Exercise: Reach For It

Another exercise I found at The Periwinkle Pen.
This one is based on the Machine of Death, where people can get a slip of paper that tells them how they will die. What's on the paper is not always literal though, which doesn't solve questions about death, really.

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[Reach For It]

Stampede.

Lukas squinted at the small slip of paper in his hand. Eight simple letters that foresaw his death. He told himself that looking at the paper in the safety of his own home would eliminate the spook factor, but his home gave him little comfort.

"What does it say?" Red asked, jumping up and down and trying to snatch the slip away.

Lukas held the paper above his own head and sneered, his eyes narrowed and stare genuine despite his his quickly beating heart. "Only if you can reach it from my hand, short stuff."

"Not fair!"

Lukas chuckled, but then slowly stopped and frowned as Red began pointing and laughing. The paper with the single word dangled in front of Lukas' face, black fingernails dully shining from the ceiling light.

"You really should be careful when I'm around," a girl smiled, lightly yellowed teeth greeting him. "I may not be as tall as you, but I'm sneakier than your dead cat instincts can handle."

Rolling his eyes, Lukas tried to grab back the slip. "Now that is what I call unfair, Maroon."

Maroon shrugged, pulling away the paper. "I don't see how it's unfair. You told Red and I that you would show us what that silly Machine would say about your so-called 'future death.' As your friends, Red and I are allowed to be curious. God knows you'd want to see my foreseen death."

"And mine," chimed Red.

"Don't make me wrestle you for it," Lukas said, smiling more and more to himself. Wrestling did not sound so bad in the least, a nice distraction. He eyed Maroon up and down--

"Stampede."

Maroon's eyebrows rose as her gaze switched from the paper to Lukas. She flicked the paper back at the cranberry-haired man and flipped her towering red Mohawk. Red blinked at Lukas, who quickly snatched the paper with a slightly pink face, as his sister said, "Well, what do you make of that?"

"Nothing."

"You're kidding."

"Not really," Lukas said, itching his shoulder and stuffing the piece of paper in his back pocket. Unconsciously he rolled his shoulder and realized how lucky he was to have hair covering his forehead sweat. "We don't even know if this freaky voo-doo is even legitimate. They say the Machine never fails, but you know propaganda. They could claim so just to get our money."

"I heard otherwise from some guy," Red said, throwing himself at Lukas' recently-made bed and rolling on his back, letting his head hang upside down. "He said that some other guy he knew got a prediction that read 'gunshot.' His friend swore he'd stay in the house to avoid any conflict with guns. Five days later, he was watching a movie, a man shot a gun, BAM. Had a heart attack. The gunshot caused the man to have a heart attack! It's not totally bogus!"

"So they're cryptic," said Maroon, now looking at Lukas. "So maybe this is a symbolic stampede."

Lukas stretched his back and arms. "My first thought was a human stampede."

When the Grupp siblings just stared, Lukas pressed his lips together, halting any chance of nervous lip-quivers. "Is that so wrong of me?" he mock pouted.

"Only famous people get trampled by people," Maroon shot mockingly right back at the man.

Lukas shook his head and smiled, a new thought coming to his head--and said though eased his beating heart. His eyes shone. "You see, my dear Maroon, I will become famous. The girls will love me so much that they will be moved and rush to me in the wild passion of obsession. And that's how I want to die. Plus, once I die, people will become so depressed, their mangled emotions will drive them to kill themselves just to join me in death."

One of Maroon's eyes twitched and her lips tightened. "Are you really supporting mass suicide?"

"If it's in my name, then yes."

"You're horrible."

"Horribly beautiful."

"Lame," Red called, now laying on his stomach with arms dangling over the edge.

"What I find lame," Lukas said, picking his words tastefully, with a smug smirk across his mug, "is how you two didn't get your own little prediction from the Machine."

Red smiled and fixed a shining gaze at Lukas. If Red's thick black eyebrows were ten times thinner, and if all his facial piercing disappeared, he would look like an  middle school child looking up at a teacher. "I don't need a piece of paper to drive me deeper into insanity. I've got the psychosis for that."

"And I really don't care how I die," Maroon said. "And after your little remark, I don't think I care how you die either." She pushed past Lukas and out the door, offering a small backwards glance.

"Ouch," Lukas said, rubbing his chest. "That hurt. Talk about an emotional blow."

When Lukas turned to Red, the short man only stared at him with clouded eyes. From the looks of it, Red stared not at Lukas or the wall behind him or even into space, as cliches go. Tilting his head, Lukas said, "What's with that trippy look on your face, Red?"

Red offered a light smile. "I think I know what kind of stampede will cause your death."

"Oh really? What do you say it is?"

"Only if you can reach it from within my mind, tall stuff."