Thing

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The little monster lay on the ground, broken. Shattered breath wracking aching lungs with every hack and every judder. The sounds the poor thing made were heartbreaking - the sound of a piece of its heart crumbling with every whimper and every shudder. Its little mouth gaped open, lips quivering as it fought for life, fought to speak, fought to cling to the last dregs of energy it could feel leaching out of the pitiful form like a dying fire too far gone to be relit.

Its toes were bent, its feet crooked, its legs caved inward, its spine curved in so that it could do little more than cling to its broken body, a wrecked thing of blood and ash and so little hope that one would only sigh in pity when they saw it.

Its shoulders, jagged, sticking out, sprouting skinny arms that could do little more than shake and tiny fingers that scratched and dug until the pain was almost beyond unbearable.

Its eyes now mere slits, inky black barely bothering to peek out at the closed off world anymore, its nose bloody and bruised, its ears sticking out sadly and its hair more mess than its worth.

Little monster, laying on the ground, a stranger to life but not yet acquainted with death. Nothing to care for, nothing to weep for, just a cold heart and an empty mind as dry eyes fluttered closed and its chest choked and tried to break apart.

Its hacks filled the abandoned corridor, nothing by stone to watch on in shame, nothing by pebbles to catch the tears that finally came. And the greatest tragedy of all?

No one would arrive. This is not the start of a story, but in fact the end of one.

This little monster old and young in all that life could have ever offered had no story to tell to entertain anyone long enough to stay, ever. This is the end.

No flash of light, no miracle, no saviour, no remedy, no chance magic in the darkening twilight, no long lost loved one, no I love you, no wizard, no superhero, no sudden strength or fortunate twist of fate. Life does do that, quite often in fact.

The only peace the little monster will get is one lifeless and still.

Now why are you sad? What did you expect? Do you want to help her? Do you want to trade her place?

But why don't you do something? Oh wait, that's right. You're only human, only one person in the night. What could you possibly do, what do you have to offer? You're not any more fortunate than this little monster.

No one ever told you that this was going to happen. No one prepared you, said to help when you came across a little monster. The world has tossed it out so why shouldn't you do too? It's only right, if the majority shares this point of view. The great leaders have ignored them, the world has turned away. So really who could blame you if you went your own fine way?

Alright, well it's over, go be on your way. Pat your back, say you tried and don't think of it any longer. No matter what you do, no matter what you tell yourself, that little monster will still be here but not really for much longer.

And that I do believe was it. Yes, her body's now stopped shaking. The chest is still and her lungs have finally stopped breaking. The end has justly come, I'm sorry you weren't here for the story. You missed it, you see. It was over before it began. Some stories are like that, some never get told. They start when you don't look and are over in a blink.

Now the little monster is still, she's become nothing but a shadow. The streets are still in peace and for now the night is calm.

She is no longer broken.