Lavender Lavenders green, dilly dilly, Lavenders blue, When you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you... When he first saw the girl she was unconscious, lying in the middle of the alleyway. She seemed so out of place, so pretty in her strange uniform, surrounded by garbage, rot and debris, it was an almost surrealistic vision. The boy looked down at her for a long time, unsure of what to do. There he was, prepared to flee at last, get as far away as he could from this pathetic wasteland, be free once and for all. And now, just as he was about to leave, he suddenly comes across this girl. After watching her for a few more minutes, he made up his mind. "Fuck her" He stepped over the girl's body and began to walk away, heading towards the mouth of the alley, deliberately avoiding looking back over his shoulder. A low rumble shook the ground underneath his feet. He looked upwards only to have a large drop splash into his eye, making him wince. Another one fell on his head, and then another on his arm. "Shit!" The shower quickly started to worsen. Cussing, he began his hasty retreat. The boy barely managed to avoid tripping over the girl, stopping just before making contact. The raindrops noisily splashed against her body. The girl, however, wasn't even aware of the downpour, as she lay inert on the street. The boy was about to step over her again, but something made him stop. Instead, he slowly knelt to her side. Water snaked down her face, forming tearlike streams on her cheeks. The boy sighed as he began to wedge his arms underneath the girl. She was larger than he was, perhaps a bit older too, and certainly heavier. With great effort he finally managed to lift her, precariously balancing back and forth before gaining a firm footing. Slowly, they made their way through the rainfall. ----- The warehouse had been abandoned for years, and it showed. Small cascades of water poured through the holes which riddled the roof of the old building, its walls covered with graffiti, symbols of long forgotten territorial feuds, a filthy concrete floor marked by the weight of the large machinery which once inhabited its interior. On a stormy night like this it became a large, dark cave, completely devoid of light save for the flickering of two candles near the southeast corner of the structure. The boy hadn't bothered to blow them out when he left. Secretly, he had hoped the place would somehow burn down. It was there, under the dim illumination of the flames, where he carefully placed the girl on a threadbare mattress which lay on the floor. As he did, he heard a sharp metallic clink. The shiny object his feet beckoned him with the reflection of the glowing tongues nearby. He picked up the small sceptre, closely scrutinizing the baton as his mind automatically began to calculate how much he could get for it. Almost instinctively, his other hand reached for his pocket, feeling the crumpled bills which he had so covetously saved during the past two months. If the sceptre was valuable - and it certainly seemed that way, judging from its aspect - he could easily double the amount he had, perhaps even triple it if he convinced the pawnbroker it wasn't "hot". Hell, he'd be able to actually buy his ticket out of this dump _and_ eat a decent meal at last. Maybe he'd even have enough left for... A moan suddenly interrupted his thoughts of wealth. The girl. He had forgotten about her. He looked at the sceptre. She'd never know. Besides, he had already done her a favour by bringing her in, it was a fair exchange. The girl stirred, a painful groan escaping from her delicate lips. The boy approached her, studying her face closely for the first time. She was very pale, a nasty bruise on her forehead, her upper lip all puffed up, no doubt due to the large cut just below her small, pert nose. In spite of her decrepit appearance, the boy was rather surprised at how pretty the girl actually was. Tall and lean, she had a very nice figure, and her features were delicate and soft. She looked, he thought, like a princess (although he had never even seen a princess he knew they were always pretty nonetheless). The girl was breathing rapidly, wheezing almost. The boy knelt next to her. Something was wrong. At first he thought the girl had simply been raped and abandoned in the alley. Or perhaps, judging from her clothes, was some sort of hooker who had been slapped around by a disgruntled customer, or even her pimp. It happened sometimes. The girl coughed, still unconscious. Small droplets of bloody saliva sprinkled the boy's face, as her breathing became more and more laboured, her condition worsening with every passing moment. For the first time, fear began to register in the boy's mind. This was not good. "Hospital" The thought blazed through his head, but passed as quickly as it had come. No. He hated hospitals. Despised them. The last time they had caught him stealing, the police beat him up so badly he had spent almost two weeks in one. In spite of his precarious condition, he had been nothing more than garbage to them. The policemen's blows had busted his left eardrum, but it took three pain-filled days before they treated the infection which almost killed him one night. As a result he lost his hearing in that ear. They kept him locked in a room, drugged for days. He had managed to escape thanks to one of the nurses who had taken pity of him, and who "forgot" to give him his medication the night before he was taken away. She had probably realized he wouldn't survive imprisonment. He had no doubt she had been right. In any case, he would be unable to explain the