I could not stomach looking at it, and yet still, I could not look away from it. I could only stare and cringe with horror.

“Jonathan Weekes, Dead at 39.”

“It was a joke,” I said to myself the first second I read it. I had many enemies, I remembered, and this is just the kind of thing Joey or Mr. Knight would do. Mr. Knight loved a good laugh, and he was the kind of man intimidating enough to gain just about anything he wanted- all he had to do was fix that menacing stare of his on it.

I looked at the headline again, and for some reason I can’t fathom, it changed. The words didn’t change, neither did the “Brooklyn Times” logo printed neatly in the middle of the page change- and yet, it felt different.

Suppose this wasn’t a joke, I allowed myself to think. This thought came across a few times, but just as quick as I thought it was just as quick as I sent another thought to contradict it. I allowed myself to believe both thoughts at the same time- and it was only for so long that my brain could manage it.

Now, all I, Jonathan Weekes, did was stare at the headline with pure horror.