Vigilante

00 : 00 / Forgiveness.

She had not hurt even a fly in her entire life.

But then again, flies weren't finicky creatures, nor did they possess a voracious appetite for savagery and fickle temperaments.

In short, flies were cheap fry compared to the monsters known as human beings.

Sweat dripped down her pale forehead, offering a fragile caress to the bridge of her nose before falling to the concrete. There was a puddle beneath her limp and tattered body, a mix of substances that tainted the liquid red and cold.

Water, sweat and blood. Her sweat, her blood.

The mess she laid in didn't come close to the crimson splattered on the alley walls and broken bricks. Bins had been thrown and garbage now lay scattered across the ground. A repulsive smell coated the gruesome scene.

She would have gagged, if only she weren't immobilized with a gash running up her cheek bone.

The bruise on the side of her forehead throbbed, an odd feeling in comparison to the pins and needles pricking her feet. A swollen tired eye lazily glanced at the rain falling from the dark sky that was lit up by city lights. It was so cold, she wanted to curl up but then the wound in her chest and abdomen would bleed heavier.

She sniffed and pressed harder into her wounds. There wasn't anything to do but wait.

Wait for an angel or a devil. Either seemed better than rotting away in a wrecked alley.

This world was full of so much hope and potential, and here she was, bleeding out any and all of her desires to stick around any longer. The memories of people and buildings that were once close now felt numb and empty, to the point that it was a challenge to think of a reason to defend and protect them.

A cough wracked the girl's brutalized figure, and emotionless tears trailed down to her lips. The girl wheezed and doubled over, relaxing her stomach on the uncomfortably hard ground.

She finally gave up on hope, instead finding it better to use her small hands to lay her head on.

No more of the utter dark terror or the dreadful realization of helplessness, what she craved now was only to find a small amount of comfort in her final moments.

It was then she saw something.

An angel? A demon?

No, it was something more... human.

Indeed, it turned out to be a girl in a dust mask bandana. She was standing over her, looking straight into her eyes with a penetrating gaze.

A sudden, illogical hope flared in the dying girl's heart, and she tried to speak, to convey something to another person with the last vestiges of life still within her.

And like a cruel joke, she realised she had no words to speak, for she was a mute.

The other girl bent down over her, still staring at her eerily, much akin to a cat who had cornered her prey.

The dying girl's heart fluttered dimly, as fear started creeping back into her body.

But the girl in the mask said nothing. She simply clasped one of the first girl's prone hands, and with a feather touch, smoothened the strands of hair away from her bruised face.

It was not in vain. Moments later, as the first girl finally succumbed to her wounds, she did so with a weak smile on her face.

When a passing soul receives a caring touch, the warmth of kindness and empathy lights their way ahead.

The girl in the mask bandana gently arranged the corpse in a respectable position, clearing out any dirt or unwanted materials around the prone body.

Finally, gazing one last time at the limp body of frail flesh that had held life within it but moments ago, she pulled out a small device, much like a mobile phone and spoke a soft word, unheard by any but the wind.

Then she turned and slowly walked out of the alley.