An arrow quivers. A girl. With smoke in her lungs and diamonds rippling through her blood marked limbs. Her raven hair become of twilight. Cascading off her shoulders. A vengeance planting a home in her azure, cerulean eyes. Her skin was seized in a suit of pitch black leather. Her patched, knee high boots scuffed the dirt, sending yet another cloud of dust lingering in the polluted air. Her eyes glittered in menace. Her knees broke into a stance. With a swift and intent movement, she hopped the rusted fence, and descended into her disdainful home town. The fowl, deteriorated , and nauseating city was a place you never wanted to visit. It was barely a place at all. The air was pungent and filled with toxic chemicals. A vile scent lingered in the grey carbon air. It was the smell of infected, rotting wounds. The scent of blood hardening on a concrete sidewalk. No one in their right mind would want to breath for another day there. For most, even the cradle of death seemed like an escape from that lair.

It was a fractured city. A fatal, unruly and crippled one. But she thrived.

Crouching behind an abandoned caravan, she prepared herself for her upcoming kill. She knew she wouldn’t need it, but just to be safe, she reached into her utility belt and pulled out a small vile. Popping off the corkscrew, she pulled out one of the many little capsules inside. She carefully stuck the small suicide pill under her tongue, and put the jar back in its place. Just in case something goes direly wrong. Just in case.

Now she was ready. Deep in the ghettos, in a deserted alleyway, just past the illegal boarder of North street, she waited. With her signature dagger in hand ready for the smell of blood, she waited. Before she made her kill though, she did something she did each time that she took a soul. She lifted her knife to her right forearm, and made a slice in her skin. She winced. It was routine for her, and it gave her something permanent. A scar. A scar for each rebellious soul that she murdered. She had started with her left arm, tallying all her kills, and when that arm was full, she moved onto her right arm. She did it because she knew she could never let go of her reputation, and with those scars, she kept trying to remind herself that she didn’t want to. Now, finally, she was ready. A shadow emerged from behind her and clasped her shoulder in a tight grip, holding a gun up to her head, but she was prepared. Swinging her arm back and kicking his muscular legs out from under him, she sent him sprawling to the ground. He ripped a lock of her long, dark hair off her scalp then in a swift move, he wrapped it around her neck, tugging with an unknown strength. She gasped for air, dug out her last ounce of strength, then kneed him in the stomach, and pounced on him so that he was laying in the dirt with an assassin sitting on his chest. Then with a wink and a smirk, she pulled out her knife, and with menace, she jabbed it into his eye. A staggering scream rushed through the chilled air. To drag out the pain, she twisted it around and around, slowly and spitefully. Then, she gripped the knife once more and gouged out his other eye. Another desperate scream could be heard from 70 miles away. Now, finally, With her dagger, she drove the sharpened point into his skull. One last scream. Before long, his eyelids closed and his rapid heartbeat not longer played its music. The sight before her was not a pretty one. A dark skinned man, dressed in an icy blue tank top, an unzipped hoodie, and ripped jeans, lay on the dirt ground, swimming in his own crimson blood. His eyes were simply two black holes filled with a pool of blood. His skull had a knife driven into it, and who knows, maybe it would be turned into a lampshade one day. And she, the young, reckless, assassin, had done in again. One day her city would be empty. Just a town full of lampshades. And with that, she and her peculiar, dirty, blue eyes, retreated into the moonlit and death instilled city.