So… yeah. This is my first ever one-shot/story, and it sucks. Big time. But, hey, you never know; I hope at least some you people like it. :D
Disclaimer: I don't even live near Florida, and I'm certainly not a middle-aged man. So how the heck could I own this?
….…
The girl never thought herself a hero.
A hero was someone who could leap a building in a single bound, or rescue babies from blazing house fires. A hero always put others first and would sacrifice anything for the well-being of complete strangers, never thinking twice about their actions. A hero is tough and hardened; they have been through enough mental and physical pain to withstand even the hardest blow from the greatest enemy. No, the girl has never had to deal with any of those things. They did, and that's what made them different from her. They were the real heroes, the real angels.
But that didn't stop her from taking action as soon as she saw the gun.
The girl didn't even feel her legs as they pushed her towards the sneering monster; hate clear in his cold eyes as he pointed the weapon at the child. No, the girl growled, at my sister. She was aware of her other siblings racing at superhuman speed towards the scene, their cries of protest slicing the cold night air like daggers. The girl knew that they wouldn't make it in time.
But maybe she could.
Everything seemed to go into slow motion as the girl sped towards her sister, whose blue eyes were wide with shock as the man cocked his gun.
She was only ten feet away.
The man took aim.
Five feet.
A sick smile twisted his morphing features.
Three feet.
His finger was on the trigger.
Two feet.
He fired.
Boom!
Max skidded to a stop, the rest of the flock starring at the girl in horror.
"Ella!"
Ella staggered for a moment, gaping at the bloody hole in her stomach, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
And then she fell.
Her whole body seemed to become numb as the little shards of metal dug into her flesh, piercing all that they came into contact with. She was hardly aware of Iggy pressing his shirt into her ruined abdomen in a crude attempt to stop the inevitable while the rest of her family pleaded for her to hold on. She turned her head. The Eraser was gone. Ella could feel her spirit leaving her body. It was pleasant. It was warm.
"No! Ella! Hold on! Don't go! PLEASE!"
By now Max was sobbing uncontrollably. Ella felt sorry for her; it must be hard to watch your only biological sister die.
A small hand crept its way into her own. She gave it a weak squeeze. Angel.
The blue-eyed child nodded with a sad small on her face.
And suddenly, Ella's world was enveloped in a brilliant flash of white light, and as it carried her up into the sky, she couldn't help but close her eyes and grin. No, Ella Martinez was no hero, no saint, and most definitely not an angel.
She was something even greater.
….
R&R? Please?