Killing is okay if you have a good enough reason

Little Miss Desperate

I thought I had seen everything. I really had. I've seen grown men begging with guns in their mouths for me to let them live, young wives pleading with every ounce of their life to get me to lower my knife and let them go, dirty politicians offering me millions to let them continue with destroying our country, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw May 23rd, 2017.

I sat down in an alleyway, sheltered from the rain by an overhanging roof. I raised the tobacco laced poison to my lips and inhaled, before blowing out a large puff of smoke. I heard some police sirens and slid down, hiding on the side of a trashcan. It wasn't like the cops didn't have plenty of things to arrest me for, but I didn't look like a model citizen in the first place. I had a head of bright white hair and an odd pair of sharp pink eyes. Let's just say nobody would have any difficulty picking me out of a lineup. I wore a dark blue tank top, and a tight black leather jacket matched with a pair of tight black jeans. The shoes I wore were ratty and I had meant to get a new pair but to be honest who had the fucking time?

I stood up, glancing down as I felt a faint tug on my sleeve. I was not prepared for what I saw

Standing at a menacing 4'8 was a small girl, no older than eight years old. She had on a ratty school uniform. The green skirt was loose around her and she wore a large belt that was tightened to keep it up. Her shirt was ripped in a few places and could use a washing. I immediately noticed the bruise on her cheek. She was a cute little girl, with long red hair that went down to her lower back and a pair of sparkly green eyes. She had freckles dotting her nose and cheek. I never understood why girls even wanted long hair. It was just something that made it very easy to grab them. If I was her father I would cut it all off to avoid her getting grabbed on her way home from school.  She dug into the deep pocket of her skirt and put into my hand 32.34 in change, with a five dollar bill. 

My eyes widened a bit. Why was this little girl paying me? There was no way in hell she could know, or understand what I did. 

"Um.. sir," She began in a meek voice, "My name is Heather Bartlett and I am willing to give you.. all my 32 dollars and 34 cents to.. kill my father." She whispered.

I covered my mouth. There was no way in hell this was for real. 

"Um.." Was all I could say, "Why?" I choked out. 

She looked down, fiddling with the end of her skirt. 

"Because He hurts me and my mother." 

Immediately it turned personal. I knew how she felt. Fearing the fist of a violent man. Watching your own mother scream and beg for them to stop but do you know how hard to is to beg for him to stop when he's punching you repeatedly in the jaw? I shook my head to clear my thoughts and clutched the $32.34 in my fist. 

"Okay. Consider it done by the end of the week." I told her

She responded by hugging onto my waist tightly, nuzzling her bruised cheek into my stomach. 

"Thank you so much, sir" She said gratefully.

I nodded weakly and pushed her off,

"yeah yeah.. now go along, isn't it time for dinner," I said as I checked my watch.

She nodded slowly, before hugging me again. 

"Goodbye!" She chirped.

The little girl skipped off, and I don't know why I did but I watched her walk down the street until I couldn't see her anymore. A part of me hoped she would make it home without any issue. The skirt seemed salvageable but that shirt could use some replacing. That's what I spent that $32.34 on. A new uniform for that girl. I had it wrapped up and kept it in my closet. I would see her again, I knew it. I'd give it to her then.