Natalya was most familiar with two colours—white and grey. There was the room of plain grey concrete she was in, a boundless stretch of snow and ice outside of the window; but today, it was snowing inside. The crystalline white that scattered across the cold floor sparkled so beautifully.

It contrasted greatly with the striking crimson, which had spread onto the room’s distasteful walls and ceiling with more of a splatter than a scatter. It painted the grey with its vibrant red; although, it would have been better without the chunks of pinkish-red matter and the sharp white fragments. She looked down, staring at the culprit in her hands.

To usher in such a scene, all it took was a single pull. Even though she was so small and feeble that she would get hurt whenever she played with the children in the playground, with her simple touch of the trigger, so much force could be exerted. Such a thing was never within her expectations. However, there was a problem. A big mess had been created.

What was she to do about the torn bag with its contents spilled out everywhere? And then there was the man, strewn out on the ground and barely showing a twitch. His eyes were open but he wasn’t moving. Natalya wanted to call for help, but she was worried. The man would surely get mad at her afterwards for what she did. He was angry to begin with, but now she’d caused him so much harm.

A few hours passed, and now, five men had gathered together in a larger, but still dull and grey room. They spoke with strong voices, a mix of confusion, bewilderment, anger, frustration, and doubt in their tones. Andrei exclaimed in a heavy accent, “This isn’t normal. We can’t see this at its face value, there must be more to it!”

His suspicions were bravely worn; there was one thing he implied, that the act wasn’t random.

“But the girl insists she wasn’t put up to it; when pressured, children do not lie,” said Aseniy.

Andrei rebuked, “Then what do you think? She secured a gun on her own, and then targeted one of our guys, killing him and intercepting the goods? Do not be stupid, Arseniy!”

Nikolay interjected, “Men, men, calm down. We have the girl for now; we can figure out who she talked to, ask if she was threatened, threaten her more to tell us if we need. But there has to be a plan: this isn’t the first time in history that children have been weaponized to do dirty work.”

“Supposedly…” Aleksandr muttered while lighting a cigarette, “the girl’s mother is one of ours.”

Nikolay asked confusedly, “What do you mean, she is one of ours?”

“Under us—one of our worker girls,” he elaborated.

Andrei sounded, “Oh… Well that makes things simple, then. Regardless of what happened, we can make use of her. What’s the mother’s name?”

Aleksandr responded, “Alla; you wouldn’t think them related, because her condition deteriorated her worth somewhat, but they are mother and daughter. The girl’s looks are fine.”

“Why are you talking about her looks?” Aseniy asked accusingly.

As if it were obvious, Aleksander answered, “You know why I’m talking about the girl’s looks.”

“She’s too young for that,” Nikolay rebutted.

Aleksandr asked, “Then what—you have a better idea?”

A few days passed, and an old playground was littered in snow; with rusted slides and creaking swings, it was more than clear that the place hadn’t seen proper maintenance in a long time. However, differently-aged children gathered and played their own games amongst each other all the same. The fact was that there was no other place suitable for them to be.

At the very least, the adults knew this ground to be a sacred haven for the young and innocent to gather without concern. This was where the light shined; the shadows cast by it ensnared many, but that was somewhere else. The children were ignorant and happy, while the adults treated it as simply ‘out of sight, out of mind’.

Laughter echoed only to be lost in the wind. Two young girls ran around a see-saw before running straight past the merry-go-round; the one behind the other ran fervently, an outstretched hand desperately reaching for the other’s back. The younger one, who was the one doing the running, made a sudden turn, not noticing the slippery patch beneath her feet. That moment let the other catch her as she exclaimed, “Tag, you’re it!”

But the slight push was enough to knock the younger girl off balance, sending her off her feet and flying forward. While the other girl’s face lit up in shock before slowly turning panicked and concerned, the older brother of the sisters quickly ran forward from his position on the sidelines to catch her. He reached his littlest sister in time, thankfully, preventing her from getting an injury as he stabilised her.

The brother chided, “Julka, it’s really slippery today, more than usual—why don’t you and Irena play on the seesaw or the swings?”

Julka, who had come dangerously close to losing a tooth or two prematurely, exclaimed in doubt and disappointment, “Ah, but Janusz… I wanna keep playing! I didn’t get caught, I slipped; I'm still not ‘it’ yet!”

Irena stepped forward and gently suggested, “I want to go on the slide. Will you go with me, Julka?”

“Okay, I’ll go on the slide,” Julka replied sulkily at first before running along with her sister and quickly regaining her wide, cheery grin.

As Janusz watched the two move on quickly, his attention shifted to a lone girl on the swings. He was here for the purpose of watching his sisters because it wasn’t safe to leave them alone. That’s why it was odd to him that she was idly sitting on the swing, barely even moving and not in the company of anyone. There wasn’t even an adult watching on the sidelines.

