Final Destination: The Road Not Taken
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Marcus Williams coughed into his arm as fumes from spray-painting a wall filled the room. Bursts of red splattered across the white wall in uneven globs. He shook his head and coughed again. He was almost done with this job but he was running out of paint quickly. To make matters worse, he was starting to feel a little bit light-headed.
"I wish this room had windows," he muttered to himself as he desperately tried to cover a last area of white with what little paint he had left.
The paint started coming out more sporadically and in stranger chunks. It splattered on the wall and himself indiscriminately, making him feel more and more tired. Something just didn't feel right to him, but he shook it off as a side effect of the fumes.
'Maybe I should take a break,' he thought, but shook his head in perseverance, 'I'm almost done, though. Once this is done I can finally go for good.'
He shook the bottle of spray-paint again to no avail. Again, and all that happened was a burst of air rushing out. In frustration, he threw the can down onto the ground. BAM! The sound of a small explosion took him by surprise as one last rupture of red paint erupted from the can, showering itself all over the bottom of the wall and his shoes.
"Fuck!"
He lifted a foot to take off a show but lost his balance and fell on his back, bumping his head lightly against one of the painted walls, smearing red paint on the back of his head. Already light-headed from the fumes, his eyes fluttered for a few seconds before they finally closed.
Flashes of silver filled the blackness of his vision, worming around as wisps of sentient smoke. He saw his best friend Jeremy looking over the edge of something. He tried to get closer to him, but it was just an image, ephemeral and haunting. Jeremy turned to look at him, their eyes meeting. Could he see him? He tried to wave, but he couldn't tell if he had a physical body. Regardless, Jeremy smiled and waved back, but in a flash of silver his face was replaced by a skull and Marcus screamed slamming his hands against a nearby chair to hold himself up.
His eyes opened and he saw himself in the hazy red room. He had slammed his hands against one of the wet red walls, smearing it all over his fingers and shirt. The back of his head felt wet. He groaned, realizing there was paint dripping from his hair.
Marcus used the wall to steady himself as he trudged to the door.
'It's this goddamn paint. Lady needs to buy a window.'
He opened the door and coughed repeatedly in the adjacent room. Screw it. There was no point in staying any longer. He'd come back another day. Besides, the paycheck wasn't worth this.
He walked slowly outside to the woman's backyard where his bag was but the bright sunlight made him shield his eyes. He still wasn't feeling well and he was starting to develop a blunt headache, probably from hitting his head against the wall. He picked up his bag, but before he could sling it around his shoulder, he noticed a beautiful pool. He wanted to go swimming.
Marcus giggled a little bit. He knew he shouldn't, but the lady wasn't even home. He could do it before anyone noticed. He put his bag down at the edge of the table and started removing his clothes. He sat at the edge of the pool and stuck one of his feet in first. Immediately, red from the paint began spreading out across the water but right before he jumped in, his bag fell from its perch atop the table, spilling its contents all along the ground.
Among those was a train ticket.
Marcus immediately jumped back and tore his foot out of the water, catching the ticket right before it fell into the water. Instead of getting into the pool, he started piling his belongings back in his bag, just seconds before his light-headedness took over him and he fell into a face-down slumber.
His foot fell back into the pool, spreading paint all throughout the water.