The Lost Girls

~Sasami

Night is good. I always loved the night. The darkness. One could disappear if they wanted to. And under a full sky of stars, the whole world is silent. Just these little clear crystals, turned white like moonlight through a water. Such beauty in something so distant and empty. I reminded myself that all that encompassing black was given by being a void of all matter.

That was how I was feeling in some respects. Maybe why I took such notice. Ever since moving to New York I had been… squelching parts of myself? Those which were not pragmatic for myself or my friends. It had been a long time since I had really laughed. No more jokes or dancing. No art school. I hadn't drawn a stick figure in the last three months.

Three months. Was it really that long? Three months with no family. No life. Going from a nineteen-year-old collegiate, from a well-off and kind family, to a sideshow living in something just beyond secrecy. I hadn't spoken to another living soul ever since the incident, outside of my friends. Our families probably thought we had run off, or were murdered by now. That was for the best.

The decision to split completely from our lives was one made in haste. It had to be. Although now, I wonder how wise it was to have cut all our ties. Especially now when we had to scrape and steal for food. Survivalism was tough. That was one of the reasons we picked NYC. Someone could disappear there. Crackheads, prostitutes, drug dealers, they all lived and survived in this city, why couldn't we. All we needed was a place to sleep, and food to eat. So we thought.

We four lived together, moving every few weeks as needed. I expected it would be hard starting life over. But I had no idea. Stripped down raw, we had to build ourselves back up again. No family, no money, no familiarity, we couldn't even go to decent charity houses. It was quickly apparent that to make it, we would have to stick together. And under the circumstances, that was one of the first things to be shaken.

I had found myself in the situation of balancing three varying personalities. Each displaced in the new city; afraid, alone, adjusting like a falling building into the fissure of an earthquake. Rubbed raw, tears both drew us together, and repelled us from one another. Our forms made us hate ourselves. My prerogative was to get us beyond the trivialities, help my friends age enough to survive here. I don't even know why I do it. I suppose someone had to, and maybe I was the only one capable enough three months ago. For whatever reason, I was still playing the part that had been thrust on me.

And now, sitting on a shadowed rooftop, I reflected myself in my mind, and didn't know how to feel but weary. My life dragged onward. I had to hope that things would brighten up. I mean, what do we have if we don't have hope for the future. We are lost.

Now there's a scuffling below me. The alley I had picked was usually deserted, I had found. It was why I went there. None of the other girls knew the place, and seemingly no one else did. But tonight there were three forms moving through pockets of light and dark. Scuttling in from the street, they settled to one side of the garbage container, directly below the fire escape. This would usually be my signal to leave, but tonight was different. There was an impression of fear below. I sensed terror even. And it was quickly becoming clear what was taking place.

The first two, whom I had originally guessed to be the 'couple,' were struggling between the side of the garbage container and the brick of the wall. The guy of course is struggling inward, the girl to get outward. And the third male was pacing just beyond, keeping a gun trained just so on the couple, rather foolishly I thought, waiting for when his turn would come. The two were like a pair of nervous and hungry dogs. Hissing their pleads for the girl's silence and cooperation as they simultaneously ripped and tore at her shirt buttons. The amateurism made it all the more disturbing. A shudder passed through me.

I remembered that before the incident I had sworn to myself to uphold some sense of justice. Even if it was the unpopular act. Even if I didn't know what I was really getting into.

Stepping onto the fire escape below, the metal whined at me. But the boys must not have taken notice, or not have been alarmed, for they hardly bothered to look skyward. Climbing onto the rail, I could see the open garbage bin directly below me. I needed to element of surprise if I wasn't going to get shot. Taking a breath, and holding my hat against my head, I tucked and fell. I knew my partially formed shell would provide some minimal protection should something go wrong. But I was still immensely glad when I felt the 'thrunch' of refuse when I landed in the bin below. Taking only a moment to gather myself, I popped my head out of the bin and grinned sardonically to the two startled faces.

"Surprise!" The one with the gun, dressed in acid jeans and a jersey, began firing. He didn't know how to steady himself well enough, and I rolled out of the bin without being hit. That was where my luck ended. With a full body target, he settled some of his eagerness, and got me right in my arm, a little below the shoulder. The pain was immense. A fire ripped through me, and I barely had mind enough to duck when his aim raised. My head sunk into me, leaving my hat to rest deflated in it's place. The next moment it was blown off. I was holding my arm through the coat, and began to feel the warmth of my blood as it seeped into the sleeve. That would be trouble.

I raised my head again, to his horrified face. Advantage, me. The gun was still raised, and he was close enough for me to grab him now.

"Whu…what the hell is that!" He was obviously addressing his friend, who didn't have a good point of view to begin with.

"An Angel, here to check your boarding pass." Before he could squeeze off some more sloppy shots, I grabbed his arm, weaving mine around enough to control its direction, and point it down and away. He still got off another shot and I felt it graze my thigh, tearing my pants. With his arm wrapped in mine, I pulled him down and kicked him across the middle. It knocked the wind out of him. My arm was throbbing, and the blood on my hand made a stain on his arm when I let him go. The gun I grabbed out of his hand as he went down, and quickly wedged my finger into the loop of the trigger. I aimed down and fired once, sure that my aim was much better than his.

Knocking open the chamber, I let the last few bullets drop to the pavement. If I hadn't gotten the gun away, most of those would've been in me, I knew. I tossed the bloody gun into the garbage as the second prick came forward. He had emerged with a switch blade from god knows where, and looked rather agitated. But anxious still. His pants were still undone. I hoped he wasn't the sort of person who learned from other people's mistakes, and grabbed his hand. My touching him sent him into shock, enough for me to wrench the knife away. With one downward slice, I cut his chest. He began bleeding immediately, and screamed. I didn't want him alerting someone (not that the bullets might've already done that) so I brought the knife to his throat, resting right above his Adam's apple. Carefully- so I didn't accidentally cut him. As soon as I moved he had shut up, and looked at me. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and I tried not to hate him too much. Waiting a few painful moments so he knew the skirmish was over; I felt the blood sticking my coat sleeve to my arm.

"Take him and go." I lifted the blade enough to let him move aside. Which he did with great speed. He hefted up his hollering friend, still clutching his poor shoulder, and stumbled to the street. I closed the knife up and decided to keep it, dropping it into my pocket. After a few moments some bushy brown hair peeked out from behind the garbage container. The girl, clutching her shirt closed, climbed to her feet, her wide eyes never leaving mine. With a few whimpers she began to scream. I scratched my hair as she ran passed. I hadn't expected her to stay. But she didn't have to scream.

Moving back into the shadows, I let myself come down. The fight was an adrenaline kick. I could feel both my fear and bitterness together, draining me emotionally as the simmering adrenaline and bullet wound drained me physically. The pain was searing from where the muscle had been shredded into oblivion. It was the second most painful experience in my life. Gripping my arm, I hoped the blood would stop leaking out of me. I had no idea how to treat such an injury, or what exactly had been torn up. I did know that by the rate of blood loss I had better think of something fast. Where was providence when I needed it.

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~~A.N.

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Sasami!