Tainted      by Daphne Chang

       You watched as the girl walked towards you-the sway of her lithe body languid, dancing to the beats of her blood running through her veins-her presence unnatural against the gray and rusty background. You wrinkled your nose as the puff of dusty air, mixed with years of smoke and despair, wafted up from the decaying building on which you stood, watching the girl as she made her way through this maze.
            The flickering neon signs lit up her face briefly as she walked pass you, unaware of your steady gaze. Her face was covered with make-up, concealing her youth.
            A dab of lipstick smeared on the corner of her lip, blatantly scarlet against the paleness of her cheeks, flushed by the ample apply of blush that she had put on earlier. Her eyelids were heavy with gaudy-colored eye-shadows, attempting to hide the dark thoughts in her eyes, behind the curtains of curling eyelashes.
            You smelled the overpowering cheap perfume, drifting off of her as she strode past you.
            Unconsciously, she rubbed her bared arms, as though trying to wipe off the grimy fingerprints of men that were burned into her skin. The stench of alcohol enveloped her, forever as foreign to her as it was the first time.
            You tilted your head, startled, as her eyelashes dampened.
            Drops of rain fell, a trail of glassy curtain before your eyes. You watched as she ducked for shelter under the roof of an abandoned apartment.
            Her smoky eyes turned toward heaven. She gazed at the stormy clouds, her hair fluttering wildly, loosen by the icy breath of the wind, her expression serene. For a moment, you saw the golden girl shining through the shadow that had now taken over her.
            With a sigh, she snapped opened her purse. Her nimble fingers drew out a bundle of cash, reeking of alcohol and smoke, the common signatures of those that she face everyday. She held the stack between two fingers, counting them with her eyes.
            Her eyes closed briefly. A slight furrow deepened themselves upon her fair brows.
            You watched as she shook her head slowly, putting the stack back into her purse, wiping her fingers on what she called a skirt, her movements mechanical and deliberate. You read the expression of disgust and repulse on her face.
            She leaned against the barred door, a worn copy of Wuthering Heights produced from her purse. Within a few seconds, she fell back into the intricate story, lifted out of this realm. Out of this prison, in which she was the soul, chained and held down by the metal locks of Fate.
            She didn't hear the screeching of the tire, nor the sirens that pierced through the silence of the night. But you did.
            You flinched. It was happening again. It never changes. You cannot turn your eyes away from it. You cannot will it to stop. You cannot will it to disappear.
            You saw the speeding car. You heard the sharp snaps of bullets being fired. You smelled the acid smoke.
            You drew in a sharp breath, wincing as a dull thud echoed in the alley, unheard by the speeding cars, unheard by living souls.
            She sprawled, on the broken steps, her hair in disarray, tangling with the wooden splinters. Her fingers curled around the book, holding it close to her as a child would his favorite toy. Its soaked pages became damp, tinted with crimson drops that blossomed like roses against the snow fields.
            Her painted face turned towards heaven. Her dark eyes, still opened, fixed on the endless spread of sky-and on the figure standing across from her, atop of a broken building.
            You clutched your book, unbidden tears trailing down your cheeks, mixing with the raindrops that carried the tears of a thousand hopeless cries, accumulated through time and history, now joined by your own.
            You watched, unable to turn away, as the rain fell on her. The tears of a thousand and one-her blanket and sole comfort as she breathed her last breath in the mortal realm.
You held the book closer to you. Its crimson pages, dampened and worn, rustled. You raised your eyes heavenward. Your skin shone pale, untainted by the drops falling from the dark clouds-the thousand and one tears that fell down relentlessly to collect more.
            With an impulsive flung, you threw your book out, heaving a broken laugh that remain caught, suspended in your throat. The book flew across the street, its pages fluttering out, torn free from its binding.

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