Early evening had fallen and the few lights that burned behind closed shades had begun to glow warm and yellow.  Barely audible voices whispered on the howling December winds. This was Detroit. The ghetto.

Her beauty stripped away by years of corruption and abuse the great city now bucked under the weight of her own excesses, and like the pancaked made up face of an aging Hollywood Scarlett she was nothing more than a shadow of her former self.

The house was small a barely standing wood framed seated between a burnt out apartment building and an empty lot that had become the unofficial trash dump of the neighborhood.  The unfortunate few who remained glided about like ghost trapped in purgatory.

The back door banged open and Lizzy, a girl of fifteen stepped out of the darkness and onto the wooden back porch. She worn a tattered parka and a torn pink night dress which was covered in blood. She slowly made her way down the rickety back stairs and walked to the center of the lot behind the house.

Lizzy stared at the house her eyes wide and vacant. She absently dropped the dirty gym shoes she had been carrying to the ground and slipped her bare feet into them without looking down. In her other hand she held an ice pick. The black handle shiny and slick from blood.

The tale of her harsh life could be read in her limpid eyes.  Beauty for some girls was a fortunate gift, a blessing from god, a proverbial magic wand that held a mysterious power over men. Some girls wielded their wands as expertly as a ninja with a samurai sword slicing and dicing their way through life. This had not been the case for Lizzy, her beauty was no blessing.

She was small for her age with black curls that gently framed her narrow elfin face she was the perfect combination of innocence and libidinous, a Lolita.  Low hanging fruit there for the taking by the sharks that constantly swam back and forth in front of the tiny house, they could smell the blood in the water. Lizzy stood shivering like a wet puppy in the middle of the wind swept parcel listening …  a dog barking in the distance … sporadic traffic nearby, then nothing.

She cocked her head to the side and closed her eyes and tried to listen harder.  Imagines of Rico, a massive biker type on top of her breathing heavy slobbering and grunting until his white lighting exploded from within him.

Lizzy slowly opened her eyes and took a few timorous steps toward the house and stopped the unmistakable creaking of floor boards froze her like a deer caught in headlights.  A loud crash came from the house and the massive figure of Rico darken the doorway.

His eyes were almost glowing with fury. He staggered forward using the door frame as leverage. A half a dozen carmine stains dotted the front of his white tee shirt.

Lizzy began to back away shaking her head as if trying to wake herself from a nightmare. He slowly pointed at her like Frankenstein from an old fifties B movie.

“You bitch!” He lurched forward. “You fucking little Bitch!” Rico teetered forward and lost his balance and rolled down the stairs.

He landed at the bottom with a thud. Lizzy stepped back. No longer afraid she watched him like a cat might a doomed mouse.

“Get back over here. Where you going?”

“Nowhere.” She said calmly. He coughed and spite a globe of blood onto the ground.

“Help me Lizzy.” He gasped. “I’m not mad. I promise.”

“You promise? You’re not mad at me for what I did to you?” She asked sweetly as she moved toward him and knelt just out of his arms reach.

“I swear.” He suddenly lunged at her. “I’ll kill you. You tried to kill me!” Lizzy rolls to the side and plunges the ice pick into his heart. Rico gasps and crumples to the ground.

“I did kill you …” Lizzy stands. “And you deserved it.” She spite on his body and walked away.

The End

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