Good Hunting, Sarah

She could have pretended the first time was a fluke. Self-defense, like she told herself the next morning. For the next few weeks even; until, honestly, it had happened again. And again. And again, all in one week, during the thunderstorms that plagued her city. She couldn’t pretend it was a fluke anymore.

Sarah preened in the reflection of a closed bar shop window. She studied her brilliant blue hair- well, not so brilliant anymore. The color had gradually bled from her locks, betraying the streaky dark blonde she tried to hide. Her smudged eyeshadow looked like two bruises on either side of her nose in the faint light. Johnston Street was poorly lit so late in the evening; the bars and their caterwauling clientele were another three blocks over. The only building of any note on the street was the public library and it’d been shuttered since six.

There was a sudden clash from the corner of the road.

Sarah’s wet eyes whipped to the sound. A staggering, lumpy shadow straightened a toppled trash bin and cursed. Loudly, slurred. The stream of consciousness, just out of earshot, was interrupted by a peal of nervous laughter. The dark face of the figure turned towards the woman by the strip mall, across the small parking lot.

“‘Aye, you!”

It happened again. Blood rushed to Sarah’s head, filling her ears with static. Her senses strained- no, they sharpened. She could taste his acrid sweat on the breeze, smell his boozey breath. His heart beat slowly in his throat. She could practically feel his pulse under her fingertips already.