by Ian Black

Created on: February 25, 2009

I remember seeing her lying there, shaking, her eyes screaming out with terror; her body tense, stiff, numb to the bone. A grisly, dark patch covered the entire right side of her narrowed, bashed in face. Her hair looked drenched with dried blood, and in some parts, it looked, to the closer inspection, that someone had been vile enough to rip layers of it out of her head; bald patches showing at the sides, and back of her head.

The poor woman looked helpless, vulnerable, fragile. I think she was crying; soft, inaudible whimpers of pain and embarrassment fell from her mouth. Her body was twitching spasmodically; snot dribbling from her wrinkly, old nose. I couldn't even make out the color of her eyes; the blood had begun to dry and stich over the eye-lids. I wanted to kneel down next to her, to cradle her in my arms until the paramedics arrived; comforting her, telling her that everything was going to be all right. But it wasn't going to be all right. Yes, she may recover from the physica damage in time, but in her mind, the pain, fear and terror will always linger there, like a looming shadow waiting to strike again.

"They-They hurt me," she cried, silently sobbing in to her bald up hands.

"Shhh. Quiet, now. Everything will be Okay," I whispered silently, stroking her bloody, wet, unkempt hair. Even the softest of touches seemed to cause her pain. What had driven the attacker's to carry out such a heinous, venomous attack on a helpless, fragile victim? Any and all possible explanations for such a ruthless, unjustified attack fuelled my anger further.

Already I could hear the distant wails of ambulance services tearing through the dark, rain-drenched streets, weaving in and out of scurrying cars; its sirens penetrating the silent night air, like a membranous winged dragon sweeping in for the final death kill.

"I f-feel so cold," muttered the battered woman, her shivering intensifying by the second. Sighing, I removed my coat, wrapping it gently, securely, about her broken, sore body. "T-thank you," she said quietly, a whisp of white air spilling from her narrow mouth. As I sat next to her, I smiled sadly, knowing the inevitable. Her heart beat was quickly, silently slipping away from her; the discoloration in her bruised, battered hands turning bluer by the minute.

The little defeated woman gazed up at me, her eyes focussing in on my own. In that instant, I felt like she was trying to tell me something, but the coldness of the cool night air was nibbling away at my exposed flesh. She smiled a warm, genuine smile, as if in appreciation; a silent thank you...and then her little head lolled to the side of my arm, her beady eyes never to open again.

A small tear fell from my eyes, and calmly, gently, soothingly, I glided my hand over the little woman's face, shutting her eye-lids, and whispering words of farewell to a departing, battered soul...

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