Silver

"Aimee, what in the fuck do you think you’re doing?

"Seriously homegirl. I’m about ready to call your moms on you. You trippin’."

Aimee ignored her friends, and continued to walk down the street, part of her listening to them, part of her, the wild part, comforted by the sound of her leather trenchcoat’s tails flapping in the wind. Goodnight sweet prince, she thought. Goodnight sweet prince. May flights of devils wing you to your rest. She barked a sharp, bitter laugh at the quote, then continued down the street, the leathery flap-flap-flap of the wings giving her an illusion of herself. The illusion for a brief moment, a fantasy. A demoness out to dole out some unholy justice, her wings fluttering as she glides down to earth, folding down behind her in an unnatural cape. Her mind’s eye blinked and the image dissolved into the reality. Strange, really, because the reality was far, far more strange than fiction.

"Aimee! Get your ass back here! He gonna kill you!"

Aimee continued her walk, with slow, even strides. She felt and heard her heels meeting the pavement, the thock-thock-thock-thock of the heels reverberating hollowly in the alleys. The world held its breath as she approached the black Continental. The glaze on the paint gleamed unnaturally, and she caught her image in it.

Long, razor’s-edge straight brown hair, big, expressive brown eyes, set in a face that could only be called average. Freckles smattered the skin, just across the bridge of the nose. That wasn’t the most striking feature of her though. Not even the soft brown leather trenchcoat or the black dress slacks. Nor the black turtleneck or even the soft black leather gloves. No, the most striking feature of her was the gun, gripped in one petite hand held in the straight, locked-elbow hold of someone who’s fired a gun before, straight down to her side. Perhaps even that wasn’t the most impressive feature. No, the flat black matte finished Beretta didn’t even look too out of sorts, any actress could have carried one in any number of action-adventure movies. The most striking feature of her was the expression in those eyes.

There was nothing in those eyes, nothing but hunger. Hunger for vengeance, hunger for retribution, hunger, most importantly though, for the kill. Hunger for blood.

He will not get away with his deeds. That bastard....

Aimee didn’t hear her friends’ shouts when they realized that she had drawn her gun, their shrieks of terror when she rapped once, then twice on the window of the Lincoln. The window slid down to the low whine of an electric window motor, and the smile that graced her face was not an expression of mirth, but the baring of teeth from one hunter to another. She calmly put the gun in the window, pressing the barrel of the gun to the occupant’s forehead.

Aimee didn’t hear the shouts from everyone else, as they realized what she was doing. She didn’t feel the bullets rip through her legs and lower back. She had only eyes for one sight, and ears for one sound.

Silver.

Silver flash as the steel-jacketed bullet left her gun, and the silver sound of the explosion her gun produced as it sent the bullet screaming into the man’s face.

Aimee felt nothing, no emotion, save for a soft ripple of peace, as she turned and dropped one bullet into each of her attackers. She took out four of the five men before she hit the ground with a slight, involuntary hiss, then emptied the rest of her rounds into the fifth man’s chest.

Aimee looked at her handiwork for a moment, taking a mild pride in her marksmanship. Every bullet had found its target, and every target was dead. Then and only then did she look down at her body, and to the havoc the others’ bullets had wreaked upon her. She laughed. "Got you motherfucker! Got you!" she screamed into the night, coughing up a gobbet of blood. She laughed again, and closed her eyes; the only sound she heard was the flap-flap-flapping of her jacket’s tails in the wind.

May flights of demons...she thought...come and get this, you bastards. I got something special just for you. Bring it. Aimee laughed again, and embraced the silver teeth of death, howling to the stars.

Email: Caeli_Kane@hotmail.com