Between the whistle of bullets

Hannah Abott

It only occurred to me to return home at midnight knowing how dangerous the city was at that time. I had been in the bookstore buying and browsing books and little by little the sky was getting darker without me barely noticing. 

I went out into the street shivering from the cold. My father couldn't pick me up; Being a police officer was not an easy task. I decided to call my boyfriend to come pick me up but the bastard told me that he was busy with a visit from his mother. I would put his hand on the fact that he was lying to me. I clenched my fists tightly and ignored the emptiness I felt inside me. I would figure that out later, I had bigger problems now. I covered myself as best I could with my arms and started walking. The wind that hit hard and the thick fog gave a somewhat terrifying air to the landscape. There was not a soul on the streets. Well, I correct myself, there were a few drunks and drug addicts here and there but that was not exactly a comforting company. I had to pass by members of a group who were especially drunk since the other sidewalk was under construction. I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable before the dark and insistent gaze of those men. 

-Hey, beautiful... Where are you so alone? -one of them asked while another whistled. 

A chill ran through me from head to toe. "Leave me alone or I'll call the police," I said under my breath without stopping, in the vague hope that they would actually do it. I couldn't take even five steps before he cornered me against the wall. "I didn't tell you to leave," he growled menacingly two centimeters from my face. I noticed his putrid breath of tobacco and alcohol. He had an unpleasant face but not because of his features but because of his enraged and stunned expression. "Get away from me or you'll regret it," I ordered with a trembling voice. I surreptitiously felt the cell phone I had in the pocket of my jeans. Maybe I could call my father to get me out of the fire... I looked down to try to dial his number. I was only two numbers away when I noticed disgusting lips on my skin. 

I felt the anger grow unstoppable inside me. I lost control. My fist slammed hard into his right cheekbone. My knuckles quickly became stained with blood. He was so surprised that he was unable to hit me back. The assholes who were watching the scene headed towards me, enraged, ready to make me pay. There were more than ten. 

Shit, now I'm done.

Suddenly a hand with long fingers grabbed my wrist and started running. I didn't even hesitate to follow him. It was my last outing. Or maybe not. Perhaps I had just come out of the fire to fall into the embers.