Everything
came out of focus as she stared at the bustling city ground below her. To her
it became nothing more than a messy child’s painting; a cocktail of bright
colours placed in random areas upon a grey canvas. But, like in the mind’s eye of a child, the colours shifted and
passed one another - creating the busy effect of the city.
She was
certain that people below would consider her `suicidal`, standing on the edge of the building. It was freezing
up there; possibly no colder than death itself, she decided. Jet black locks
whipped at her face and invaded her olive eyes as she watched the mess below. A thought came to her mind as
she stared into the vibrant abyss - `How
long would it take till impact?`
“There
you are!” a strong, masculine voice came from behind her. She tensed up and
angled her head to look back over her shoulder. Anyone watching would certainly
get the wrong idea, she knew. They would all assume that she was going to jump
and ignore the protests of her saviours, who were trying to convince her otherwise. In
such an assumption, they would be very wrong.
There
were two of them stood behind her, each in grey suits with black glasses on. In
their hands were silver, deadly, pistols. Her brows furrowed. “Thought you could get away, eh?”
one of them spat with a grin. Soon she heard the pitter-patter of feet and
turned. Another pair of men were standing on the building across from her,
weapons pointed at her, ready to fire.
Slowly,
she turned to fully face the men on the same building as her. Although it
appeared that she was staring at the men, truthfully she was looking past them
at the metallic door they entered through, where she caught her own reflection.
She was tall and confident with fairly broad shoulders; a typically good and
healthy build for a seventeen year old. Her skin, however, was sickeningly
pale, contrasting to her structure and making her seem almost ill. Thick,
shoulder length locks spiralled around her as she stood on the edge, random
plaits tied into her hair fluttered about, and colourful beads attached to the
ends of them catching the little light from the moon. She stood, dressed in a dark grey
blazer, fastened tightly against her with a black skirt, stockings and brown
leather shoes; making it appear that she just came from school.
“Now,” one
of the men addressed her, taking a dangerous step toward her, “hand it over!”
She
merely blinked at him and held her hand out, a black sack about the size of her
palm sitting in it. The man licked his lips greedily and went to tuck his
weapon away, ready to retrieve the item, when the girl stuck her hand out over
the edge. Instantly, he froze. “H-Hey!” he barked, then cleared his throat.
Harsh words would get him nowhere with a child, he knew; he had to be kindly -
besides, he wasn’t too keen about having a woman’s blood on his hands, let
alone a girl’s.
With his
arms up, inoffensive, he took slow strides toward her. “Now, now, we don’t want
to be doing anything drastic, do we?” he drawled, holding his hand out to
her, “Just give it to me and then we won’t have to hurt you, sweetie”
The girl
huffed and flipped her hand over, dropping the sack into the canvas below. Then,
she turned with her back facing the men as they cried out. A proud smirk
crossed her lips, when a blast filled the air and she felt an incredible force
push her off the rooftop. She grunted and spun around in midair, finding that
the man who was still armed had shot her, right in the back.
Quickly,
her hand shot out and she snagged the edge of the building, her body dangling
haphazardly. She swore. Her muscles tightened as she began to try and haul
herself up, her other arm bending and ready to join its partner in the heave,
when another blast filled the air. She gasped as something punched her in the
shoulder blade. Then, her grip faltered and she fell.
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