Samaritan

Jill was scared. She regretted not getting that taxi from the station now, but after an hour cramped on the last train home, her legs needed a brisk walk before bedtime. Her high heels clacked on the pavement, drawing a giggle from the two hoodies who had trailed her for the last few minutes.

Despite warnings from friends and relatives, Jill had always felt safe in the city. It was her home, and she thought she knew it’s ways. The street lights up ahead were out, so she decided to cross the road. Tightly clutching her bag containing a brand new iphone, she turned to the kerb. Whack! The fist smashed into her cheek, sending her straight down. The bag clattering beside her brought more giggles.

Abruptly, the giggling stopped. With a thwack the hoodies’ bodies smacked the pavement next to her. When Jill peered out through terrified fingers she saw half their heads were gone. She grabbed her bag back from one of the corpses’ hands, and looked around for her saviour, but found herself alone.

CCTV footage revealed the shots must have come from a distance, probably from a rooftop rifle. The same footage also silenced proclamations of innocence from the murdered teenagers’ families. It had been their third mugging that night.

The footage revealed everything but the sniper. The cameras on the rooftops, backalleys and sidestreets that could have monitored his escape had glitched, as though the city had briefly averted it’s gaze to protect it’s children.

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