Almost Surely Dead by Amina Akhtar EPUB & PDF

Almost Surely Dead by Amina Akhtar EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online

• Status: Available for Free Download
• Author: Amina Akhtar
• Language: English
• Genre: Crime Thrillers
• Format: PDF / EPUB
• Size: 2 MB
• Price: Free

Two years ago
I always imagined my life would flash before my eyes when I died. Like a
film. But instead I saw nothing. Just pure panic, and my brain went blank.
Wow, this is it? This is all my brain will give me? No saccharine
Hallmark moments I never had?

You may think your thoughts will be different as you’re dying. But
they won’t be, not really. Maybe you’ll wish you’d had more fun, loved
more. I wished this would all be over, and death said, Sure, why not. Death
is funny like that.

My would-be killer had his arms around me, so tightly I couldn’t
move. If I tried to shift, he only held on harder. And he was inching
forward, closer and closer to the subway tracks. He was going to throw me
on them and watch me die.

I was going to become a New York horror story. The sort of tale
politicians used to stomp on the less fortunate. Because here I was, feet
from the tracks. And then once I landed, a train would take me out. I
wondered if the news would show my body, all mangled. Or maybe they’d
have the courtesy to leave that out and run a nice photo of me instead. I
could imagine my mother’s voice yelling at me for not looking prettier
today, more together. I hadn’t even put proper makeup on, and now I was
going to die. She’d warned me that would happen someday. Some concealer
wouldn’t have killed me. But she was dead, so at least she wouldn’t see my
photo. Small favor.

I wanted to be brave and step into this moment, embrace it, but instead
I screamed. I opened my mouth and let out as much sound as I could.
Because maybe I didn’t really want to die.

“Help me! Someone help me!” I yelled, my voice louder than I’d
thought possible. His arms only tightened around me. He smelled of sweat,
of not washing, his body odor the last thing I’d inhale. I wanted to hold my
breath. I didn’t know this man—my attacker.

That was a lie.
He was my subway boyfriend. The face I saw regularly on my
commute. We’d acknowledge each other, a nod, a wry smile. Anything to
make commuting in the packed 6 train a little easier. I’d seen him regularly
for weeks. He was cute in that way that disheveled white men are.
Charming looking, even. He often drew in a sketchbook while I pretended
to read a novel.

I’d make up stories about him in my head. One day he’d ask me out. I
was single now, and fantasies were the safest way to date.
But now he was trying to kill me. Yet another man who snapped and
lashed out at a woman. Being attacked is a little like being in a car accident.
There’s that moment of panic as you try to figure out what’s happening,
why your car is airborne. Or, in this case, why I was being pulled backward.

That’s followed by disbelief. This can’t be happening, not to me. And
then, reality sets in. All this cycles in milliseconds. It was in these quick
moments our caveman ancestors used to save themselves.

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