I actually wrote way more than this, but with all my ups and downs I thought I'd keep that for dire times. And you can be sure there'll be more too! ;)
Click this post to read the whole thing!
~*~The air smelled of wet concrete, car fumes, stale urine and old, moldy roses, and it carried a hint of heat the sun had left during the day. Now everything except of the concrete road was cold and uninviting. Combined with the growing darkness-- street lamps weren't working in most of the Southern Ghetto-- the whole area had an atmosphere of impending doom that really creeped me out.
Although the way to the factory had sounded easy enough, I soon found out why Weasel had put so much effort in warning me away. Coming from a rich home I always had thought the Western Ghetto was as bad as it could get, but this part of the city was even worse in so many ways. The streets weren’t only broken up and full of pot holes, grass and nettles grew out of the gaps between the concrete slabs. Some of the old, decrepit buildings had crumbling veneer and gaping holes where windows had once been. Broken down, rusty cars without tires or seats stood next to pristine classic muscle cars, and while the car skeletons smelled of urine, rats, feces and death, the well-cared-for rides smelled of cologne, gun powder, sex and drugs.
Of course, there weren’t many cars, not compared to the general population in the area.
As soon as I crossed the train bridge I also could see the dark schemes of people lurking at doors and side streets, and I could feel eyes watching me from the dark corners of the desolate buildings I walked by. They didn't feel friendly at all. They also didn’t feel neutral or disinterested; their gazes were hungry and aggressive.
I usually had several ways of dealing with anxiety, and none of them included ‘walking deeper into danger’. But this time I didn’t have much of a choice, and I hoped my ragged, bloody, and beaten-looking appearance would surprise thieves and thugs long enough for me to slip away into the darkness before they could recover and come after me.
I held my injured arm against my chest, kept my head down and walked on quickly. Nobody was following me yet, but that could change any second. I took a right at the next corner like Weasel had instructed, knowing I’d just have to keep out of trouble to the end of that road.
I started to feel relief flooding my system when someone suddenly stepped out of the shade right next to me and shoved me hard against the crumbling wall.
“Well, well, well. What have we got here?” I heard someone sneer through the thick fog of pain radiating from my dislocated shoulder. “You taken the wrong turn, or the right one?”
I knew that voice. It was one of the thugs who had come looking for me. My heart tried to crawl through my throat as I gasped for air and tried to sidestep him, but the man didn’t let go of me. For my struggling I got slammed against the wall again, and this time I saw white spots dance through the darkness before my eyes.
“Are you deaf? I asked what you’re doing here!” the thug hissed, and prepared to slam me against the wall a third time.
I squealed, I admit it. “I need to go to the factory!” I hastily blubbered, and it worked. Instead of trying to smash the wall in with my body he just grabbed my collar and pulled me up until I had to balance on the tip of my very naked toes.
“And why would a street urchin’ like you want to go there, huh?” Oh goody, he didn’t recognize my face from anywhere. This was salvagable, at least I hoped so.
“I need to pay some debts, they told me to come, they told me the way, I swear!” My voice still shook, but the lie came out smoothly and convincingly.
The man, towering over me at least a half foot in added height, sniffed. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but my oversensitive ears picked up the little huffs of air, the steady, calm pulse on his neck, and the soft rustling of cloth as he felt around the back of his belt.
When I heard the metal click of the gun he pulled it was almost too late. “Consider your debts paid,” he said, and brought the gun upward, aiming for my head.
I don’t know what would have happened if he had stood farther away from me. Maybe he would have actually managed to shoot me, but I was lucky. He was standing so close he couldn’t aim straight ahead. He had to bend his arm and bring the gun to my temple, and that was just enough time for me to rip his throat out with one hand.
I didn’t even do it consciously, it just happened. I only realized what I had just done when a spray of sticky hot blood hit my face, and my feet found back to solid ground. The big guy stumbled, tried to hold on to me, and finally fell to the floor in an unceremonious heap. Without thinking I threw the piece of flesh I had ripped out of him to the floor and gasped.
The stench of death and meat suddenly filled my lungs to the brim.
The scent actually made me hungry, but the sheer violence and the shock following it made my stomach churn angrily and finally made me throw up.
When I was finished I stumbled back, grazing along the wall behind me and sliding to the floor a few feet away from the dead man, eyes still fixed on his unmoving body. It had all been over so quick, I just couldn’t believe it yet. I still waited for him to jump up and finish me off, but there was no heart beat, no breathing, and no movement whatsoever. I also waited for his colleagues to come looking for him, even though I knew nobody had been alarmed yet.
For a few seconds there was dead silence, and the only thing proving that I was still there was my own heartbeat.
My stomach churned again. It made me jump up and leap over the dead guy. I had to get distance between me and that horrible, sweet smell, and my brain hadn’t forgotten where I had headed initially. When I finally got my senses back I stood at the foot of an eight feet high brick wall. I had reached my destination, and there had only been one fatality. Yay me.