Transition


The alley was dark and silent except for the monotonous
splashing of raindrops against the ground. Black clouds
covered the skies, the moon was nowhere to be seen.

A faint, rhythmic noise began to echo throughout the walls of
the abandoned streets, getting louder as its source approached
the entrance of the narrow passageway.

Footsteps.

A few moments later a figure appeared at the mouth of the
alley, a dark silhouette against a failing lamp on the other
side of the street.

He turned on his flashlight, and peered into the street,
swinging the bright beam from side to side. The spot of light
suddenly illuminated a small figure which lay against one of
the cracked brick walls. A broken mannequin, carelessly thrown
away on the street.

As he approached it the smell of putrid flesh stung his
nostrils.

He didn't even need to look at the crumpled computer printout
in his pocket.

It was her.

He knelt in front of the little girl, gently moving aside the
black strands of wet hair which covered her dirty,
blood-stained face. He winced when he saw her crushed socket
and mouth, her remaining eye blankly staring into
nothingness. As he tenderly stroked her cracked cheek he
looked down the girl's body. Her filthy clothes were tattered
and torn, the metallic body underneath scratched and
dented. He frowned upon seeing the mangled remains of her
right arm hanging limply by her side.

    "You poor little girl," he whispered, "I am so sorry."

He gave her a small smile.

    "Don't worry now," he told her, "I promise you, I will
make you just as beautiful as you were before, you'll see."

The girl remained immobile, her unblinking eye showing no
trace of emotion or understanding whatsoever.

    "Wait a minute, I've got a present for you."

The man began fumbling his clothes, until he suddenly found
what he was looking for in the deep pocket of his overcoat. He
pulled out a little box and showed to the unseeing girl.

    "Even at the antiques shop, I couldn't find one of those
fully mechanical ones, but the only difference is the battery,
and I guess it's the music that counts. You like music, don't
you, little girl?"

He pressed a small button on the side of the musical box, and
a sweet melody floated through the air.

    "Do you like it?" he asked. "Imagine that! Trying to wake
somebody up with Brahms. Just comes to show you how big a
genius I turned out to be!"

He looked at her. She remained motionless.

    "Please, little girl, wake up."

He moved the box closer, until it was touching her chest at
the base of her neck. The sound was suddenly magnified by her
whole body, which acted as an amplifier.

The girl blinked.

Slowly placing her hand on top of his, she pressed the little
box against herself, her ruined lips forming a weak smile.

The man smiled back, quickly wiping a raindrop that had fallen
into his eye.


_________________________________
marco@chinook.physics.utoronto.ca
Gunnm: Broken Angel
http://128.100.80.13/marco/alita.html