The woman darted back into the doorway, and pulled the silk green cloth tightly around her head.
She tucked a few lose strands beneath the fabric. She had been silly, stupid and reckless. The man's uniform had frightened her. She shouldn't have ventured out like this. He could call
somebody.
What the hell was she trying to prove? The fear swarmed inside her guts, freezing them. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. She felt her heart race - she took a deep breath to steady herself. Hoping that no one had noticed, she darted back onto the busy crowded street.
Suddenly stout and strong arms pulled her back. A gloved hand jerked her head cloth off, exposing a mane of long golden hair.
Somebody nearby shrieked in terror and the mice children scattered, only the vultures remained.
Another glove held her wrist as the scanner flashed blue. Positive.
" Cut !", it bellowed.
" NO! I'm clean, I'm clean !", she screamed.
"Shut the fuck up!"
A gloved hand hit her in the jaw, numbing her senses.
The two men pushed her to her knees. Her hair fell around her face veiling her view.
She could only see the row of dirty broken teeth of the man crouching in front of her and could barely make out the roughly shaven head with its criss-cross pattern of old and scabby scars. The other one, she felt him. He never spoke, she could feel him rigid behind her, his breath quickening as in an expectancy of delight. He held her in an iron grip.
She screamed again. She kicked.
" Lay off , lady ! You're not rich enough!"
The blade came, moving swifty through the mass. She closed her eyes tightly, felt the soft and precious locks falling around her face, felt the blade slicing, cutting skin.
Fear rose again inside her. What if ?
Her arms were pulled upwards, the tunic ripped and the blade worked again.
Pushed now to the ground, she lay on her back, wishing it to be all over.
The gloves tore at the skirt.
Knees were wrenched apart. Now four hands moved swiftly in complete and expert silence. Only the blade moved, hissing its blood curse through her body.
It was useless to protest. She wasn't rich enough. She was nobody.
A small group stood and watched. Someone took photos..
Earlier this morning, she saw herself now, proud and defiant in the pale sun. She had run herself a long hot bath, had strewn fresh flowers in the bubbling rapids, had seen the flowers, one by one disappear in the liquid vortex, only to reappear seconds later, unharmed. They had cost her a month's savings.
She had gently patted herself dry, and then sat in the dingy shabby one room apartment she called home.
Bound by the thinly- coated wallpapered walls of a bygone era, she had dressed up in her finest. Surronded by old photographs of her younger, more beautiful self, her collection of novels, her paintings ; all were her guardians as she spent an hour or so drying and combing her hair. And when finally dressed, standing in front of her only window that overlooked the throng of grey boring people below, packed like rats in the grey boring street, she carefully and lovingly arranged the green scarf that her mother had given her long ago, in happier times.
Today, she would be somebody.
Today, all this would have meaning.
The guard sniggered as he pushed her away.
Gloved hands gathered the blood soaked harvest, dumped it into the metal container and burned it. He gave her a final glance and laughed.
Blondie was now scarlet.
When they finally left, she sat huddled on the pavement, her clothes in shreds.
She could feel each cut throbbing their own existence.
She was being helped to her feet. Kind hands wrapped the soft silk around the bleeding thighs.
A voice said , " Go home now. They''ll be back you know"
Again more urgently, " GO! Disappear now! "
She slumped her way into the melting crowds, the bleeding cuts on her inner lips kissing each other like angry lovers.