Random stories

“No. Please! Please! Please Stop! Aaahhh!” the screams echoed from the old brick building, down the dark alley.

I stood in the shadows, silently waiting for the negotiation to conclude. Water dripped slowly from an exposed pipe and a light near the metal door at the back of the brick building flickered as if cowering from the pain being inflicted inside.

“Okay! Okay!” the voice inside whimpered between sobs. My lip twitched and I exhaled, then coughed. I leaned back against the cold concrete wall and pulled out a cigarette.

My hand shook as I lit up. I’d heard these interrogations a dozen times already and I thought I’d be okay with them by now, but no one really ever gets used to the guttural animal noises people produce when they’re having their skin slowly peeled back.

The nicotine hit me almost immediately and my shoulders slumped. Just then the lock on the back door clicked and the metal door flung open noisily. A man wearing a blood stained white apron and face shield stood there, looking out. He saw me, the cigarette and nodded, “give me one of those will you?”

I grunted and passed him the pack.

“Any trouble?” He asked as he wiped blood onto his pants before picking out a cigarette. I shook my head. As he exhaled he looked me up and down, “you don’t talk much, do you?”

I shrugged, “not much to say.”

He laughed “Bit like our friend inside! Dumb kid, you’d think this younger generation would be smarter, but we’ve got no end of clients coming our way. Anyway, you can go if you want. We’re all done here.”

I nodded, dropping my butt on the ground and stepping out of the shadow towards the street.

“We’ve got five negotiations tomorrow, don’t be late,” the blood soaked man shouted down the alley as I reached the street. Cars streamed past at speed and people hurried by. I turned on the busy sidewalk and almost walked straight into a man crouching down tying his child’s shoelace.

“Daddy, what’s he doing up there?”

I looked up at the billboard he was pointing at. It showed a skinny young man with tattered clothing and a depressed look standing on the side of a bridge with the words ‘Feeling down? Talk to us first!’ The words Willing Exchange and a phone number flashed underneath.

The father glanced up and then physically turned his child away from the sign. “Don’t worry about that, son,” he said sternly.

One day it could be him, I thought as I stepped past. I looked up at the sign again, a new photo showed a vending machine filled with photos of people. The text read ‘Save yourself today with new deals available all the time! Available now at a brokerage machine near you!’

I kept walking for a few minutes until I reached one of these machines. I coughed as I pulled out my phone and saw a new notification confirming I’d received my latest pay check. I could see another notification showing an unread email from my doctor as well. I swiped both away and looked up at the machine.

The vending machine was filled with cards featuring faces of people, mostly young men. Below each photo a life expectancy was printed in years along with a description of the person’s medical history and pre-existing conditions. In the top left corner one card flashed red with “NEW” printed in the top corner.

I stared into the eyes of the young dude I’d helped drag into the old brick building just an hour earlier. He was the latest addition and showed a life expectancy of 87 years. I was about to pull out another cigarette when I started coughing. Blood drops splattered the vending machine as I tapped on the card in the top left hand corner.

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It turned out to be somewhat uncomfortable writing this story. To anyone out there reading this who is feeling down or having negative thoughts, please remember there are good people in excellent organizations across the world doing great work helping people deal with life's challenges. Seek help if you need it.

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Submitted by RockingWren on Sun, Jul 03, 2022 to /r/WritingPrompts/

The prompt

Human lives are now a commodity. People can give each other their life, but not unless they will it. Millions of terminally ill people flock to beg the suicidal for their lives. The black markets sell the lives of those they tortured to agree to give theirs up.