Pushing my arm through the frayed straps of my oversized bag and onto my left shoulder, I turned the open-sign over and reached for the round door handle of the traditional sit-down diner I worked at. The small brass bell tinkled from above when I stepped through the door.

"Don't ye be late again tomorrow, Dara, or I'll be docking your pay," Frank sneered from behind the counter. "This ain't no fucking charity."

I could almost see the spit flying from his protruding lower lip as his double chin trembled with a brief flare of anger, even though I didn't bother turning back to acknowledge the jibe.

"You need this job," I muttered quietly to myself. No matter how much I wanted to kick his dick up his arse, I couldn't. He might be a sleazy fat bastard, but right now his diner was the only thing keeping me off the streets.

A tired sigh blew through my lips when the door swung closed behind me. My back ached and I was dead on my feet. It had been a long day of running after surly customers and balancing full trays with more skill than a circus seal.

I was beat.

I tightened my grip on my bag as I stepped out onto the practically deserted sidewalk, my feet immediately switching to a faster pace. I eyed the purple-grey steeple spires of the old stone church that miraculously still towered over everything else. It was no Vegas chapel, but it no longer had the voice it must have once had to advocate on behalf of the people. I considered going inside, if only for a few minutes of quiet contemplation, but decided against it. The soothing smell of incense candles and musty prayer books was not worth the risk of walking home any later than I already was.

My gaze drifted past the high arched stained glass windows as I walked. Conflicting feelings of trepidation and an odd connection with the church, threatened to overwhelm me. I wanted to disregard it as my spirit's subconscious yearning for something meaningful to cling to, something that would be cured with attending the next Sunday service, but I couldn't.  

It was more than that.

I eyed the looming monsters that leered down from their crouched positions high on the church, frozen in stone. They hunched on their perches, embodiments of a nineteenth century evil that once again made me long for the inner sanctuary of the church. The grotesque gargoyles appeared to be watching the sidewalk with bulging eyes and sadistic grins. A shiver of unease rolled down my spine. I could almost feel the cold demonic stares of the grey sculptures from above – watching me.

I barely suppressed the instinctual urge to break into a run as I imagined the large stone caricatures bursting forth from the fading light. It was no use trying to convince myself that they had been frozen for all time and that my only fear should be inspired by walking home alone in the encroaching darkness. 

Turning down the alley that lead right to my decrepit studio apartment, the noise of the avenue behind me was sucked away into the night. The usual murmur of people had quietened, the air around me stilled. My muscles tensed with nerves as I considered turning back to the sentinel walls behind me. The night was bereft of noise. There was only the scuffing of my feet in my worn sneakers and the abnormally loud thumps of my own heart in my ears.

A bead of sweat dripped down my back. My mind had become paranoid, jumping to fearsome conclusions of desolate figures lurking in the eerie shadows of the tall buildings. Something shifted uneasily inside me. My hands fidgeted with the too longs sleeves of my shirt.

Something didn't feel right.

This is why I hated taking the late shift at the diner. There were no decent busses coming this way past six in the afternoon. No decent anything, really. The local gangs had gone wholesale on this neighborhood, stealing our home from us a piece at a time. They followed all the wrong instincts, strutting around with macho posturing and conforming to an MO that relied solely on the next gang order.

I grew up on these streets, I've walked them my whole life. This was home, but I was under no illusion that it was safe. I knew it wasn't. I wasn't naive about the many types of dangers that lurked in these parts. The responsible thing would have been to tell Frank, the degenerate employer, where to shove it when he demanded I work a double shift. A shortage of staff wasn't by any means my problem, but I needed the extra money too damn bad to pass up the opportunity. Taking the evening shift was risky, dangerous, but it was also a fresh loaf of bread from the bakery down the road and a little something towards my savings for that thick winter jacket on the mannequin in Fifth Street.

I breathed deep to calm the irregular quivers of my heart in my chest. There was this strange urge to turn back that weighed down on my bones with every step I took closer to my apartment. It was coaxing me to turn around, go back to the church. The fear I had of lichen covered gargoyles just minutes ago, no longer seemed justified. That irrational way of thinking would get me killed. The real danger wasn't on the roof of that church, it was down here in the streets those gangs had claimed as their turf.

I was almost at the end of the alley, only a few meager feet from the entrance to my apartment building, when they stepped in to block my path. My heartbeat echoed in loud uneven thumps through my ears, my senses suddenly on high alert. I should have followed that sixth sense nagging from the back of my head. I should have turned back while there was still some chance at escape.

Still a few feet away from the well-lit street, I took in the weak illumination of the menacing figures with a sinking feeling in my chest. There were two of them. That I could see, anyway. The guy on the right kicked lazily at a small pile of garbage as he flicked the switchblade in his hand. The other produced a pistol from under his shirt where it had rested snug in the waistband of his baggy pants. There was a flash of his crooked teeth in the dim light. I flinched at the outlines of that evil smirk. It represented their intentions and that was somehow scarier than the weapons they carried.

The evening air shocked my throat when I gasped down a fast breath. I rocked back on my heels, ready to flee. Every cell in my body screamed at me to make a run for it. I needed to run. The adrenaline pumping through my veins demanded it.

I took a shaky step back. My pursuers took a step forward to match mine. Hyped up, probably on drugs they wheeled and dealed, the unsightly pair shared a manic laugh between them. The arm that held the gun was lifted and the short black muzzle took center stage on my chest.

I could almost see his finger curling around the trigger. My eyes searched the narrow space between the tall buildings with growing panic, looking for somewhere to hide, looking for a way out. There wasn't any.

More laughter came from them. My heart was beating as if it would explode from my ribs. "There's nowhere to run, flower. Don't be scared," the one holding the knife goaded with a barbaric forward thrust of his hips. "We just wanna play."

Fear twisted my stomach. I shook my head as the first tear fell to the dirty concrete at my feet. "No, please. Please let me go. I won't say anything. Please just let me leave."

"No can do." The guy with the gun lifted it in a come-hither motion. "Get on your knees, little bitch. I've been carrying this load around all day. Let's see that pretty pink mouth lighten it."

Adrenaline flooded my system. I needed to run or every part of my body would ultimately pay the price. I'd rather they shoot me in the back than give them the satisfaction of taking me without a fight.

I turned to run, my fight or flight instinct a static buzz in my head. It was loud. Almost as loud as the thunder rolling over the city from the direction of the church.

The church.  My eyes widened with the smallest glimmer of hope. I needed to get to the church.

Knife guy leaped forward to make a grab for me and I jumped out of the way. I wish I had taken the time to dig the pepper spray out of my bag. My escape would have been so much easier if I could leave them screaming and clawing at their eyes.

"Don't you run, flower," he yelled in warning. "We have no problem shooting you down."

My pulse hammered against my skull, my breathing sharp and deep. I had no other choice. It was going to end badly for me no matter what I did, so I legged it.

I heard the gun cock and load a bullet into the cold metal chamber. The wind was a strong gale that whipped the prominent stench of cigarettes and body odor past my face. I could feel the weapon burning into my back, taking aim. I pushed my legs harder, past the burning in my calves and the pain of being unfit that stabbed at my gut.

A series of gunshots rang out from behind me and I stumbled forward, my limbs no longer my own – my blood on fire. Adrenaline coursed unchecked and I was somehow disconnected from my fear. There was just this overwhelming need to run until my mind was empty.

A hail of bullets flew overhead. I fell.

I fell and I soared.