[ WP ] In the dead of night a young girl meets an intimidating man with severe scarring . After the confrontation the man is the one who is afraid .


 
 The haze settled in and my arm fell to the ground. The alley faded into my periphery as the poison seeped into my bloodstream. The whistling I dismissed at first. Another sound that wasn ’ t there. A lullaby, a key too low and a step too slow. The kind of sound that was too bizarre to be real. I decided it was safe to assume it was n't. 
 
 My head lolled, the haze taking me out of the world. I don ’ t know how long it lasted. A flashing slide show of my failures, my missteps. Everything that led me to this alley, with this blessed poison creeping through my mind. The haze cleared it all away, let me rest. The whistling was still there when I woke up. 
 
 I grunted, resenting this intrusion to my trance. I lifted my head, greasy matted hair brushing past my eyes. I started, an odd guttural noise escaping me. The girl, whistling, was sitting cross-legged before me. She didn ’ t look older than twelve. She had my needle in her hands. She stopped whistling when she saw me lift my head, and smiled. I held out my hand. “ That ’ s not for you, girl. ” 
 
 “ You ’ re right. It ’ s for you. ” Her voice was calm. Had a singsong quality to it. I noticed her hands then. The syringe she held was different. Blue, not clear. Full, not empty. I furrowed my brow, pulled in my legs. We faced each other, odd equals. Me, unkempt, unclean, haggard, looking for all the world like a mangled corpse, and her. Her short blonde hair swept back with a little blue headband. 
 
 “ What ’ re you talking about, girl? Where ’ s your folks? ” I slurred. She giggled, holding out the syringe. 
 
 “ Take it! It ’ s for you. ” She smiled, and I looked her in the eyes. She was earnest. The malice, the fear, the revulsion and disgust I ’ d become accustomed to and took a certain comfort in were gone. This girl ’ s smile was sweet, innocent, fearless, and profoundly unsettling. “ It ’ ll make you feel better. ” I held out my hand, wanting to get whatever this was away from her more than anything. She pressed it gently into my palm. 
 
 I examined the syringe. It was unmarked. The milky blue liquid yielded no secrets. “ What is it? ” I grumbled. 
 
 “ You know, ” she said. Her smile took a sad, pitying slant. I did. It was the last straw. This syringe held rock bottom, the last I ’ d ever need. One press of that plunger and I ’ d never wake up. An eternity under the haze. Finality, is what it was. Realisation pressed in on me. I dropped it, scrambled to my feet. It was still in her hand. She caught it? 
 
 “ What are you? ” 
 
 “ You know. ” I did. It didn ’ t make sense, but I did. I fled to the street. Burst into a confused teenager and a very angry man holding a snubnose. There was a bang. I fell, gibbering, to the sidewalk. They sprang back from me, the teenager took off running. The angry man grabbed me. Shook me. I pointed at the girl. He looked at her, no, past her. His eyes were wild, unfocused. He did n't see her. He looked around the street. He didn ’ t see anyone. Anyone but me. 
 
 He ran. 
 
 I laughed. I laughed at his footsteps, fading away. I laughed at the silence. I laughed at the blood, the pain, the regret that suddenly threatened to swallow me. I laughed at the girl. 
 
 The girl stepped out of the alley. She looked both ways, stepping over trash onto the sidewalk. She knelt next to me, syringe at the ready. I gasped as the pain flowered out in my arm, replaced by ice, spreading up to my heart. 
 
 “ I tried, you know. ” 
 
 “ I know. ” 
 
 “ You did good there at the end. ” The haze took me. The haze took the girl. The haze took the alley. Took the street. The world.
