10 minutes passed and another small explosion burped out of the rubble surrounding the area, before a shadowy figure emerged from the building entrance. Their footsteps light upon the pavement, the shadow softly descended the front steps and alighted upon the broken street, scanning the area for whatever purpose.  

Whimper. 

The figure stopped and turned towards the sound of the direction, and happened upon a sorry sight: an old woman, slowly dying from being crushed and punctured by pipes and debris. She was middle aged, possibly between her late 40’s or early 50’s, with curly greying hair and finely aged brown skin. She was wearing a lavender night gown under her periwinkle robe, both of which were soaked red with blood. Stepping closer, the figure analyzed her wounds: from the neck up, the woman had only light cuts and bruises, dust and dirt covering her wrinkles making her appear mostly disheveled. Her hair, originally wrapped in a bonnet, was partially singed and mangled among shards of glass and chips of metal. It wasn’t until the figure looked beyond this that her suffering was truly evident. 

A series of small, broken water pipes, bent, broken, and jaggedly edged, had run her through from the underside of her left breast, protruding outwards in various directions. She looked like a pin cushion. Using enhanced vision to peer closer into her body, the figure could see that the pipes had shattered her ribcage, and had virtually destroyed much of her insides.  

Her pancreas had imploded—no doubt from being crushed—while her left lung was slowly filling with blood. Her kidneys were gone, and her liver and intestines were riddled with shards of metal. Below her lower thighs, her legs had been virtually crushed to the point of no return. 

In all, this woman had very little time left. 

A small moan escaped her lips, as she struggled to remain conscious. 

“Please”, she sputtered, weakly, “someone, anyone, help me.” 

 

A small brush of wind grazed her face as the figure came forward and softly bent down to face her. 

“Jesus. Oh God Almighty”, she moaned, “please, help me.” 

She opened her eyes and noticed the figure. She looked up to them, crying tears of misery. 

“Are—are you here to kill me?” 

“....” 

The figure said nothing. 

“Please, I beg you, don’t hurt me, but save my baby. Please, I—“ 

The figure pulled back their hood to reveal their face, and the woman paused. At ‘6’4’, the young man who stood before her was a 24 year old with a stern eye and a finely chiseled face. His eyes were transparent almost and glowed immensely even in the moonlight, evident from the energy that fluctuated within them, constantly alternating between teal and aquamarine. His stubble ran the length of his jaw pristinely cut and well-trimmed, and his mullet of medium length tapered neatly at the nape of his neck; the sides of his head were faded close, but still brushable, and his olive skin was tanned the color of a bronze god. On his neck was what looked like a tattoo of some sort, but she couldn’t make out what it was, because of it being partially covered by the neck belt choker he had on. His ears were pierced, with black and silver rings layering the helix, while inverted spikes adorned the lobes. 

From her view, he looked like a punk, a young one who’s matured into their prime, and was a handsome one at that. But a punk no less. 

Even for someone at her age, just looking at his brought youth to her body, and made her feel energetic for some unfathomable. 

Maybe it was how coarse and foreboding his eyes were.

 His small, heart shaped lips started moving, but to the older woman’s shock there was no sound. It took a second for her to realize that she couldn’t even hear her own voice. Weakly, she tried to raise her right hand to touch him, only to then notice that her she couldn’t even feel the entire right arm. Changing to her left, she tried again, and touched her face and felt a wet liquid oozing from her ears, she held her hand towards her eyes, her vision somewhat hazy, and saw why: her hands were covered in blood, which was oozing from her head. She’d suffered a concussion that had temporarily siphoned her ability to hear, making her near deaf. She saw the a blobby figure move outside peripheral view, and after blinking she remembered the young man, who had by this time come closer to her and knelt closer to her. He tilted his head to the right, and his lips moved again, but this time his words were in a language she could not understand. 

He also had a name, but chose not to share it to her.  

He didn’t think it necessary. 

“Wha?”, she asked sheepishly. 

“Geia”, he said, “eísai kalá?”  (Hey. Are you ok?) 

“Wha-wha’chu sayin’? Ar-Are you an angel?” 

The young man’s brows began to furrow. He spoke again. 

The sound of the words that came from his mouth was warm and calm, displaying his youth. But it also had a deep edgy roughness to it. It sounded like he had a moodiness to him, a sorrow buried deep within that only he knew how to bring up. 

“Boreís na me akoúseis?” (Can you hear me?) 

“I… I can’t…” 

“Sovará?”, he grunted, “Ugh. Malaka!” (Seriously? Ugh. Fuck.) 

“Hey”, he finally annunciated in English, “can you hear me?” 

 

She felt a hand touch her, it was warm against her skin. 

The young man looked down on her, a scowl forming deeply as he tried to gauge her life force. She was weak, incredibly, and her pulse was fading fast. 

Dammit. 

“Wake up”, he commanded, “don’t die now.” 

She could hear him clearly now.  

Much Clearer.  

From where she lay, to her, his voice was rich and deep like chocolate and with each word that sailed from his lips the sound tasted like freshly fallen rain. He had a well-placed accent to it—revealing itself to be Greek when pronouncing certain letters and words, their pitch at times were an octave lighter than the woman initially thought she heard, making it sound like he still carried some teenage youthfulness to him when he was sociable. 

“Hey”, he repeated, “can you hear me?” 

She stammered a bit, and then finally replied, “y-Yes, I can. A-are you here to kill me?” 

He looked at her puzzled, before answering her with a resounding “No. I’m not.” 

In response, a portion of the woman’s already heightened anxiety had lessened, and before long, her eyes starting tearing. It took another second, before she then started crying. 

“Please”, she bawled, “can you help me?” 

Silence. The young man closed his eyes for a moment. 

“I beg you, please, I-I-I don’t wanna die, I—“ 

He closed his eyes and sighed. 

Silence, and then softly. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” 

At the sound of this, the woman broke down even further, before suddenly shuddering as the pain became even more unbearable. It seemed that she would die sooner rather than later, because the young started to stand up. 

“Wait!”, she insisted. 

He stopped, sighing and rolling his eyes in annoyance. Unbeknownst to her, he was trying his best not to become agitated, but it clearly wasn't working.

“I told you woman”, he reminded her with a sideways glance, “there is nothing I can do for you. You must find peace with death on your way.” 

“But—“ 

“No”, he concluded, looking her sternly in the face. 

Before she could protest, he waved his hand and then started. 

“Even if I managed to stabilize your bleeding, do you honestly believe for a goddamn minute that you would survive removing the pipes and bars from your body? Think woman! You’re barely holding on as it is, and yet you foolishly cling to life as if it gives a fuck!” 

He stopped, and grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose before speaking again, this time in a softer tone. 

“Look at you”, he said, “Your legs are practically gone. Your kidneys, liver, and your intestines are shot through. Even now, your lung is slowly filling with blood. Even if you survive, you would never be able to walk, let alone live a normal life.” 

“At this point”, he finished, “I think it is better that you make your peace with your God, and rest in peace.” 

And at this, he stood up again, patting his clothes of dust, he turned to walk away. 

No, she thought, not like this. God almighty, not like this…