Death comes as the end

Another assignment shared by J. 

Write a story (or part of a story) about a relatively young person (let's say under 40 years old) who will die soon. Only, s/he has no idea about this. You, the all-seeing author, do know: so write with that knowledge affecting your writing in whatever way it can or will.

As he stepped out of his brownstone, he gave a shrill whistle, calling to halt a taxi on the opposite lane. Sprinting into the cab, he quickly rattled off the familiar Chinatown address. Today was the day. He could feel it, luck was finally going to look upon him and smile benevolently. All he had to do was reach on time.

He had been chasing these coins for so many years; that they should turn up in his neighbourhood seemed fortuitous enough. Coins from the Qing dynasty were floating around in the black markets around the world, but these were special simply because they were also known as powerful amulets. After all, the emperor Kangxi, in whose time this coin was cast, was believed to have enjoyed a long and prosperous reign. He would love to live longer and possess some more of these beautiful artefacts; who wouldn’t want to welcome more prosperity! He could just imagine the future filled with prized antiques.

As he got down from the taxi, he looked around to ensure that he was not followed. One could not be careful enough. He had met his share of nasty people while dealing with antiques and had learnt how to protect his interests in a way. Nothing could stop him from attaining the Kangxi coins, unless a rival had beaten him to it. No! He could never allow such a travesty to occur. He first heard of the coins when pursuing the 1000-year-old coins from the Northern Song Dynasty somewhere in Mongolia and ever since, all his other purchases failed to thrill him. The coins falling in the hands of another collector would be sacrilegious. Only he knew their worth, only he was his truest admirer and they belonged to him and him alone!

He quickened his step, at times breaking into a run. He huffed a little bit, his lungs straining to keep up with his eagerness. He knew he had to slow down; the doctors treating his fungal pneumonia had warned him about his suppressed immunity. His stride slowed a bit but the coins seemed to call out to him; they would not wait. He increased his pace, half skipping, half jogging, finally bursting into a run as if it were a now or never moment, veering and dodging the obstacles in the pokey alleys of Canal Street only to come to a crashing halt, as he stumbled into a stack of wooden crates carelessly piled. He cursed and grumbled as he pushed the contents of the crates away, staggering and slipping in his attempts to get going. Finally he scrambled up, brushing away the dust and the glitter from whatever was in those boxes. He felt a stinging, burning sensation on his shin, he even felt the warm trickle of blood; he pulled his pants up a bit and noticed the cut—it wasn’t deep, it wasn’t bad. He had endured worse, survived all kinds of horror and come out victorious. Would he let a minor scratch stop him? Would it come in the way of possessing health and prosperity? No never. He would take his coins, and then move to explore the immeasurable treasures hidden within hundreds of miles of underground passages in Ecuador. He was destined for greatness; at 37, the youngest ever to do so. His future was set and nothing would come in its way.