The girl in the dark

I accidentally made a sound and she turned her head to look at me, even though she was at least 100m away. She was standing on the side of the road, in the middle of the night pale as a ghost. Her face so round it was nearly heart shaped. Pity that those eyes weren’t nearly as warm, black as obsidian daggers staring at me, daring me to approach her, like she could see all the thoughts running through my mind. I on the other hand saw nothing but her. She was taller than I, tan skin to my pasty white. I walked past her and as our skin was side by side it reminded me of something. I thought she was going to say something so hesitated, but not a sound was uttered and I kept walking past, just wishing that one of those long arms would reach out and stop me from walking away from her ever again.

I’d seen her before, living in an attic apartment in the city, you know the sort of place which looks like it has been depressed into the façade of the street. Falling down on the outside but modern as you step through the door. It’s what I associate with hipsters, but she didn’t fit the stereotype. The bright coloured vintage clothes were instead replaced by earthy monotones. I didn’t understand, and never thought I would. A haunting look in her eye like everyone else was prey. But then again, what did I know? I had never spoken to her. I didn’t even know her name, but in this kill or be killed type of world I certainly knew that she was the predator.

I’m not sure what that makes me. The girl who worked at the supermarket? Just another person in the neighbourhood who couldn’t take their eyes off her but didn’t know what to do with the attraction? But it didn’t matter. She ignored me like she did everyone else. Like that guy at the club the other week who didn’t even finish his first sentence before those piercing black eyes and pointed nose suggested that he leave her alone. But I can’t help but be drawn into this beautiful creature.

We have always lived in the same neighbourhood. She was thrown out of the house when she was just a child, a few years older than me at the time and my parents used to make sure any food scraps from our meals were left at the top of the bin for her to find as she rummaged through in the middle of the night, scaring the mice as they ran past my window while I was trying to get to sleep. And I just lay there, and thought about her. There was no point trying to approach her as she would fly away at the smallest sound back then and refuse to accept help from anyone. But maybe that’s what drew me to her. Soft and silent on the outside, a deadly hunter beneath the surface. I wonder what she had went through growing up that that never changed. How cruel the world can be to someone who goes it alone. And how cruel they must be right back in order to survive. All I know really, is that she’s still here. And although she might never notice, so am I.

I respect her. I trust her. I maybe even love her.

I turned around, and like always, she’s gone into the night. But I know I will see her again, she always comes back, but there is no one who can make her stay.