The Gothic Ballerina (standard:science fiction, 975 words) [1/8] show all parts
Author: kissofthehungry	Updated: Aug 01 2005	Views/Reads: 3985/0	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
In a time where the sun and moon can no longer be seen and evil preys upon the weak, one young woman, who has suffered despair dares to make a difference.

The strange but all too familiar hues of the streetlights and neon signs
cast their eerie glow over the sullen street.  The light of the sun and 
moon had long been blocked by the clouds, she'd never even seen them 
only heard rumors of a bright world that once existed.  Her boot heels 
echoed hollowly through the alleyway as she tried to avoid the 
glistening puddles of water. 

Echo, an orphan of the sins of the city, was a stunning beauty who
looked more like a china doll.  Yet the fragility of her beauty hid a 
strength of the soul that had conquered many of the trials thrown at 
her.  Her hair was dark brown and curly, generally captured in a sloppy 
ponytail slash bun on the top of her head.  Her skin was pale white, 
the skin of one who has never been touched by true sunlight, and her 
lips were a warm red.  Yet it was her eyes that were the most haunting, 
a pale blue with dark blue rims.  They were startling and gorgeous, 
giving her a wide-eyed innocence that was also a lie. 

The city was riddled with darkness and evil, preying on those that were
too weak to fight back.  Echo's parents had tried to stand up to one of 
the many crime lords but had only succeeded in being murdered.  She 
would never forget the moment that she strolled in from finishing her 
shift at work.  Immediately she had known something was wrong, for a 
thick, coppery smell had clung to the air and her heart had dropped 
into her stomach.  Gingerly, she had called out her parents' names but 
to no avail.  Then walked into their room, and the scream that had torn 
through her body had stuck in her throat, choking her life out of her.  
 Her father's body was in the bed, so riddled with bullets that she 
could see more of his insides than out.  Her mother was in their 
bathroom, her throat slit and twenty-seven knife wounds all over her 
body.  Echo had been seventeen at the time.  That was seven years ago, 
though it still haunted her. 

Looking back upon her parents' deaths, she felt her familiar companion,
pain, twinge within her.  Trying to push away her feelings, she paused 
next to a padlocked black door with paint peeling and graffiti 
obscenities plastering it's surface.  That was when she knew she wasn't 
alone. 

Turning around, she put a hand inside her trench coat, preparing to pull
it off, but nobody was there.  However, she knew better and in a fluid 
movement, had her jacket off and her sword out of it's sheath upon her 
back.  The silence that hung heavy was broken only by the plink of 
water splashing into the many puddles around her.  She didn't move, 
listening for any sound, a scrape of a foot against pavement, material 
brushing skin.  For a moment, she doubted herself then she heard the 
faintest sigh and spun to face the shadows behind her. 

Knowing his position had been betrayed, a man with long blonde hair and
age lines etched deep into his face, leapt out, a short blade in one of 
his leathery hands.  His black biker's vest and filthy torn jeans 
jingled with the many chains they bore.  How he had moved silently, she 
didn't know, nor at the moment, did she care. 

“Is this really what you want?” she asked, her voice low and carrying no
threat, baring no hint of the violence that boiled beneath her skin.  
Her grip upon the sword's handle was firm and sure, having slain many 
of his ilk before. 

The man eyed her hungrily and grinned, several of his teeth gold,
“Pretty lady, I always know what I want.  You can make this easy, or 
fun and easy.”  Echo shifted her stance a bit, amused at his naivety.  
Her delicate form tricked so many and she knew her outfit did little to 
change that.  She was in black mid calf boots with buckles and zippers 
galore, black and white striped tights, black shorts to her knees that 
hugged her closely to better maneuver in, and a black crop top t-shirt 
with a bleeding rose on her chest.  However, the sword sheath that she 
wore so comfortably should have given some clue, but those that were 
cruel were not often smart. 

“You talk too much, old man.  I don't care to hear you talk when you
sound like all the other idiots out there,” she was prepared, her body 
ready to spring and her mind already going into her mode.  The man 
grinned again and leapt at her, his blade hand held out towards her.  
It was a stupid move, and she easily dodged it, spinning around in a 
smooth dance move, bringing the blade around and catching him in the 
ribs.  The blow took him off his feet and he landed face first in one 
of the many puddles, screaming hysterically and clutching his bleeding 
wound. 

Echo casually stood above him, her sword hanging at her side, resting
but ready to be put back into action at any sign of further trouble. 

“What do you want?” he begged sobbing like a little child and she almost
felt bad for him, almost but not quite. 

Gracefully, she bent beside him and whispered into his ear, “Light.” 
Then she wiped her sword clean of his blood on his jeans then rose and 
left him bleeding in the alley, knowing he wasn't going to rise from 
his resting spot and that nobody but him would care.    On her way out, 
she picked up her trench coat, and slid everything back into it's 
proper place.  His cries faded into the dark sounds of the city that 
seemed dead but under the surface, throbbed with an ever present and 
active life. 


Tweet