Plague of the Black Heart

Descent

My anger was welling up inside again. I knew I was seeing something that offended my sense of right. My anger was outrage, it was my call to arms and it demanded action.

I opened myself to it, embraced it, and let it fill my entire being. Then I calmly spread my arms and jumped into the darkness of the alley from the roof of the decrepit ten story apartment building.

Time always slowed on these descents. Even though I was centered and the embodiment of calm, I could feel the adrenaline from my well honed anger further enhancing my senses and I took in the details of my surroundings in their entirety.

From the obvious: like the drunk man I see through a window, passed out in an old recliner, wearing an undershirt that was almost as stained as the chair where he lost his battle with consciousness. Tonights bottle of choice hanging from his tenuously failing grip, no doubt destined to clatter to the floor and possibly stir him from his inebriated slumber.

To the less obvious: like the rusted and failing bolts of the fire escape across the alley. Further evidence that this entire neighborhood had been gone to seed and forgotten. Proof that in the event of an emergency evacuation, the occupants of the building would be safer to turn and deal with whatever was driving them from their rat infested homes, rather than plummeting to their death in a mess of twisted and jagged metal.

I could feel the wind caressing each individual hair on my bare arms as they all stood on end, electrified by both the descent and anticipation of the battle to come.

I could hear the time slowed shuffle of feet as the three assailants seemed to glide and dance around their intended victim in an effort to intimidate him into relinquishing his valuables by merely demonstrating their superior numbers. The rasping growled threats from the largest of the three, voicing the intent to harm if the victim didn’t quickly and efficiently hand over whatever he had in his possession, fueled my body further as I turned gracefully in the air, reposition my feet for landing.

Time reestablished itself as I intentionally made ground fall with a rumble that left a rippling indentation in the pavement of the poorly lit alley.

The three assailants stopped their dance of intimidation and simultaneously turned towards me, their eyes squinting as though they couldn’t be sure of what they were seeing through the dim. At an underwhelming four and a half feet tall, I wasn’t much to behold, on the surface.

“Hey little girl, are you lost?” the largest one mocked, “Do you need your mommy and daddy?”

I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and drank in his taunts, finally filling my anger to its capacity. The fact that they underestimated me always seemed to have that effect.

A smile slowly crept across my lips and the confidence of the three muggers faltered as I opened my eyes again. The beacon like luminescence, afforded by my rage, had an unnerving effect. As did my voice.

“Please mister, could you help me?” I pleaded through gritted teeth. Though filled with fury, my voice still sounded like it came from a little girl of no more than eight years of age.

But I’m almost 10 years old, dammit.

My first step forward was more of a stomp of righteous indignation as the ground softly gave way with a ripple of pavement and sound that sent the three of them running.

I am Fury.

Not Girl Fury. Not Little Fury….and most definitely NOT Princess Fury.

Just Fury.

 

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2 Comments

  1. Judy February 22

    I want more please?
    Good plot as far as I am concerned, a little girl Super hero!!!
    Call her Mystic Flury?

  2. Dee May 16

    Really enjoyed the little girl’s voice. Hope you will write more!

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