Racing the Reaper

This is a little something I came up with when my Ex was going to school a few years ago. I am the originator of this short story, and any mistakes are of my own making. Please don't drink and drive the life of those who will come to rescue you is hard enough as it is.

"I pull into the station parking lot and get out, it's far too early for him to be standing in his usual spot out front between the bay doors. I go inside and hang my extra uniforms up and go back to the kitchen, it was my turn to bring in the donuts today."

"I grab one of my favorites, I've always loved cinnamon rolls and the guy just off the freeway has some of the best. I pick up the morning paper and after roll call and the checking of the 'Rig', I step outside to sit with him."

"He's an old friend, if one can consider him that, he's the strong, silent type and always listens when we talk, not that he answers very often. He's always dressed in dark colors, regardless of how hot or cold it is outside."

"We sit and chat and I watch him slowly scanning the area as if looking for something or someone, not that many can really see him and those of us that can aren't always friendly to him at times, we try to keep him from getting the jump on us and we're all kind of sore losers, we hate losing to him."

"I watch him disappear and 20 minutes later show back up looking just as calm as always, I look up and ask him if he's having a bad day? or just a slow one like we are.' We all have off days; I just hope that we have a slow day today, I really could stand a slow one especially after my last day on."

"So far today he's disappeared over 20 times and it's not even time for the people to go home yet, well I mean there are those that stay home or work nights so maybe he's getting a jump on the night shifters."

"Just then he looks over at me and smiles, just as the tones go off and I run inside and hop in the Rig and pull on my gloves, I look outside and can see he's already gone. 'Fuck me,' I mutter as we once again pull-out, lights and siren flashing and screaming as if to tell the world that yet again we are racing the Reaper."

Apparently, I need to add 315 additional words because someone thinks that the 435 words that encompassed the body of the poem wasn't enough and to be published, a story needs 750 words or more. What the powers that be fail to realize is that the shorter the better is something that my Father, who taught English at MSU back in the late 60s and early 70s didn't know enough. As an EMT and First Responder for over 30 years, I've raced the man in black many times, sometimes I won, many times I lost. I learned to celebrate both, I don't like loosing to him but sometimes that's the way the dice land. I hope for 7/11, and I'm not surprised when snake eyes come up, you don't win them all.

Always remember to acknowledge the loss and to count the wins for what they are, a way to keep out sanity, if that's what they want to call it. We are the 1%ers that do what most people would never dream of doing, running to the problem instead of away from it. To my brothers and sisters out there fighting the good fight against the ever increasing odds and stupidity remember, we are not in this racket for the money or in the hope of becoming famous. We are the anonymous face in a crowd that steps out, does the right thing, hands them off and the disappears back into the crowd. We do this not for recognition or to be on some magazine cover or TV show, we do it because we can and are willing to put out butt on the chopping block and risk all to save someone else.

The AF PJs have the right motto, "This I do, that others might live." This we do to save others and send them home to their families and friends. It's a good trade I think.