Let It Die

Let It Die, Prologue

The air was hot and humid, it was hard to breathe. Lights were dim, music blaring. It smelled of sweat and alcohol. Drunk bodies were sticking to each other, almost sickeningly. Grasping, Groping, Grinding...

Tears were streaming down her face, creating wet, black lines of cheap mascara on her cheeks. The half-smoked, long forgotten cigarette was almost falling from her trembling hands. Her frail knees couldn't hold her body anymore.

I need to get out of here. This was all she could think about. She took out her Pink Floyd lighter, took one long drag of the cigarette, tossed the butt on the floor and stepped on it with her toe. Puffing the smoke out, she turned around and hurried from one of the cheap clubs of Bronx, NY.

Once out, strong wind hit her face and made her blue, shoulder-length hair fly all around her. Darkness of the night enveloped her and she welcomed it with open arms. She looked up towards the sky to see the stars, only to find it covered with grey, threatening clouds. They must be heavy, she thought.

Without any particular destination in her mind, she let her feet carry her around the city. It was dark, very unusual for New York. But then again, she lived in a crappy part of it. The only type of light was provided by the streetlights situated a couple of feet away from each other. Most of the light bulbs were burnt out, but the ones that were working, weren't doing a very good job of illuminating the street.

Soon, she felt herself stopping in front of a 24/7 drugstore. Knowing exactly what she had to do, she hurried in. The inside of the drugstore wasn't filthy, in fact, it was notably tidy and well taken care of, which was pretty unusual for Bronx. The walls, floor and ceiling were all white.

The queue wasn't long, it consisted of only two people. The first one in line was a short, almost balding man, dressed in sweatpants, sweatshirt and trainers, with his belly hanging out. It's the type of man that is supposed to have a golden tooth, she thought. The man was buying a condom.

The second person in line was an African-American lady dressed in a tight, figure hugging red dress. She's beautiful. The man left and the lady walked up to the counter. Before buying anything, she turned around and quickly scanned the store. Her dark eyes fell on the girl. She scoffed distastefully after seeing her blue hair and worn out jeans and turned back around.

The girl didn't think much of it and instead focused on the kids section of the drugstore. Along with diapers and baby pacifiers, she spotted a couple of water guns. She walked over to them, picked one out and returned to the counter. The lady was paying for a pregnancy test. After taking the change, she tucked the test safely in her purse and walked out the door, never sparing a glance at the girl.

The girl approached the counter apprehensively. She placed the water gun and put her skinny, almost too skinny, hands on it for support. Her nails were covered with electric blue nail polish and her wrists were covered with bracelets hiding her numerous scars. The lady behind the counter glanced up and spotted the water gun. She smiled at the girl half-heartedly.

"Would you like something else with that, sweetie?" she asked.

"Yes," the girl croaked, "a bottle of sleeping pills, please."