Pyrophoric
(adj.): Capable of igniting spontaneously in air.


Everything was chaos. People were running through the streets, children were crying for their parents, buildings were on fire. Everywhere she could see panic and confusion. From behind her a small hand grasped hers and she heard a sniffle. She turned and patted the girl's head that stood pressed against the wall. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying and her bottom lip was quivering. She gave the girl a stern look and pressed her index finger to her lips. The girl's lip never stopped its quivering but she nodded her understanding. The young woman returned her attention to the young, dark-haired man in front of her who returned her gaze and gave her a curt nod and held up the five fingers of his left hand and started counting down. Three…two…one…run. The three figures took off across the intersection that bisected the side street. The sound of blasterfire grew louder and then softer as they ran to the cover of the buildings on the other side. The little girl sniffled again.

"My feet hurt." She whimpered, squeezing the woman's hand. Her heart constricted.

"I know, Mishi, but we'll be able to rest soon." She said doing her best to smile genuinely. The poor little girl didn't know what was going on. Hopefully she would never know. Mishi nodded and looked down at her shoes. She hefted the toolbox onto her shoulder, her arm was getting tired of carrying the heavy crate but if they were fleeing the planet, she would need her tools in order to get a job somewhere else to support these two.

They came up on another intersection and the young man held up a closed fist. She looked down at the girl, who put a finger up to her lips and she smiled and nodded. The girl was so smart. Five…four…get ready to run…three…breathe, use your adrenalin…two…one…run. The three bolted across the street again. Blaster fire filled their ears and it took a moment for her to realize that they were being shot at. They had been seen. The little girl tugged hard on her hand. She fell forward and the toolbox went flying. Her tools scattered across the street. She turned to pick the girl up and saw the still-smoking blaster hole square between the girl's eyebrows. The planet stopped turning.

Everything slowed to a reddish-brown blur all around her. All she could see in front of her was the body of the little girl. A shrill sound reached her ears, but soft and muddled like she was submerged in water. Time resumed its natural speed and it was then she realized that the muddled sound was that of her own horrified scream. She cradled the girl in her arms, she was too heavy and her eyes stared blankly up at the smoky sky. An unshed tear rolled lazily down her cheek. Her heart was beating faster, and her mind was racing, trying and failing to process what was happening around her. She could feel herself shaking and she was aware of tears falling from her eyes. The little body in her arms was much too still and heavy. Knowing somewhere inside that it was useless, she clutched onto one of the girl's shoulders and shook her.

"Mishi?" she choked out. She received no response. Desperation flooded her veins full of adrenalin and she shook the girl's body harder and shouted her name as if she could wake her from a deep sleep. The clack-clack-clack of armored boots against stone grew closer and closer. Tears blurred her vision as she clutched the girl's body to her chest and began rocking back and forth to quell the shaking in her limbs.

"Shouldn't we help, Sir?" Said a mechanical voice from somewhere above her. She was sobbing now.

"Nothing we can do. They stepped into the line of fire. Move on." The clacking moved away and she felt ice creep into her veins. They had killed her. They had killed Mishi, a little girl not yet able to write her own name on flimsi scraps. They had killed her, and they walked away. Her vision cleared instantly and the ice melted away leaving an unrelenting inferno in its wake. With shaking hands, she reached out and closed the girl's delicate blue eyes. She laid the girl on the street and undid the clasp of her own cloak. Brown was not an appropriate burial shroud for a child, but it was all she had to give.

Still shaking, she turned to the spilled contents of her toolbox, scattered all along the street. She grabbed the first thing she saw, a hefty wrench, and started back the way they had just come, after the white armored men that had just taken the most precious and innocent life in the galaxy.

The first fell before he even knew what hit him. A well-aimed blow between the top of his back plate and the bottom of his helmet cracked his spine and he collapsed onto the street. The second turned his blaster on her, which she batted away, wielding the wrench like a club. A sharp pain grazed her shoulder and told her that a vibroblade had come dangerously close to cutting her carotid artery. She pushed the heel of her hand up and under the soldier's chin and sent him staggering back a step, which gave her enough room to bring her wrench across his faceplate. He stumbled onto his knee and she took the chance to leap onto his back and lock her arms around his neck. He stumbled unsteadily to his feet. His hands scrabbled at her arms, trying to loosen her hold. His helmet snapped back and caught her squarely in the nose. The loud crack and subsequent explosion of pain caused her to loosen her grip and fall to the ground. Suddenly he was on her, hands wrapped around her neck and squeezing hard. Blood was flowing freely from her now-broken nose. She fought, her nails searching for exposed flesh on the completely armored body. She wasn't getting enough air, her lungs were burning, black dots were dancing at the edges of her vision, her limbs were flailing uselessly. She was going to die.

The single high-pitched note of blaster discharge rang in her ears and a second later he was off her, cradling the side of his knee where the armor plates separated. Drawing in a deep breath, she kicked him onto his back and grabbed her wrench. She brought it down on his faceplate with all her strength once, twice, three times. Over and over again. The white armor buckled, the visor shattered and each time she brought the tool down, splatters of red painted the armor, the street, her clothes, her face. She did not stop her assault until she could no longer feel her arm. The body under her knees had long ago stopped struggling and simply lay there, taking the brunt of her fury.

She stopped after an immeasurable amount of time and simply stared at the two bodies, the result of her rage and horror. Tears began to fall, mingling with the blood on her face. A well of painful emotion swelled in her chest and erupted. She screamed. She screamed for Mishi's death, for the fate of her planet, for the fate of the Galaxy. She screamed, and screamed until there was no air left in her lungs. Then she stood, wrench still bloodied and in hand, and she lurched back down the street on shaking legs.