Authour's Note:: 'Kay, so, this is my entry for the Helping Hand contest thingy for Haiti. I think I did pretty good on this, though the concept and stuff isn't really... positive? I dunno. It's like, geez, I just can't write a story without SOMEONE dying in it.
Har-har.
So, it's about lending a helping hand, yeah, but not in the way you'd really think.
It's a short story, so no, I won't be writing more of this. This is it, and it is this.
Criticism it totally welcome, though there are a few things I don't want you telling me about since I already know I need to work on them/did some things on purpose.
One is that yeah, I don't describe the surroundings enough. I did that on purpose since this is sort of a suspense-y sort of story. Also, use your own damn minds. (Kidding, kidding.) Second, yes, I know you don't know much about the main character. That's the point.
That's about it, for now.
So read on!
And I sort of don't care if you don't vote. I'd rather if you would, but eh. I'm not going to demand it.
Love,
Kay/Kyla/w/e.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Tears stained her eyes, making them a blurry brown that reminded me of old puddles full of stagnate water. They were staring up at me, little wisps of hair sticking to her face in a rather unattractive way. In any other situation, I would've said something, but a little nagging feeling told me that now wasn't the time. Well, a lot of things told me that.
I was passing by her when I first her the little sniffles that accompanied her sobs. She was just sitting there, in the alley, her skirt pulled up higher than it should be, her shirt askew, her face ruddy with emotion. I had hesitated, which led her to look up to me; she probably figured I was a Possible Saviour for her.
Ah hell.
Any other day, any other situation, and I would've passed by that damned alley without as much as a blink of an eye, a twitch of the hand. Alas, after looking into those eyes, seeing those so open signs of the worse, I couldn't just abandon her. Not after what clearly went on.
So, here I was, standing over her, trying to figure out what to do. All I could think of was to think; all my questions were being answered by more questions. I was no psychologist, nor any sort of officer. I had absolutely no idea how to console the little lady in front of me. I didn't know what to do. Should I take her some where? Maybe take her home, get her warm and something to eat? She looked rather malnourished, and not to mention exhausted. There had to be something I could do. Give her a few bucks? Maybe find someone else to solve this problem for me? Glancing up, there was no chance that was going to be an option. The only passers-by that seemed legitimate enough to trust with her were busy with a normal day-to-day life. Taking the kids out to a soccer game, taking the wife out for dinner. Normal things. None of which that consisted of helping a possibly homeless girl with her problems.
After a while of being stationary, I finally moved, unable to take it any longer. I had to do something, for God's sake. So, I crouched down next to her, trying my best to get to eye-level with her.
Her head snapped up, a cry silent on her lips as her eyes widened enough to make me worry they would just crumble; her eyelids falling onto her cheeks like the dead petals of a flower. I hushed her, putting up my hands to show her I meant no harm. Taking it the wrong way, she scooted away from me, fear drawn out all over her face.
