Marked for Vengeance by S.J. Pierce

Her only option was to follow her instincts and get home as
fast as her long legs would carry her.
    Her brisk walk
elevated to a light jog, and as she rounded the next corner, she tripped over a
dark figure that sat on the ground, hunched against the wall. She screamed as
she hit the pavement with a smack and watched as her Styrofoam takeout
container and purse flew in front of her, her purse’s contents scattering over
the unlit sidewalk.
    Shell-shocked, she
lay on the concrete when a figure’s unsteady footsteps staggered toward her
from behind, mumbling angry, incoherent words. She scrambled to her feet, and a
hand grabbed her by the shoulder. Her elbow instinctually raised high in the
air to swing it into their side, and a frantic voice cried out. “Stop!”
    The man let go
and stumbled backward, landing on his backside.
    When she spun
around, the elderly bum she had seen many times before on that block wailed in
a drunken stupor on the pavement. Her hands flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry!”
she cried. “Are you alright?”
    He didn’t
respond to her attempt at comfort, and she worried that the fall had injured
him. She extended her arms with her palms facing the sky. “Here, let me help
you up,” she said as she walked toward him. “I’m sorry.”
    His only
response was more wailing as he rolled on the ground, his arms flailing like a
five year old child in the throes of a tantrum.
    She sighed and turned
to examine the mess she had made. It would take forever to find everything that
had flown from her purse in the dark. Grabbing her cell phone first, she used
it as a light to find her belongings; lipstick, wallet, keys, binoculars, and
pens. She also remembered change clattering about, but it wasn’t important
enough to look for.
    With her purse
and food container in hand, she turned to check on the bum again who now stood
with his right arm outstretched, her loose coins sitting in the palm of his
calloused hand, and her heart ached with compassion. “No,” she insisted and
placed her hand under his, curling his fingers over the coins, “you keep them.”
 
    He shoved the
change inside his pocket, and his eyes drew down to the white container she
held in her hands. The smell of the freshly grilled hamburger patty teased his
hunger. Without hesitation, she held out her dinner for him to take it. It was
probably more food than he had eaten in a week.
    She could tell
by the way he wrung his hands that he wrestled with his conscience over taking
a young woman’s food, but the hunger that reflected in his widened eyes
prevented him from contemplating too long. He gingerly took it from her hold
and bowed with gratitude.
    In her eighty-four
years as a human, Alyx had witnessed what the coldness of a man’s heart could
inflict on another; pain, sorrow, destruction. She had also witnessed what the
kindness and warmth of one’s heart could accomplish; healing, joy, and
redemption. It only took but one small act of compassion to make a difference
in someone’s life, to change their outlook on the world, or to lift their
spirits for just a moment. And it was all worth it for her, to know that she
had helped someone in their time of need.
    The old man
slumped against the wall while shoveling the food into his mouth, and she
grinned with satisfaction. She went on her way and noticed her scar’s tingling
had faded to a faint prickle, indicating that the looming danger had vanished.
For now.
    When she made it
home, she closed and locked the door behind her. She vigorously rubbed her arms
to shake off the chill from the night air and turned the thermostat to seventy-eight
degrees. Even with the brief interruption of literally running into the bum, she
couldn’t quite shake the haunting fear of being followed, so she double checked
the locks on her windows, as well.
    After all of the
excitement, hunger no longer churned inside her stomach, so she curled up on
the couch with a blanket to watch some mindless TV.
    *
*