girl's current condition. It wasn't his fault, but it wouldn't matter. _They_ wouldn't care. They never did. The girl was very still now, as her breathing had become very soft, almost stopping altogether. For some reason, this frightened the boy even more. His eyes traced the length of her body. His gaze suddenly froze. A large, red stain was slowly spreading over the filthy surface of the mattress. The girl's clothes had turned almost brown. The dampness of the rain, he thought, must have somehow concealed this... He gently lifted her right arm, carefully moving it away from her body. He saw his hands tremble as he reached for the large tear on the side of her blouse. He slowly separated the blood-soaked fabric, and gasped. A large cut, about fifteen centimetres long, extended from her the hip all the way up to the base of her right breast. It was so deep he could almost swear he saw a rib peeking from between the lips of the gash. Blood bubbled out, snaking down her side and wetting the futon beneath her. The boy was very pale, almost as pale as she was. This was much worse than he had ever imagined. He had to do something. Fast. He thought again about taking her to a hospital, damn the consequences. But the girl was as heavy as he was, if not heavier. He hadn't eaten in three days, he would probably faint along the way. The storm had picked up, he wasn't even sure she could make the journey. Maybe he could get help... Not enough time. She was quickly bleeding to death. The boy began to panic. "Think, you stupid idiot!" He buried his face in his hands, tightly closing his eyes shut. "Think" He suddenly straightened up, a look of determination on his face. He had to stop the bleeding. Make a tourniquet somehow. Bandages. He needed bandages. He had none, of course. He wildly looked around. Nothing. His sweater. It wasn't even remotely clean, but it was something. He took it off, and approached the girl, who was now paler than ever. Should he just tie it around her torso? How tight? He wasn't sure what to do, but it was the only way he could think of closing the incision. He placed a sleeve on the girl's stomach, and began wrapping it around her, carefully lifting up her body to pass it underneath. He saw with horror how the hemorrhage worsened as he did so, and quickly brought the sleeves together. He made a clumsy knot and began to flatten the sweater before tightening it around her. As he smoothed the sleeve below the contour of her breast, he felt something hard. Something sharp. He almost stopped breathing. Slowly, he began to unwind the piece of cloth. He was afraid to even peek, but forced himself to look, wiping the blood the best he could. He saw something coming out of her side. Glass. The tip of a piece of glass, embedded at the very end of the slash, almost hidden under her breast. Panic swelled in his mind. The girl was going to die. She was going to die and it was his fault. He had killed her. "Don't do this to me, dammit!" He took a deep breath, and firmly grabbed the glass' tip between his thumb and index. He held it so tight his fingertips turned white. He began to pull it out. He could see the flesh tense as the jagged splinter slowly made its way out. An eternity seemed to pass, and he noticed with horror how large the needle was. It just seemed to keep getting longer and longer. His fingers started to slip on the bloody surface, leaving a smeared pattern imprinted upon it. He tightened his grip even more, trying not to let the trembling which shook his body propagate to his hand. Suddenly, resistance ceased. He looked at the sharp piece of glass. It had seemed so large while he was pulling it out, but it was a mere four centimetres long. He violently threw it away into a dark corner. He again wrapped the sweater around her, and firmly began to tighten it. This was taking great effort on his part, and he felt very dizzy, almost nauseous, as he pulled the ends of the knot in opposite directions. Sweat fell into his eyes, and he realized he was losing consciousness. He could hear the rain falling on the roof. The noise it made was becoming unbearable. Suddenly, the girl violently convulsed, almost flying off the mattress, sending the boy staggering backwards. A second spasm rocked the girl's frame, as she began to shudder uncontrollably. The boy practically flung himself to her side, holding her down. He pressed his chin against her forehead. She was burning. "God" The girl's attack had passed, but she kept shaking, consumed by fever. The boy held her tightly. He couldn't do anything more. The girl wasn't going to make it. He slowly lay next to her, pressing his body against hers, feeling the dampness of her blood through his shirt. Tears flooded his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her, and placed a cheek against her fiery forehead. "Forgive me. Please forgive me," he whispered into her ear. He could feel her trembling within his embrace, as the rain kept pounding on, relentless. He had never felt so helpless in his life, so sorry, so scared, so useless... The boy then did the only thing he could think of to comfort the girl somehow. At first he just started to hum, a simple tune he had learned when he was very small. A little later the lyrics followed, and he softly began to sing the words into her ear. A nursery rhyme he knew from long ago. He couldn't remember where he had learned it. From his mother, perhaps... The girl's shivering subsided a bit. The boy, however, was too tired to notice. Coldness and exhaustion had taken their toll. He shifted on the mattress, still holding the girl, when he felt something