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February 1, 2015
3:38am EST

Rated: 18+ | Other | Action/Adventure | #1850219
A nameless girl's fight on a cold winter night.
         A girl sat in the snow, staining it pink. She wore nothing but a red dress. The cold bit at her legs, and an excruciating pain grew in her stomach.
Her messy brown hair on her shoulder; a darker hue of red growing near her stomach.
         She heard voices off in the distance. With what strength she had left, she pushed herself up and picked up the bloody gun that next to her feet. She stumbled down the alley, looking for corners shaded from the bright full moon.
         The voices came closer, she saw the lights. She stood in a shaded doorway, but noticed her trail of blood. She cursed under her breath. She closed her eyes and gripped her gun tightly. She waited a moment, and could hear what they were saying.

         "Look, her blood, it leads there."
         "She's here."
         "Check it out, Resnov."
         "Why do I got to, huh? Its always me."
         "Just do it tubby."
         "I want her alive, gentlemen."
         "Don't expect nothing."

         She heard heavy footsteps of a man walking slowly. She estimated at around two-fifty pounds. She took a deep breath, and opened her eyes, turned out of the doorway, and shot the man square in the chest. He fell to the ground without a sound. She took advantage of the surprise and ducked behind a dumpster, dodging the shots fired by the other men. She waited for another pause, and made a run for it. A bullet caught her in the shoulder and she fell to the ground yelling in pain.
She tried to get on her knees, but the old man kicked her in the back of the head, and she fell to the ground disoriented.

         "Get up."

         She reached for her gun. He pushed it out of reach with his foot and followed through with another kick to her chest. She coughed out blood.

         "Get up!" She didn't respond.

         He grabbed her by the hair; she moaned as he jerked her body up.

         "Who sent you?" She didn't answer.

         He punched her face, then threw her against the wall. She slumped down, blood running down the side of her mouth.

         The man took a cigarette and lit it, then he took out his gun and aimed it down at her.

         "I'll give you one more chance."

         She was silent. He shrugged and cocked his gun.

         "An old memory of yours..." she whispered.



         He stood staring at her silently. He remembered see her face many, many years ago. Then he remembered a long lost memory.

A scream. Labored breathing.
Had enough?
Go to hell.
More screaming. More labored breathing.
Where's the money.
I don't find anything funny about the situation you are in.
You'll never find it.
A sigh and heavy breathing.
I see you have a wife and child. Both very lovely, I must say.
Where did you get that picture?!
I'm asking the questions
If you hurt them...
If I hurt them, what are you going to do? There is two ways the night will come to a conclusion, and both will end with your death. So now, what will it be?
Silence. Sound of a radio.
Kill the wife.
Crying. A sigh.
Tell me where it is. I might just spare your daughter.
A long silence.
Alright...I'll tell you.
Good, good.
Whispering, a sound of a pencil on paper.
Thank you for your cooperation.
This isn't over.
Oh? Isn't it? You're right, it isn't. Kill the daughter.
I'm tired of all this now, take care him. I want it to be messy.

         The old man spoke after a while

         "I know who you are. You're Kurlenko's"

         She didn't respond.

         "Look at me..."

         She didn't.

         "LOOK AT ME!"

         He grabbed her by the throat and dragged her up to his eye level. She tried to pry his hand apart, but the man's grip was too hard. She let her arms fall to her sides in surrender.

         "I know why you are here."

         She raised her head and looked him straight in the eyes.

         "I killed your father. Ordered his death. 1983. London. The useless dog he was."

         She spit blood into his face, her eyes hot coals against her pale face.

         "Do you know how he died, little girl? I was there, it was amusing." He paused, took a drag of his cigarette. "We cut him. Cut him real slow. Savored his death, actually. He deserved to die, you know."

         He blew smoke into her face.

         "He stole from me," he paused, "No. He stole from us."

         "And...who... would that be?"

         "Don't pretend you don't know."

         "Refre...Refresh my memory."

         "The mob, my girl, no one ever steals from us and lives." He took another drag, and blew it in her face. "Thus the fate of your father."

         "He took...took back what wasn't...yours to start with."

         "We think otherwise. It was money we earned, dirty, but still we earned it." Another drag. "To us, your father was just a nuisance, but he started to get more annoying as time progressed. We had to rid of him eventually." He chuckled. "It's funny. In death, men show their real selves. Your father was a coward. He begged for mercy. He said to take your mom and your life instead of his."

         "You lie."

         "Oh? How so?"

         "My father...was not a coward," She gasped out, "He fight you when...all others refused. Out of...fear.. or they..." He tightened his grip on her throat. She coughed up a fit.

         "What was that last part?"

         "...Or pitiful bags of shit, like you are..."

         Pain shot across her body as his knee shot up into her stomach. She fell to the ground crying and blood pouring from her mouth.

         "Kill her," he ordered, "Give her the same fate as her father and mother." He asked his cigarette on her wrist. She gave out a weak, faint, whelp of pain.

         He walked out of the alley, shaking his head. "What a waste. Such a pretty little thing."

         The remaining men moved towards her. The one with the large eye-patch and scars overs his mouth, brandished a long shiny shiv and pushed her up against the wall.

         He pointed to his scars and eyepatch. "You see this?" Your father did that to me. He made me hideous." He dragged the knife down her throat, drawing blood, and a dark smile spread across his face as he moved his hands across her body. "We are going to have fun."


         "Why no..." She brought her foot to his crotch and he doubled over in pain. She snatched the shiv from his hand, and stuck it in his good eye. He let out a bloodcurdling scream as he fell on his knees.

         The other man reached into his coat to pull out his gun, but she was faster. She pulled the knife from the man's eye and threw it in the other man's throat. He fell grasping the bloody shiv, in loud, wet gurgles.

         She sat down as her lungs gave out, she started to vomit blood. She heard silent cries from the men.


         She stared down into the eyes of the dying men, and saw fear. She picked up her gun, and shot both men.

         Then it was quiet. Quiet. She closed her eyes and held her face up to the sky. She was tired. It started to snow, gently, snowflakes melting on her swollen pale face. He hair hung down by her shoulders and her dress was torn. Blood dripping from her mouth, shoulder, and stomach. She was numb. She opened her eyes and tore the recorder from her chest and swallowed it.

         The last thing she heard was a gunshot from behind. She felt pain, and the cold. Then warmth. She had done it. She smiled. And all went dark.

Yes, my girl?
Why are people bad?
What do you mean?
Why do they kill each other? And steal?
Because it is who we are. We are born this way.
Then why do you kill them?
I do not kill my girl.
I only fight. Fight to fix this world. For what I believe in. For an idea. For justice.
Fix? Idea? Father, I do not understand!
You will on day, my Lia, you will understand everything.

Cold Case - London Police Department. Serial Number 126H-E
Excerpt from London Daily News, 21 January 1993

         A young woman was found dead this morning among other dead bodies. She had multiple gunshot and knife wounds, and as well as many lesions across her body. The other dead found, turned out to from a notorious Russian crime syndicate.
         Upon autopsy, a recorder was found in her stomach, revealing evidence and a confession to the brutal murder of a former D.A and vigilante, Alan Kurlenko, in 1983.
         As for the young woman, her identity is unknown. Investigators have found no identification and no related family members. Her body now rests in cold storage until further evidence shines light on her identity. But for now she remains, a nameless hero.

© Copyright 2012 Sunrise (UN: ginoyim at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Sunrise has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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