English Version: Sands & Sparrow

5

Margo opened her eyes. The first thing she did was observe the room, and then she looked at the wall clock, only to see it was 2 a.m. She stood and searched for something to eat. "Not even a single food," she groaned in disappointment, making her squirm to stop her stomach from grumbling.

Antonio's body was already cold; the blood finally drained from his face. It looked like ashen from his skin. Margo decided to sit on a vacant chair; seeing the scattered gun shells on the table, she frowned and arranged them in a perfect row - the little joy that Margo could do, maintaining things in order. She saw a pack of cigarettes on the table, took one cigarette, and lit it; then, puffed a cloud of smoke to Antonio's face. Noticing the scattered sheets of paper, she exhaled an air of disdain. There was one thing she always hated, seeing untidiness, like a habit she could not resist; she arranged the papers on the table. Blood drops stained the document piles; some were already soaked, while others were dried. The air cooler was blasting in the corner of a broken window, a table in the middle of the office, and a bookshelf bursting in folders. The ceiling light illuminated the room. It turned dim, and it blinked at strobe-like intervals.

Antonio's right hand remained resting on the surface of a black notebook; it caught her curiosity; she removed his hand while holding a cigarette between her two fingers. She examined the journal by browsing the pages. "Why are you so cliché?" She scoffed, gazed at Antonio, and then her lips paved a lop-sided grin from boredom. She sucked the smoke from the cigarette deep into her lungs with sheer indifference. She inhaled and stared at the cigarettes between her fingers; it was almost short enough to burn her. The ash sprinkled across the cement after flicking the filter. She threw the cigarette inside Antonio's gaping mouth. Margo turned the notebook pages only to find a hidden key between the sheets.

Margo took the key, and it glinted from the light. By observing it, she knew what it was, and it gave her a bored sigh again. "Criminals, so predictable," she huffed in disappointment.

The key was for a drawer; she inserted it, turned it, and found important things stacked inside. There were pictures of naked children, murder, and heinous crimes met her eyes. Margo took an envelope and inserted the photos. While looking again for something, she spotted and took Antonio's briefcase. She roamed her eyes; she noticed a charcoal painting with a landscape view of the mountains. Knowing every trick in the book, she removed the art, only to find a secret safe.

It didn't take long for her to know the codes. She pressed the numbers, the safe opened, and as she expected, a lot of money was stacked inside. Out of nowhere, Margo felt the cold nuzzle of the gun pressed behind her neck. She smirked. Not even a hint of terror plastered on her face, "I thought I killed you all," she whispered.

The gentle breeze drifted in through the open window. The rain had stopped, and there was a tension in the air, like static. Then, the lights from the room flickered, and heavy breathing resonated from the person pointing the gun at her.

Margo finally turned to face her enemy, but she was surprised. A young girl stood in her presence. Still pointing a gun at her, the girl had bruises on her shoulder combined with visible marks of needles in her veins. She was pretty and young, but her innocence left her dark brown eyes. Her body showed the beginnings of womanhood, yet she was more than halfway through her teens. She stared at Margo with a mask designed not to give any emotion away. She was a child, hiding her delicate side behind makeup, keeping her waning hope under the locked door. The fear that controlled her face had always been part of her life. Eight girls were also inside the room, staring at Margo. They were minors ranging from nine to thirteen years old. Heavy makeup covered their faces, and they all wore thin clothes.

The girls were the victims. Young ones preyed on, sold, and abused in the underworld. Margo felt a surge of pity for the one standing before her. "Give me the gun," she pleaded in a soft voice. The girl hesitated; her hand trembled, but she was defeated and lowered the nuzzle. Margo held the gun and gently took it away from her. "Don't be afraid...I will not hurt you. I promise." She lifted the girl's chin and assured in her softest voice. Moving closer, she saw the bruise on the girl's face. It seemed like a purple stain above the eyebrow and had sunk into the socket. She lowered her gaze and saw a bruise lining the girl's neck. Margo could see that pain was no longer relevant to them. Not even an excitement of freedom, hope was absent through their eyes. She could see the fear in their eyes; how they looked at her showed confusion. Was she a savior or one of them? Was it real or not? Those were the questions they feared to answer.