The Waste

                                                                                      The Waste

         The night was cold and dark with a little sleet mixed in the rain. It would feel good to get into the comparative warmth of the subway. The train

slid to a stop and she boarded with the other passengers absorbed in her own thoughts. It had been a long hard day, she was damp from the rain,

cold and tired.  She rode past several stations before he noticed the boys. They were big, rough talking and loud. They chased each other up and

down the car bumping into passengers, laughing and making sport of whoever caught there attention. Like any other group of predators, young,

strong and bursting with energy they played among themselves as they sought their prey. An old woman with  a large straw hat offered small

amusement. They stretched the hat onto one head then another pretending to be cowboys, rogue detectives or other bad guys. Glowering from

under the wide brim they pretended  to pull pistols from under their coats to shoot or get shot. They fell against the seats and onto the floor thrashing

in wild imitation of death throes. They were high, the sent of weed clung to their clothes. Their laughter silly and contagious was a thin vale over a

more sinister bent. One of the boys grabbed a cane from a male passenger and pretending to be a  swordsman challenged the gunman then turned

violently on the male passenger's protest, shoved him hard into his seat, growled some inaudible threat then threw the cane toward the end of the

car. Passengers began to leave the car. Many got off when the car stopped and those that remained sat in a tense silence. The mood of the boys

changed too.  Now they became sullen. The car speed on toward the next stop. The car was cold now from another blast of air through the open

doors then on into the old industrial part of the city. She was alone now with the gang-bangers, the tattooed ones. They demanded her money, she

had none. The knife was not sharp but the point dug into her cheek. The heavily muscled  youth struck her in the face and grabbed her hair. 

“Whassa matter wit you bitch, you don't hear good? Maybe you got sompen bettern money.” Pressed over on her right side with her head held

against the bottom of the seat and the knife a fraction of an inch from her left eye. She was surprised by the cold of the gun when it touched her

right hand forced inside her jacket by the young mans weight. It pulled her brain back from panic to reality. Her fingers closed over the handle of the

small 9MM pistol under her left arm.  The pop was followed by the heavy warmth of the young mans body and they both rolled to the floor. The face

above them was a blur of brown then red when the gun went off again. She struggled to get on her feet. Another threat lunged toward her. She fired

rapidly from the kneeling position and watched the sudden surprise uncover the face of a scared little boy. The shots slammed into the boy's

stomach and chest. He  vomited blood and beer. The last of the boys stared in disbelief, eyes wide, frozen in mid-step trying to turn before the bullet

severed his spine. Another went through the back of his head splattering the window and silencing his cry. She struggled to her feet, stood up and

went to the door. She waited for the next stop then exited and walked quickly to the street. Outside the rain felt good on her face. The cold air

helped her head to clear. She had just killed 4 young men. What a waste! What a stupid unnecessary waste!  She pulled her coat over her bloody

clothes. She walked several blocks then caught a cab and went to a shopping mall near her apartment.  From there she walked the rest of the way

home, washed  her clothes and showered. She slid into bed shaking and crying from the memories. She had lost her virginity when she was raped

on that same subway years ago. Then the anger came back followed by cold resolve, never again. Waste or not, never again.