Amelia Hartman was standing on the corner of the street, her eyes filled with terror as men approached her. They all had a blue shirt on with ripped, soggy jeans and menacing eyes. Even though her cellphone was in her pocket, easy to reach, it would surely be knocked out of her hands if she even lifted a nail to reach it. This was the bad part of the city too; and the police would probably all be out fighting crimes.
"Come here, you scrawny gal," growled one of the men. His filthy hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to her nose almost touched a skull necklace around his neck. She looked up.
"You come with us, and help us plot deaths and kills, or you die on this corner," whispered another man. He reached on his belt and pulled a small pistol out. Amelia cringed at the sight.
"Which do you think is better, life or death," teased another man with matted black hair.
"It depends," whispered Amelia. Her mother had offered her a pocket knife once for when she went out, but she had rejected it. Now she wished she had it.
"It depends? I thought life would be better!" laughed the first man. The second man started stroking his pistol, clean and sharp. Amelia remembered this was the way her grandmother Ellen died, and her best friend Hannah too.
"Fine," rasped Amelia. "I'll come." The men laughed and shouted in mean joy and pushed Amelia into a cramped car. All twelve men sat in there, when it was only meant for six people. Amelia's head started spinning, and now she regretted her choice. She could have ran away, into a cafe or house. But she could have been shot. She buried her face in her hands and let the car drive her away from her once-perfect life.
Soon, the car reached a small house with broken windows and almost no roof. The men stumbled out and the one with matted black hair pulled her on his back. He smelled like rotting eggs, so the girl started breathing through her mouth, though there was a distinct tang of eggs in the air still.
The house was only four rooms. The first room had ripped leather couches and one almost broken TV. The next room they passed had weapons in it, and Amelia covered her eyes in fright. The third room was a kitchen, where the men dropped her in. They grabbed a bowl of soup and put in front of Amelia.
"Let the mangy girl eat and then we could see who we could kill next," said a man with dreadlocks. Shouts of agreement rang through the room. They kill just for fun? After eating the watery soup, Amelia stood up, and walked into the fourth room, which she figured out was where they plotted murders.
Amelia crouched on the corner of Blue Street, which was the most dangerous street in the city. She had a walkie-talkie in her hands, which was rather wet from her sweat. They were murdering a boy who passed by this street everyday on the way home from school.
"Now," whispered a voice through the walkie-talkie. His name was Evan, and he was the leader.
Amelia got up and pulled a pistol from her pocket. Tingles of dread went through her body and she approached the boy, who was walking down the street.
"You," she said quietly in his face. "You, you are going to die!" The boy's eyes filled with terror and he closed his eyes and fell to the ground. Amelia pointed the musket down at him, but she had to think. My death, or his death?
She couldn't pull the trigger. Amelia threw the gun onto the street and grabbed the boy's hand. She pushed him out of the street and he smiled and ran away.
"You betrayed us!" yelled Evan. Before Amelia could react, she felt pain sear through her mind. Pain of choices and decisions, how a wrong one could lead to her death.
"Kill me." This was her final decision. Pain ripped through her heart, and she cast a final glance at her chest and the men. Amelia's vision became clouded, finally blacked-out. But then the girl was walking with her grandmother and Hannah forever, nothing to worry about.
Adding your comment:
good luck!
