The smell of fresh coffee wafted through the air. A car occasionally drove by the water-stained windows, tires splashing water up onto the drenched sidewalks. Heavy rain fell down like tears from the cloudy night sky.
The shop on Bloody Point Road was dark, minus a few lamps spread sporadically across the room, hovering over tables.
An old couple sat across from each other at a table against the wall, heads down.
The barista stood behind the counter, hand placed on the top of a radio.
A middle-aged woman read a book by the window.
All of them were afraid of the girl that sat alone.
The Girl sat hunched over a table in the corner of the shop. She entered the shop every day, from Midnight to dawn. No one knew who she was. Where she came from. Nothing.
All she was known as was "The Girl."
She wore a dark purple and black robe with a hood that encompassed her entire face.
No one dared to ask her anything, let alone look at her with a second glance.
They didn't know why they were scared of her.
But they were.
The Girl's fingers circled the coffee mug she held in her hand. Steam rose up and floated through the air, fading away silently.
The barista, whose identity is quite frankly unimportant, couldn't help but stare at the mysterious girl across the room. What was more concerning was the fact that the barista never gave The Girl any coffee.
She never asked.
Yet she held a steaming glass in her hands.
An old radio played from behind the counter, crackling with static. Words faded in and out.
"Distress signal...send help... an attack..."
They sounded frantic.
The Girl jerked her head up suddenly, the energy in the room shifting.
The couple, young woman, and barista flinched at the motion.
They still pretended as if they hadn't noticed.
The Girl unexpectedly lifted a hand and twisted her fingers in the air. Purple sparks emerged from her palm, the lamp above her head flickering and going out.
"The radio," The Girl whispered.
"Turn it off."
The barista stared at her.
The lamp rocked back and forth. What just happened?
Should she listen?
"Ambush...many dead...help..."
The barista's hand remained on the radio, but she didn't click it off.
She was done being afraid.
"Turn the radio off. Now."
It sounded like a command. She was angry.
The barista gulped silently, making sure The Girl couldn't hear. Her palms grew sweaty, but she refused to let her fear take control.
"Destruction...witnesses say...need help..."
The Girl jerked her head to face the barista.
She held in a gasp as she was finally met with the face of The Girl.
She was young, about age 15. Her eyes glowed a dark purple.
The Girl stood up, her hands dangling by her side until she held them both out by her shoulders. Purple sparks and swirls emerged from her palms.
The barista took a step back, tripping over her own feet.
"I said," The Girl started in a threatening whisper.
The barista pressed her back against the brick wall.
"Turn. The radio. Off."
The purple energy churned in her hands.
The barista breathed heavily, mesmerized by the purple flowing out of her hands.
Was she a witch?
The Girl raised her hands and shot them out by her sides, purple shooting out and across the room.
A mug crashed to the ground.
Windows shattered.
The lamps fell.
The Girl's eyes glowed stronger.
Extending her arm, she shot out a powerful blast, sending the barista flying backward through the bricks.
The side of the coffee shop now had a giant hole, rain pouring on the barista who now lay on the sidewalk unconscious.
The woman who sat by the window and the couple by the adjacent wall seemed to be frozen in time.
The Girl looked around at the destruction she caused. She smiled.
Whirling around, she strode out the shattered glass door and stepped foot onto the street.
The wails of a police siren came blaring down the curb, tires swerving as the red and blue lights flashed on and off.
The Girl turned her head and followed her gaze on the car as a few more emerged from behind.
She knew they were coming for her.
But she was not afraid.
There was no reason to be.
They halted in front of the annihilated coffee shop.
Fire trucks now rounded the curb as well.
The Girl remained still, her robe soaked with rain.
Police threw open the doors and stepped out, pistols pointed forward.
"Miss! May I ask you to remove your hood?" one of the police yelled over the rain.
The Girl responded,
"May I ask you to leave before someone gets hurt?"
She said it in a threatening voice, tilting her head to the side.
The police officers looked at each other briefly before directing their full attention back to The Girl.
The officer that had spoken to her opened his mouth to speak again, but The Girl put up a hand as more purple sparks shot out of her hand and hit him in the stomach.
He flew back and hit the police car, making it shake violently.
The officers stared in shock.
The Girl smiled a malicious smile.
"Now, may we try this again?"
The officers immediately began firing at The Girl.
That was a mistake.
The Girl only sighed at their foolishness and raised a hand, more violet-colored sparks and swirls shooting out.
The sparks flew in different directions, sending the bullets to the ground and then hitting the officers and the firefighters.
They all flew backward.
Most of them died.
The Girl shook her head and laughed.
"Idiots," she murmured.
She formed her hands into fists, the purple energy disappearing.
Putting her hands out beside her, more purple energy formed in her hands.
She began hovering in the air, her robe flapping behind her.
"By the way, my name isn't 'The Girl,'" she yelled over the rain, looking down at the bodies.
"It's Agatha Harkness."
YOU ARE READING
𝘞𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 ~ 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘭
Short StoryThe Girl sat hunched over a table in the corner of the shop. She entered the shop every day, from Midnight to dawn. No one knew who she was. Where she came from. Nothing. All she was known as was "The Girl."
