There was a surprising lack of thoughts in her brain as she smeared the warm, sticky liquid in a futile attempt at removing it. No such luck, considering the only results were encouraging the thick fluid to seep further into her skin, dying patches of said skin a stark shade of crimson.

She was numb, as if her entire body and mind had been soaked in ice.

Her eyes were wide, her lip only starting to tremble as feeling crept back into her system, following the progression of standing once again.

The alcohol stirring in her system did not help her attempts at movement. Standing up had never seemed so difficult before, but she supposed that she had never had the weight of consequences looming above her in such an intensely terrifying and crippling manner. They were closing in on her more quickly the more she struggled against it, as if they were some sort of inescapable quicksand desperate to consume her weak, stumbling form.

The chilled air of late November nights caused coldness to seep into her bones, just as the blood had to her once white jacket.

A consentrated waft of a distinctly coppery smell drifted up into her nostrils, reminding her once again that she was not drenched in ketchup, but rather some sleazy bastard's life. Well, she and the red brick of that graffiti-smothered alley.

Memories of the disgustingly graphic scene caused bile to rise to the back of her throat where it hovered, the acid stinging consistently.

Glancing around, she had attempted to think and, albeit a faint and debatably pathetic attempt, it was enough to identify the area. Knowing where she was didn't really matter though, considering that she was still completely unaware of where she was headed.

The pressuring subject of death still stood stagnant in her mind, the dark slumped figure lurking there removing her capacity for rational thought. So instead of thinking, she let her aching body carry her to the personal haven she was so familiar with. Luckily, she was able of navigating the dark streets by instinct alone.

About halfway between her and her destination, bile was replaced by the unmistakable texture of vomit. Without a second thought she doubled over on the concrete slabs of pavement and retched all over the side of 'Oasis Moon Bar & Nightclub', the fluorescent blue lights reflecting off the contents of her stomach. She detachedly recognised some small pieces of chewed up pasta from the microwave meal she'd eaten for dinner.

Somehow successfully making it back to her feet, she continued moving, ignoring the strong burning in her nasal passages and uneasy churning within her torso.

Her loose, uncoordinated movements became laboured as exhaustion set in; making her once light limbs heavy and almost crippling her progress.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Luckily, her destination was approaching on the left, the distinct lack of tall concrete structures providing a refreshing contrast to the rest of the neighbourhood. Unlike all that surrounded it, this was not a place of blurred neon or cheap liquor, cigarette stubs or short skirts. It was instead a place of content, reserved grief and private miseries and long-buried corpses.

Tracing her fingers along the cool metal of the wrought iron fence, her own slurred agonies steadied then proceeded to lay down before her amongst the filth of the modern world.

She felt shattered glass grind under her left heel and then her right, but she no longer cared. She had made it to the singular place she could say with certainty that she felt connected to.

Her body twisted to finally pass through the contorted metal archway. She kicked off her heels, her raw feet appreciatively stretching into the dewy grass underfoot.

There wasn't much distance between the entrance and the exact spot she wished to situate herself and, after her heels had been discarded, it was a significantly easier walk than the rest of the journey, yet that didn't make it a quick or easy process to walk over to it.

Light droplets of rain hit her scalp first, although it quickly burdened itself to dampen what of her arms hadn't become bloodied.

The gentle shower accelerated in strength to a substantial downpour, saturating the soft earth with water.

This newly malleable dirt lodged itself effortlessly between her toes as she slunk over it, struggling more on the sinking ground to retain her unsteady balance.

Her foot glided out of the dirt without warning, causing her to lurch forward to her knees. The shock sent her hands to scramble desperately for anything to soften the impact of her face against the solid marble of the large black statue before her. Her slimy hands slid straight down the marble, smearing faint red streaks along it's glassy surface. The red still coating her long fingers was mixing with the rainfall, draining away in diluted, shy pink streams.

At the base of the statue, she rolled slowly onto her back with a constricted groan crawling through gritted teeth. She sent a harsh glare up at the statue to reprimand it for letting her fall, only to be taken aback at the vivid depicted emotion etched into the marble, a clear sign of excellent craftsmanship. Pushing herself shakily into an upright position, she stretched out her arms to gently cup the cheeks of cool marble.

Pulling her body upwards, she brought her face up to stare directly into the agonised, tortured eyes of the figure.

The statue was of a beautiful male, crippled by misery. The male was stooped over on their knees, arms suspended midair and charred stumps protruding from their back between the sharp shoulder-blades. Their face was permanently captured in an expression of pure despair twisting it into a hauntingly tragic picture.

Every inch of the statue must have been painstakingly carved by the sculptor. The end result was definitely worthwhile, however, as it seemed as if the fallen angel himself had been encased in a paper-thin layer of tar.

The rain still persisted. The face of the angel appeared to have tears streaming down it, and although logic screamed that it was only the raindrops, she couldn't help but believe that there were true salty tears amongst the other streams of water.

It was then she noticed the heat upon her own face, springing from hot tears now running over her cheeks. Upon acknowledging her tears, her own misery and despair overflowing and cascading past her restraints and all the walls she had built up.

The weight of her actions proved to be too much.

She could no longer move. The gleaming white Christ statue she had been meaning to pray beneath a mere two rows away may as well have been in a different universe.

Crumbling into a small ball she then started to sob with the anguished figure of Satan.