Innocence

Sit down, take a deep breath and make sure you are concentrating. This story will be short and dark but make no mistake, it will not be an easy read. Within, there are truths and as we all know; some truths are harder to swallow than others. Ones about life are the hardest of all.

Now let us begin.

Look at the small gang of thugs huddling in the shadows of an alley. None any older than 20 summers and each with darkness in their heart born of neglect and rejection from society. Watch as they stare at their intended prey like predators, waiting patiently in the undergrowth. An opportunity is seen and desperation fuels their motives as they strike out, beating their target to a pulp before disappearing into the throngs of the city with their stolen wealth.

Do not weep for the man now lying on the ground, his eyes lifeless and body broken as his spirit passes into the unknown. Do not cry for his wife whose heart will shatter into a thousand pieces and will never feel the warm touch of love again. No, do not cry for them. Instead, look toward the child. Gaze into her eyes if you dare and witness the birth of raw hatred.

A vivid imagination, unburdened by adult constraints of morality, flickering through scenarios of revenge that would turn the stomach of the hardest war veterans. As each scene plays out, the child’s resolve solidifies that little bit more. No longer interested in playing games with her friends or entertaining the idea that her stuffed animals could communicate. Such childish notions were simply that, for children. Now, she lies awake in the dark of night, thinking of what future she will carve and the punishment she will deliver. Look upon this young girl and weep for the loss of the purest quality we possess. Weep for the loss of this child’s innocence.

…

Take a moment to collect your thoughts and process them. I did say this would not be easy.

…

Let us return to this ill-fated girl whose father was stripped away too soon. Now 10 years on and you can see how her life has been shaped by fury. Dissociating at school caused her to become an outcast, but that was fine as she threw her grief and anger into her self-defence classes. Something her mother had encouraged and encountered no resistance.

They had known which gang had killed her father but there was not enough evidence to convict them. She could not do anything all those years ago, but times change. Revenge is defined as retaliating to the same degree, and she was filled with it. The years of stalking them, watching as they carried on with life as if nothing had happened had only driven her more.

Look now, at the lone figure hiding in the shadows of an alley, watching, stalking, ready to pounce. See how she sees her opportunity as her prey strolls past. A swift jab with a knife before dragging him into the darkness where he collapses on the floor. Watch as she weeps with each slash and stab. Her hands are slick with blood making it difficult to keep her grip, and yet she carries on.

Tell me, do you feel sickened by her actions? Maybe a little, but be honest, a part of you feels pride and relief. She got her revenge on a murderer who took something precious. More precious than most people will comprehend. Do you now weep for her again? No, because you knew where this was heading, maybe even willed her on a little. Nor do you weep for him, a killer lying on the ground, his eyes lifeless and body broken. You do not weep for his wife whose heart will shatter into a thousand pieces. But do you weep for their son? A young boy who now lies awake in the dark of night, raw hatred burning behind his eyes. Do you weep for the loss of this child’s innocence?

The cycle continues.

...

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I normally write fantasy so this was a completely different style and I would really like your feedback. Please heart and subscribe as I am trying to diversify my writing.  

Have a great day.