The hussle and bustle of the noisy bar all but drowned out the tinkle of coins as Stella dumped a handful of money down on the counter. It was probably too much, but whatever, she thought, keep the change. In fact, take it all.
She opened her wallet and removed what cash she had on hand, letting it flutter down on top of the pile. Without waiting for a reaction, she slipped down from the barstool and tried to make herself as scarce as possible while snaking her way out of the bar between groups of people. She never thought of others as being in her way, but rather she regretted the space she took up and felt rude for having to make anyone move for her to get by.
It was a lifetime of abuse, particularly that of the narcissistic persuasion that had caused her to think of herself as an inconvenience, though she couldn’t seem to accept it as a fact that it really was the abuse. She’d been worn down so hard that she could not imagine it was undeserved, or had happened for reasons outside of her control.
This night had been her tipping point, hence leaving all her money for the bartender. She wouldn’t need it anymore, not where she was going. Wherever that even was. No one really knew for sure where you went when you died. People had their various theories, most of them seemingly far-fetched and absurd, few actually somewhat plausible. Stella only hoped for peace. Peace, and maybe pleasant dreams. Silence at the worst. But even a fiery hell of physical pain would have been preferable to a future that would surely be full of even worse traumas than her past. As things stood, her life had, up to this point, been one trauma after another, each worse than before, or playing off each other to make matters worse.
So yeah, she thought, even a future burning in hell would be a better option than facing any of that shit. Fuck that.
As soon as she emerged from the bar and stepped out into the frigid night wind, Stella slid from her pocket a slim pink box with a button on the side. She gave it a light press and it sprung open to reveal a row of black cigarettes and a narrow, pink lighter. Lighting up, she turned down the sidewalk and began the trek back to her low budget apartment. She hated being there because it wasn’t a home. It was a cheap knock-off of a home, a stand-in, even, like a cardboard cutout of a security guard in an empty building. Or like being invested in a tv show because the characters are the closest thing you have to friends, which Stella was also guilty of. Another good reason to end her miserable existence, she told herself.
She had no home, no friends, and a broken family, not to mention enough baggage to drive a therapist batshit. Who the hell would even want to get involved with someone like that? Someone who seemed to be a literal bad luck charm- a magnet for disaster. It was like people could smell it on her at this point. Any attempts at making friends just ended in silence and trying to rekindle past friendships resulted in absolute catastrophe.
Stella had a long history of people entering her life and then just leaving it forever, sometimes through death, but usually through sudden ghosting.
“Waste of a pretty face,” came a voice from seemingly nowhere. Stella stopped so suddenly, her cigarette tumbled from between her lips and blew away in the chilly night wind. Cursing quietly, she composed herself, eyes darting around in the darkness to find the source of the voice.
“What does that mean?” She asked, baiting the voice to speak once more so that she could hone in on it.
“Well… you’re staring at the ground for one,” the voice replied, prompting her to cock her head left and peer down the nearby alleyway. “And for two, you look too morose for someone your age and type.”
A tiny orange light brightened and then dimmed before floating downward a bit and hovering. A cigarette. And not just any cigarette, judging by the smell, but a clove cigarette just like the one she had just lost. Possibly the very same.
“Is this gonna be one of those whole ‘you should smile more’ speeches?” She asked, stepping slightly closer while maintaining a safe distance. “Because I’m really tired of hearing that kind of shit.”
The person’s silhouette was beginning to come into focus and she could perceive a slight shrug as the burning cherry floated back up to where she assumed their mouth was.
“I was just thinking… that sort of bleak, dead-inside look you had on… I know it. I see it, you feel me?”
Stella was surprised they could see anything in such low light, but she humored them anyway.
“What do you see?” She asked.
“Here, take this back.” The glowing orange light approached her along with the person who she could now see was probably a young man. “I get addicted to things too easily.”
He placed the cigarette between her slightly trembling fingers and then backed away again to show he meant no harm.
“Let’s just say that I know what you’re planning to do, and I have a counter offer.”
The words pierced her so harshly that she dropped the cigarette again. Had she heard him correctly? Surely not; she had been very careful this time not to leak her plans to anyone before she had actually intended to go through with them, this way no one could stop her or accuse her of seeking attention. This was a solid plan she had poured months of thought into, finally having crystallized with the confirmation that her only love had found someone else and was happy. So no, she must have misheard.
