was going to die tonight. Cause I couldn't get the drawing done in time. She will die tonight, and it will be all my fault. I can't let that happen. Not this time. Not again.

The door pull was cold in my hands. I ran as fast I could in the direction, I thought she went, mentally praying that I chose the right path. I could consciously hear every foot fall I was making. In my mind's eye, everyone was staring, though no body probably even noticed in this city. I had no idea what I would do if I found her, but I had to catch her. I had to....

The streets was crowded with people. Everyone and no one saw each other as they pushed and hustled their way through the concrete valleys of a city that never sleeps and never slows down. I shuffled and shoved and ran, scanning each person as I ran by looking for that expensive coat and familiar red hair hanging down the back. Suddenly, she appeared before me in the herd of bodies hidden by the shoulders of two larger men. There was no time to slow down. So I closed my eyes and sped up, mentally bracing myself for the impact. She screamed a curse as she went down, both knees striking the sidewalk hard. Her purse slid four feet in front of her.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry! I should watch were I'm going," I begin to mumble, then race over to her purse and slip the drawing in as neatly as possible.

It was a black bag, perfectly chosen to match her professional outfit. A career woman who was dressed to kill in a court room, or board room, or whatever she does. I wasn't sure. All I knew was that right now, she wanted to kill me.

"What are you high? Watch where you're going!" She slowly picked herself off the ground, examining herself as she did so. "Look at what you did to my dress! I can't go into my meeting like this. And now my coffee, oh God, I'm wearing half of it."

"I'm terribly sorry! Really, I didn't see you! I'm late for a job interview and then I have to be at my Burger World job right after and college has been so tough lately, I'm just..." I babbled as I tried to conceal my efforts to close her purse in front of her.

She angrily shook her hand out in front of me, "Just give me my purse back!"

I shoved the bag into her hand, "I'm sorry, I'm terribly sorry," I mumbled again as I ran away from the chaos.

"I should have you arrested!" She shouts after me as I sprint down the street. I'll have to go back to the coffee shop later and pick my art supplies up, if any of them are actually left.

She may never have seen my warning. I'll never know if she lives. I may never know if she dies. I'll probably never see her again. I at least warned her. Hopefully that's enough. I did my part, did all I could do. The rest is in God's hands now.