"Three of hearts," the demon says. He's lounging on Joseph's bed, deck of cards in his hands and shirt riding up over his stomach. He glances up, fangs flashing in a bright grin as if he can feel ... [+]
It was a long time ago when a young wife and her husband moved into a quiet neighborhood that was on the edge of a small town. Everything was new to her. A fresh smell of new beginnings. Every evening, as the sun went down over the hills, she stepped outside to sprinkle water into her yard until the dust settled.
She was new to that area. Each face was unfamiliar, each voice new to her ears. It was in the evening that an old car halted abruptly in the road. Its tires squeaked softly on the stones.
A young man appeared. He had a tense face, restless eyes.
"Miss, do you live here?" he asked hastily. "There is a girl. She fell, and she is not waking up. Do you know her by chance?"
Before the words had a chance to process in her mind, the smell reached her – alcohol. It was a potent, pungent scent that identified itself in a flash. Her fists clenched the pail. She looked into the car, seeing forms in motion, voices overlapping in excitement, a body stretched out across a seat.
Fear crept up her spine. She was alone. It was a quiet street.
What if they were drunk? What if they wanted to hurt me?
She froze.
"I... I don't know her," she replied cautiously, moving backwards towards the gate. "You could try asking a little further down the road. Maybe someone is searching for her."
She turned away, warning herself to keep safe, and went inside. Her heart thudded in her chest. She heard muffled voices — arguing, confused — through the thin walls.
"What do we do now?"
"I don't know. We can't just leave her here!"
Finally, there came the rumble of the car engine, and the car drove away. She turned around to her house, shocked and immobile. She convinced herself that it was safer to be indoors.
A week passed during which the neighbors knew that the girl had been located in a nearby hospital. She had taken a severe fall and had lost consciousness, and was lying on the street before two men saw her.
Now, however, she knew that the smell of alcohol and sweat that terrified her had come not from monsters, but from the young men who had been attempting to save a life.
Since then, she has never passed by people in need. She opens her door readily, even if her hands are shaking. Every act of kindness brings her back to the young girl and what the girl taught her—don't judge by the first glance. "Help doesn't always come from people who look clean and safe. Sometimes help comes from the desperate, the clumsy, or the flawed. Sometimes the one who looks dangerous is only afraid—like you." We like to think that we will do the right thing when the time arises. Fear is human. Compassion is braver. Every one of the people we come across in life could be fighting battles that we never see. This is not a story about guilt, but of growth. She did not fail that night; rather, a woman emerged who never again in her life walked away from those in need of help.
She was new to that area. Each face was unfamiliar, each voice new to her ears. It was in the evening that an old car halted abruptly in the road. Its tires squeaked softly on the stones.
A young man appeared. He had a tense face, restless eyes.
"Miss, do you live here?" he asked hastily. "There is a girl. She fell, and she is not waking up. Do you know her by chance?"
Before the words had a chance to process in her mind, the smell reached her – alcohol. It was a potent, pungent scent that identified itself in a flash. Her fists clenched the pail. She looked into the car, seeing forms in motion, voices overlapping in excitement, a body stretched out across a seat.
Fear crept up her spine. She was alone. It was a quiet street.
What if they were drunk? What if they wanted to hurt me?
She froze.
"I... I don't know her," she replied cautiously, moving backwards towards the gate. "You could try asking a little further down the road. Maybe someone is searching for her."
She turned away, warning herself to keep safe, and went inside. Her heart thudded in her chest. She heard muffled voices — arguing, confused — through the thin walls.
"What do we do now?"
"I don't know. We can't just leave her here!"
Finally, there came the rumble of the car engine, and the car drove away. She turned around to her house, shocked and immobile. She convinced herself that it was safer to be indoors.
A week passed during which the neighbors knew that the girl had been located in a nearby hospital. She had taken a severe fall and had lost consciousness, and was lying on the street before two men saw her.
Now, however, she knew that the smell of alcohol and sweat that terrified her had come not from monsters, but from the young men who had been attempting to save a life.
Since then, she has never passed by people in need. She opens her door readily, even if her hands are shaking. Every act of kindness brings her back to the young girl and what the girl taught her—don't judge by the first glance. "Help doesn't always come from people who look clean and safe. Sometimes help comes from the desperate, the clumsy, or the flawed. Sometimes the one who looks dangerous is only afraid—like you." We like to think that we will do the right thing when the time arises. Fear is human. Compassion is braver. Every one of the people we come across in life could be fighting battles that we never see. This is not a story about guilt, but of growth. She did not fail that night; rather, a woman emerged who never again in her life walked away from those in need of help.
