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"Tu Es Foutu"

(You promised me)

Dante city was filled with its usual haze of dense smog. It was a sick sort of cloud that hovered over the buildings and invaded every dilapidated crease and crevice. A thick gray blanket that covered every murderer, psychopath, rapist and drug dealer like a warm cloak of protection as they scampered threw the slush on their missions of deviancy.

Sarah would often sit by her transom in the evenings and watch the snow float atop the broken pavement's edge like a ghost hovering over the earth, a pen scribbling wildly against old newspaper.

She could almost sense the lingering sadness that the snow and wind brought to the people, and on the rare occasion that it rained, the excitement was so mountainous that she would go out and lie on the concrete in the middle of the alley way and let the downpour drench her clean.

Tonight as she had watched over restless city, she had perceived of coming terror. A shiver ran up her backbone and permanently clamped itself to the top of her neck. She paid no notice at first, but rapped the old blanket tighter around her wide shoulders and continued writing. She was trying to sketch a picture in her mind of the vast emptiness and to fill it with every person that she had ever known.

But, it irked her, and she could not be rid of the deep down feeling that terrible danger was close at hand. So she tried harder and harder to push the thoughts out of her head, that she might have some piece of mind for a while. However, in Dante this was nearly impossible.

Loud brassy noise came from outside in the street, and she used her stubby fist to wipe away the fog from the window in order to see what was happening. The glass was too dirty, her skin already soiled, and her efforts to no avail. She gave up and leant back against the wall, scratching her naked skin. She gazed out, focusing only on the dull hues.

Fog, she thought, was the only scenery here and it crept through the hearts of the kind, like a curl of smoke, strangling them into submission.

The noise died down outside, and Sarah sighed with relief. When it picked up again shortly, for there was nearly ever silence, she heard distinctly the voice of her superior Gavin Jolly and another unfamiliar man arguing.

Jolly was struggling with some belligerent beggar about the nutrition policy of the shelter. She weighed the plausible option of going down to help him in her head, and than decided against it. It would probably only worsen the situation.

Cradling her skull on her shoulder, she breathed in the dirty air and let her mind mosey on in its depressive state. Everything seemed to be getting smaller. The room was too crowded, the lights too hazy. Suddenly her greatest desire was to disappear altogether. She heard voices echoing around her, infiltrating the peace. Her hand crumbled and the pen dropped to the floor. She was very faint.

"Come kill with me" the smog seemed to scream, "Come destroy".

Its evil karma devoured the hearts of the weak, the restless and the privileged.

Her impulse was to cover her ears, for sometimes will power was not enough to remain resilient. The aura of the drug and crime culture was forever pulling at her puppet strings and at some point she felt she was destined to concede.

Instead Sarah sat against the wall, breathing heavily, eyes unfocused. She couldn't give in now. She had been hungrier than this a hundred times before, and she had been more desperate a thousand. She told herself that she was strong. She told herself, that she wasn't like them. They were weak. He was weak. He didn't deserve her anyway.

She slid over to the rotting, plain, brown chest of drawers and pulled out the picture of a young man that she had been hiding there beneath her spare apron. She gazed at his image for a moment with soft, bashful eyes, and then quickly shoved it into her apron pocket.

"Sarah."

An older woman had been calling her name. A moment before she had entered the room looking for her. Her face was white light, like snow, and wrinkled in all the right places. She smiled with concern and her eyes were all apology.

"Sarah. Take the counter night shift? I'm not feeling so well. Likes maybe I got the fever."

Sarah's eyes widened, and she nodded and quickly collected her apron.

"Of course Jerry," Sarah replied without hesitation and began to unfasten the light bulbs from the various bed lamps, "You know, I had this bad feeling all night. Like something awful was on the verge. Maybe I had some "psychic" connection with you, downstairs, aleing."

Jerry, rotated her body slightly, and grimaced leaning against the doorframe.

"You know there ain't no such thing is that." Responded the older woman, almost doubling over in pain.

Sarah finished with the lash bulb and turned around to face her friend.

"Yes. Well, I know. But sometimes, it's nice to dream about 'supernatural' things. When there isn't much hope of anything good natural happening."

Jerry smiled painfully, "Yes well darling, just don't get too carried away in all that black magic hogwash. There ain't no such thing as a miracle. And don't go spatting that stuff at Jolly. He preach you to heaven and back."

Sarah dropped the bulbs in her apron pockets and grinned. She took the older woman's arm in hers and helped her to regain her balance.

"I don't tell Jolly anything. He has a sermon for cooking soup."

After Jerry was safely tucked in bed, Sarah went down several flights of stairs to the base floor, and walked through a maze of sleeping people. Jolly was waiting for her at the desk, and informed her about that night's particular hazards. She was to stay inside, and only let regular's bed for the night. She listened carefully, and nodded in agreement. Jolly left her, and she sat behind the ugly and decayed, rosewood counter with a checklist and a pencil, a deepening feeling of terror seeding itself deep inside her stomach.

She nodded off eventually as the hours passed.

Finally, around three in the morning, the doorbell rang; the noise broke the silence and her head smashed against the wall. Her hand flew up to cushion the blow, and now fell lamely at her side. She slid up in her chair awkwardly to see who this new 'homeless' might be. Was it someone she knew, or just a stranger passing by?

She casually looked up, and her heart froze mid-beat.