Tragedy on 4th St.
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A Christmas carol rang in the background. The sounds of chimes and cheer all throughout the town of New York City as the snow piled on top of the cursed place. Its Covering the mistakes and hate of millions in a blanket of purity and white. The flakes of snow so small, so precious, so sensitive to the touch. If these small specks of frozen ice landed for too long on something hot, something not so pure, it would simply melt away, and become that of the which it melted on.
So precious.
So pure.
Similar to the little girl face down in the snow. Her ice blue eyes opened wide in utter shock. Her blonde hair falling so delicate over her porcelain skin brightened by the freckles and splatters of blood.
Her body surrounded by the bodies of men. Men with big meaty hands. The men were slain. Slain to protect her. Slain by big green men who sat in the ice cold snow; thinking, mourning, deciding. Her Icey colored eyes stared lifelessly up to her presumed savior. He sat there, leaning against the red stained katana, staring back at her in regret and defeat.
She was just trying to get home. Only a few blocks from the library, wanting to donate a few of her old books before they closed for the rest of the night on this Christmas Eve. She was going to make it home and help her mother in the kitchen and cook the cookies for Santa. She was going to tease her little brother and announce he was getting Coal for being naughty and hug her father and be embraced by his love. She was going to enjoy Christmas Eve as a little girl should.
But, she was distracted. She heard noises from the alley and from her own curiosity got the best of her and she went out of her way to check. She shouldn't have.
Purple dragons.
They were shaking down some poor bystander for the last bits of money he had left over from his Christmas shopping. She tried to stay quiet, not wanting to attract the men, but they were already aware. She dashed away, not wanting to get caught but it didn't stop them.
Meaty hands.
Large meaty hands grabbing at her small frame.
Groping.
Harassing.
Shaking her down for any cash she might have to offer. Trembled like a leaf being shook by the roots of her own sanity as these large men surrounded her, invading her space and in hope she carried some sort of fortune. Maybe it was simply to scare her away, traumatize her from ever allowing herself to be curious again. Or maybe they were clouded from their jolly night of whiskey and beer and confused her as someone who would carry money on her person. But it didn't matter. She just wanted to go home.
A large thump was all she heard before the meaty hands let her go and she looked up to see green.
Green and reptile.
She felt those large meaty hands grab her once
More. A man yelling till hoarse threatening her
Life if these green things come any closer.
She remembered the blue one, her savior. He was so strong looking. So composed and was not shaken by the meaty hands threat. He told her to let her go.
The meaty man laughed.
More of the Purple Dragons appeared as if on cue. She was trapped and they fought. She watched as these green beings sliced away at the gang members like confetti, painting the white snow with red.
She felt the meaty man shake. As if he was fearful. Panicked. Like a small child in the path of punishment.
It all happened so quickly. So violently. He ran away too fast and she felt a prick on her neck. Not enough to make her yell, but enough to raise caution.
She watched as the green beings went after the man with meaty hands. She touched her neck and pulled back to see her palm painted in apple colored red. Crisp and sticky between her fingers. She went down hard on her knees, catching the green men's attention.
She fell face forward, feeling the mosquito pinch begin to fade. The snow didn't seem as cold as it was before.
One came down. Touched her neck feeling for something. His hands were soft, soft as the purple color he wore. She couldn't move anymore. She just watched as he spoke. She couldn't hear him but his lips moved, face scrunched in despair.
The others came quickly and she saw a flash of orange moving so quickly around them she almost missed it. This one was smaller and certainly more animated and lively, like his color.
He was panicked.
The larger one in red yelling at him in equal quarrel. They seemed frightened. Why?
The strong one, her savior came down to her and petted her hair back. He didn't look as strong, he didn't look as confident as he did minutes before. He seemed so, so sad. He mouthed something to her. But it didn't matter, she didn't see what he had said.
The twinkled in her blue iris went matte. Her breathing came to a halt all together and the snow soon began to bury her.
The brothers stood around quietly. Waiting.
The sound of the sirens came quickly and as swift as they showed to the dimmed alley on 4th st., they left.
The help came, their sirens drowning out the sound of the chimes and jingles of the city night. Christmas Carolers stopped their patrol and watched the gang members being flipped to be identified.
A mother fell to her knees being caught by her husband in shock when the little girl was flipped and seen.
A little boy, gripped at his jacket, biting his lip a little too hard to try and understand why she wouldn't wake up.
The whole world stopped for just one moment. Just one moment for a death, for mourn.
The brothers stood at the top of the roofs and watched the little girl be taken away.
They understood they couldn't save everyone. They understood that innocent people die because of their involvement, because of their actions.
It just hurt a little more for something like this to happen on the holiest, jolliest night of the year.
It truly was a tragedy.