Her screams pierced the air, but only I heard it. Only I truly understood them. For the people physically closest to her, they fell on deaf ears. To them she was just an empty vessel; no heart, no mind, no soul – just a body. To me they were inhuman, or at least, they showed the worst in humans.
It was dark – the moonlight revealed her. And them. But they couldn’t see me. They couldn’t see me watching over them, judging them. I watched as any fragments of humanity they may have had in my eyes dissolved into bestial shadows. I watched as demons filled the holes where their souls once were. I made my choice.
Four masked men and a screaming girl – not a good mix. I stepped forward.
They still didn’t notice me. I took another step. The one closest to me stopped and turned around.
“What the…” He muttered. He sounded surprised, though I was hoping he’d sound scared – you can’t have everything. The others turned around. Their attention was on me now. Good. She fought on by hitting one of the men over the back of the head but she stood no chance; he threw her back onto the floor and started beating her. I lunged at the demons. The numbers were simple – four of them, one of me.
It was a narrow alley though, their numbers counted for nothing. I swung at the closest man to me and in a matter of moments he fell on the cobblestone floor. Then he scurried back onto his feet like the rat he was. I checked on the girl, she was still taking most of the hits. Hang in there – I won’t be much longer. That’s what I thought. But I thought too much.
Thinking can save your life, thinking too much can take it away. Before I knew it I felt a sharp pain through my guts. The rat knifed me! Then he took a second stab at me, this time ripping open my chest. The girl covered her eyes and screamed. I was her only hope and I’d failed her – that hurt more than the knife.
Not yet, I thought, I can’t fade away now. I mustered the energy for a final assault, ripping the knife out of his fiendish hands. Even though I aimed for his groin I only managed to slice his leg but when the blood burst from his wound it more than made up for the initial disappointment.
He screamed in pain… and I enjoyed every moment of it. Then I saw them panic, it just kept getting better. But the fun stopped when I realised it may have cost me the very person I tried to protect. Their numbers counted for nothing, so I thought, so I was wrong.
“Finish em’ both and get out!” I heard one of them say. Instantly after, they ran the knife right through her like an animal. The pain pinned her to the ground and she gave up trying to wrestle. They scurried away through the darkness, under the cover of the night. She turned to me a while after their footsteps subsided.
We’d never said a word to each other but our eyes did the talking. Her eyes said sorry, mine said the same. I guess it’s the price you pay for trying to be a hero. It’s the risk you take trying to do the right thing. A lot of people would say it wasn’t a smart choice but then again the right choice isn’t always the smart choice. I suppose it’s how you define it too; my ‘right’ choice would be different to theirs.
None of it mattered now. She was in danger and I failed her. I’d never met her before but I felt like I was losing a part of me. Slowly, yet surely, the wound drained her of her blood. How long would she last? The question echoed through my head. I imagined the man who knifed me; his voice was clear in my mind. He was the cause of the echo. I took pleasure in mentally smashing his face into the ground until all that was left was a mesh of brain and bone. I knew I was done for, but as long as I was conscious I’d do anything in my power to help her.
I attempted moving; but the knife wound paralysed me before I made any real progress. Will power could only go so far. I tried using just my arms this time; I wasn’t strong enough to move my whole body with just my arms but something much more important caught my attention while I looked down my right arm. It must have fallen out of my pocket!
Was it mocking me? How could I have been so stupid? It was as if a playwright was invoking amusement from my pain. Although… at least now the playwright could use his character to set the moral in stone. At least now she had a chance.
I dialled ‘999’ on my phone and left the rest to the playwright.
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I haven't posted a story in a while and this one's a recent story I thought might be worth sharing.
Any ideas?
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May I put it on my signature??