hard sticking into his back. One of his arms momentarily let go of her, and he reached behind him. The girl's small sceptre. He had completely forgotten about it. He again put his arms around her, but for some reason kept his hold of the staff. In spite of all his anguish and fear, or perhaps because of it, the boy soon fell into an uneasy slumber. He didn't notice the slight glow of the sceptre which was now pressed against the girl's body. ----- The boy awoke with a start, but froze immediately. A cascade of thoughts swept through his mind. His vague memory of a nightmare suddenly materialized when he realized the body he was holding was, in fact, real. Was it alive? The boy lay very still, holding his breath, not daring to move. He felt something moving, lightly pushing his arms back and forth, as if... breathing. Very slowly, the boy opened his arms, trying not to disturb the girl. She lay with her back towards him, and so he carefully slid away, not getting up until he had fallen off the mattress. He crawled around her, still terrified of what he might see. He took a deep breath, and looked at her face. The girl was peacefully sleeping, unaware of his presence. He studied her closely. There was something wrong, something which didn't make sense. A thin ray of sunlight, coming through a hole in the roof, illuminated her face, and she looked... beautiful. Her features were warm and gentle, her lovely hair fell down over a smooth cheek, a couple strands touched her lips. Her delicate, soft lips. The boy almost fell back. The bruise on her forehead. It wasn't there either. Not even a scratch. "Impossible" He looked at the sweater which was wrapped around her torso. The dark brown stain was blood, no doubt about it. He gently placed his hand on its surface. It was dry. The girl stirred, turning around, so that she lay on her back. Her mouth opened slightly, and she quietly began to snore. The boy smiled, as he lightly stroked some hairs off her face. Perhaps, if he was deemed worth of a miracle, there was hope after all. "Thank you" And then, very gently, he pressed his lips against hers. ----- The girl woke up, a rather surprised look on her face. She lay still, trying to place herself. She couldn't. She straightened up, sitting on the mattress, studying her surroundings. She was in a large warehouse of sorts, empty save for a small table and the futon below her. She noticed her sceptre, glittering on the table. She felt something wrapped around her stomach. The girl slowly untied the bloodied sweater, and examined herself. Her blouse was shredded, but other than that everything seemed to be OK. She touched her face, and stretched her arms high in the air. She then cautiously stood up. She took a deep breath, holding the air for a few seconds, closing her eyes. Memories began to surface as she exhaled. Night time. A youma. Nothing she couldn't handle. An easy victory. Too easy, perhaps. She got careless. The demon somehow managed a final, desperate assault. A powerful blow. Glass shattering. And then... nothing. She tried to concentrate, but it was useless. She had no idea how she had gotten there. She looked upwards, through one of the holes in the ceiling. A slanted, reddish glow came through. Sunrise? Sunset? How long had she been out? She had no idea, but she was certain her friends would be worried. The girl grabbed the small sceptre off the table, and quickly transformed. She looked around for a few more minutes, but failed to find anything of interest, save for a couple of burned-out candles. Sighing, she headed for an exit. As she stepped outside she noticed the sun was indeed setting, which meant that she had been unconscious for at least a day. Her friends would undoubtedly be worried sick by now. She ran to the mouth of the alley, and then turned left, swiftly disappearing down the street. Epilogue The bus station was almost empty that night. At the end of platform 3 was a young boy, squatting on the floor, his back against a wall. His gazed was fixed on the skies, observing the myriad of stars which punctured the heavens. The boy was smiling, thinking about the possibilities which lay ahead of him. After leaving the girl he had felt euphoric, everything around him had acquired a dreamlike quality somehow. Against all odds, she had pulled through, not because of him but, in a way, for him. She had given the boy faith in himself, something he had lost a long time ago. Hope wasn't just an empty word anymore, maybe he was worth something, maybe... From the corner of his eye he suddenly noticed some activity at the other end of the platform. It was the ticket seller, talking with the station policeman. He seemed to be quite agitated, and kept placing his hands on his chest. The man suddenly pointed in his direction, and the officer began walking towards him. The boy turned around, wondering what was going on. There was nobody else nearby. The boy looked back, confused, and saw the policeman was now quickly approaching. The boy suddenly jerked his head down, and saw himself, his worn tennis shoes, dirty threadbare pants, a tattered shirt... and a large, dark brown stain of dry blood in the middle. Footsteps echoed throughout the platform, growing louder and louder. The policeman was almost running now, wielding the shiny black truncheon he had removed from his holster. It was the last thing the boy saw, as he then slowly lowered his head, closed his eyes, and thought of his princess. For Jessie, who will never know. _________________________________ marco@chinook.physics.utoronto.ca Gunnm: Broken Angel http://128.100.80.13/marco/alita.html