The Stranger

The Stranger

by Andrea Monsma

Then came the rocks. They hit my chest, my arms, and my legs, ripping and gouging my flesh. I turned my back to them quickly, shielding my face from the hard chunks of stone that painted blue and purple bruises on my skin. As I turned I heard them gasp, and the pelting came to an abrupt halt. I looked over my shoulder at their stunned faces, and in a blink of an eye, they were gone. They had stampeded away, to vanish among the peeling whitewash that clung stubbornly to the surrounding buildings. 

I walk out of the now deserted alley, letting the dark shadows slip behind me as I step into the bright sunshine. I look around with disgust at the crippled town; garbage and refuse litter the ground, plastic bags rattle in faint wind. Scrawny dogs yap at each other among wrecked rust covered cars. I step onto the empty main street. The glass of smashed bottles crunches under my boots. I walk boldly in the open, letting anyone who watches from the boarded up homes see the red blood stains on my white shirt that they put there. I had come to warn them of their impending doom, but they had sealed their fate with every rock they had thrown.

It was said that you should live in such a way that if someone spoke badly of you, no-one would believe it, but no-one would ever believe anything good of this town. “Alright then,” I say quietly in response to the echo of a slamming door, “You've had your second chance, and refused the help you have been offered.” I stop in the town square and listen for a moment to the wind that wanders through the empty streets. I raise my voice and shout, “Now is the day that judgment will be delivered!” Closing my eyes I unfurl my wings and take to the air with a mighty leap, letting the town vanish beneath me. There is no such thing as a third chance.