“What did you just say?” Stella asked, a note of defensiveness leaking out in her voice.
“I think you heard me just fine. You’re planning to off yourself tonight, right? And I just thought that I’d offer to let you have a little fun with it. Try your luck.”
At first, it occurred to her to scream, or run. Was he threatening to murder her or something like that? Did he want to “play a little game” like a creep from a horror movie? But then, she was planning to kill herself anyway, so why bother freaking out? Maybe he could save her the trouble.
“What did you have in mind?” She asked in barely more than a whisper.
The guy reached into his pocket and withdrew something.
“Magic beans,” he said, revealing a small glass jar which he held up between their two faces. Stella chortled.
“Magic beans? Sorry, man, but I don’t have a cow to sell you.”
The young man laughed pleasantly.
“There isn’t any need for a cow,” he said, “but like with any magic beans, there are rules.”
“What do they do?” Stella asked, peering through the darkness to try to see if the jar actually contained the alleged beans.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, they *can* kill you. But they might not. You could wake up tomorrow and find that your life has improved.”
“So… it’s like a magic Russian roulette?” she asked. “You either win or you die?”
“But you wanted to die already, didn’t you? So I’d say that’s a win either way.”
Stella bit her lip.
“What’s the catch?” She asked.
“Ah, that. That’s the fun part. That’s where the gamble really comes into play! For you see, there is a third possible outcome where your life improves, you get what you always wanted, but you still die. And you won’t know which it is until it happens or doesn’t.”
By this point, Stella was invested. If this was true, then she could still have a chance, and if not, worst case scenario was she’d die in a different way than she’d planned.
“How will I know if I’m getting the happy ending, or the tragedy one?” she pressed.
“The beans can take between 36 and 72 hours to fully take effect if they’re going to kill you. So if you eat them and you wake up to a bunch of things going your way, you know that you’re getting at least one of those two. But if you wake up and your life still sucks, then yeah, you probably just got the poison outcome.”
“That’s bullshit,” said Stella. “So then I just have to wait around to die if that’s the case?”
“I mean, no one’s gonna show up to stop you if you decide to pull out a gun or whatever, but I’m just saying. Maybe it’ll buy you some extra time to tie up some loose ends you forgot about or something.”
Stella bit her thumb, thoughtfully. What did she really have to lose? At worst, this guy was just a crazy person offering her toxic beans. But then again, he did know about her plans somehow, so maybe there really was more to this than she thought.
“I’m not seeing a downside to this,” she admitted.
“And I’m not here to trick you or anything. I just wanted to give you the option to try for a different outcome, if you wanted to. So, do you want them?”
He held out the small glass jar in front of her.
“If you do, then just make sure that you chew them up first. You can’t just swallow them, or they won’t work. Oh, and don’t expose them to temperatures above 178 degrees Fahrenheit, either.”
Perplexed, Stella reached out her hand and took the small jar of beans.
“Why not?” She asked.
“It’ll cook the magic out, silly.”
“Oh. Well, can I at least give you something for these? I don’t feel great just taking them.”
“Something tells me you don’t have any cash on you.”
Stella gripped the glass jar in her hand tightly at these words. He knew. She left all her money at the bar and he knew… so this had to be real.
“You are actually right,” she said. “I forgot about that.”
“So don’t worry about it. And try to have some fun. Maybe I’ll see you around. Then again, maybe not.” He gave her a big goofy wave as he disappeared down the alley.
Once home, Stella took the little bottle out of her pocket and looked at it in the light. There were five little brown speckled beans inside which resembled nothing she had ever seen before. She unscrewed the lid and let them fall into her palm.
“How strange,” she said aloud before popping one of the beans into her mouth. Even stranger than their appearance was what came next. As she bit down on the bean, it crushed easily between her teeth like an M&M. The shell was just about as thin, and inside was the least bean-like bean she had ever encountered. It wasn’t hard at all, but rather soft and extremely oily.
“Ew,” she said, reaching for a bottle of juice. “It’s cool if I wash them down with a drink as long as I don’t swallow them whole, right?”
She tucked the rest of the beans into her mouth and chewed them as quickly as she could before washing them down with a nice big gulp of the juice.
“Okay,” she breathed. “I guess now I just wait.”
Crash tested. Dummy approved. 
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