Saved By a Stranger

I slid down the rough bricks in the corner of an alley. It was like any other alley in the city. The ground was filthy and wet. The sky was pressing down on the buildings like the heavy snow waiting to fall. It was a cold, dreary day, like any other. People passed by the alley I sat in, dressed warmly, rushing to work, carrying groceries home. No one stopped to look. No one glanced in the alley I cried in.

I was tired of this place, so tired of the endless days that stretched out before me. The emptiness in my heart was eating me alive, with no end in sight. My own darkness was swallowing me whole and left nothing alive. The tears froze on my bright red cheeks. I was tired of feeling so broken, but most of all I was tired of being so alone. I pulled out the cold heavy weapon from my coat and stared at it.

If someone would look this way. If someone would just glance at me and see my pain. I won't do it. I checked the chamber and glimpsed the single brass bullet, the bullet with my name on it. I allowed the slide to fall back and sighed shakily, resting my head against the dirty brick building.

There was a man standing in front of me.

Fear instantly pricked my heart. Men have only hurt me, ripped me apart, used me, beat me, and left me broken.

His eyes were not menacing, nor kind. They were a cold dark blue. The man's eyes fell to the gun in my hands then blinked back up to my eyes. He stared at me unwaveringly for a few seconds, which felt like minutes. He blinked and held his hand out, as if I would give him the gun.

I shrunk into the corner of the two buildings. My arms pulled the gun against my chest and my knees pressed tighter to my body.

He took a step back and raised his hands.

I was not pointing the gun at him.

He stared me down with his cold blue eyes and hands raised by his head. The man was very ordinary. He wore a dark grey beanie over his head. He had thick black eyebrows, dark blue eyes, a large sharp nose, tight pale lips, a narrow jaw, and an unshaven pale face. He wore a plain black scarf wrapped around his neck and tucked into the zipper of his grey jacket. His hands were clothed in black gloves. He wore straight cut dark blue jeans and black boots beneath them. He lowered one of his hands, outstretched toward me, and kept the other on the back of his head.

I quickly stretched my arms out and aimed the pistol at him.

The man stopped and stared at me with hard blue eyes. He did not move any further but he did not try to run or wrestle the weapon away from me. He watches patiently for my next move.

I did not want to shoot him. The single bullet in this weapon was for me. He did not deserve it. I deserved it. The brass bullet in the chamber was mine.

I hold out the pistol grip for the man to take. There was one bullet in the chamber, maybe he could pull the trigger when I feared I would not have the strength to.

The man grasped the pistol grip in one hand as I released my hand from the slide housing. My head fell as I awaited the end. The quick echo of the round exiting the chamber through the alley. The empty shell clattering on the ground. The wet footsteps walking away from a dead body.

I jumped at the sound of an empty magazine hitting the wet, filthy concrete.

My eyes peered up at the tall, thin, man pulling back the slide of the pistol. The brass flew out of the chamber and pinged against the concrete then rolled into a puddle. The tall man inspected the empty weapon for any more ammunition before handing the useless thing back to me.

I stared at the weapon with my mouth gaped open. Followed by glancing up at the stranger, who walked away with his hands in his pockets. In a shuffle, I snatched up the bullet and empty magazine, put it in my pocket, and tucked the cleared pistol by the small of my back.