She was a very short girl despite looking older than both of his sisters, although not quite his own age, and she seemed distracted, as if lost in her own head engaging with a myriad of fantasies. That must be why she wasn’t swinging. Unless there was something else?

Regardless, her striking blond hair brought attention to her amidst the blanket of white covering the ground and the dull-greys of this country's barbaric architecture. The sky often lacked blues and the sun hardly brought its colour down, so a strong, vibrant gold was pleasant to see. He also noticed green eyes, a gleaming verdant if he was being poetic, and a round face with a bulbous nose.

Janusz glanced at his sisters once more. They were playing on the slide, taking turns, but failing to go down it in a single go. Every time they reached the halfway point, it was required for them to slowly scoot down. But that didn’t decelerate them. Their laughter could be heard across the playground, so he didn’t need to worry too much.

His eyes shifted back and forth once more, for the last time, confirming no one else was nearby or watching. When he was sure, he approached the swing set and sat adjacent to her without saying a word. The seconds stretched in an unclear atmosphere for some time until Janusz finally reached into his pocket.

The girl discreetly glanced at the outstretched hand. She didn’t know the boy, who looked to be a few years from reaching adulthood, but she wasn’t required to. All Natalya had to do was take the money and hand him a baggie; which she did, without saying anything or kicking up a fuss. Stowing the money away in her pocket, she gave him a small, clear bag of powdery ‘snow’ in return.

The boy she didn’t know the name of walked away silently. Janusz returned to his sisters, smiling as if he hadn’t ever left their vicinity.

Natalya returned later on, when the children in the playground showed different faces, several times over, and several baggies were exchanged for cash. She was lying down on a bed with a Hello-Kitty bedsheet. But other than the traces of faded pink, the room was mostly bare.

There were an array of comics spread out on her cover. They were completely random and indiscriminate, purely made out of that which had been given to her at some point or another. Regardless, with little entertainment, and personally, very little favoured company, these comics were cherished and viewed several times over with passion. These stories were her world.

At this time, there happened to be an older gentleman standing in the corner of her room, somewhat nearby the door. He pocketed a bundle of cash which he had rolled to look, at least, a little bit organised; since most of the notes were scrunched up and creased. Then, looking at the comic in Natalya’s hands, he remarked: “That’s not for kids.”

It was a superhero comic, which seemed fine, but he had actually read that one before. The contents were more on the violent side that better suited a fifteen year old, which the girl before him wasn't; she probably wasn't just a mere few years away but more than that. However, there wasn’t much to say. He glanced at the pile only to notice that some sick fuck must’ve slipped in a porno magazine for her to read—which is definitely not for children.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Natalya,” he called languidly.

Natalya hummed inquisitively but didn’t respond. She was too engrossed in her comic, so she only did the bare minimum to show she was listening. The man’s presence in the room clearly lacked effect on her.

Now with her attention (somewhat), he continued with a question, “When was the last time you visited your mother?”

Natalya responded idly, “Two days ago.”

“How is she?” he asked. Although he wasn’t particularly interested, he wanted to see how the girl was handling everything. Including her sick mother.

“She’s very pale,” Natalya responded. Her eyes never diverted from the comic. It was almost eerily cold: how she remarked the slowly deteriorating state of her mother and only known relative.

“Really…” With that, he left with a single parting message, “Keep doing what you’re doing. It’s the reason your mother still has a bed despite not being useful to anyone anymore.”

Natalya didn’t respond. She was actively engaging within the fantasy, imagining herself to be the cool action hero, fighting against crime and injustice. The baddies wanted to do terrible things like harassing women, which wasn’t good, and apparently they wanted to do even worse than that. But the hero in her comic didn’t allow that to happen.

The crooks with their masks and ugly faces hiding behind held guns and explosives, while the hero fought with his fists. She thought he was stupid at first; only to watch him run at tremendous speeds, knocking out the villains in single, strong punches. None of the bullets hit and when they did… there wasn’t an effect. That blood spatter—the mushy goo and sharp white fragments—didn’t fly everywhere. His head was perfectly fine!

“If that man back then had powers, would the bullet have bounced off…?” she remarked idly before forgetting about it. Instead, she waited in anticipation for the superhero to kill the baddies and save everyone. However, this expectation wasn’t met. Strangely, none of the bad guys were killed, only knocked out. In the end, they were handed over to men in uniforms and locked in a prison cell.

“‘You’re going to jail for a long time!’ ‘Jail’... What’s that?” Natalya asked. But her thoughts were soon interrupted when she heard the chirping of a bird, coming from the windowsill.

A small, cute little thing sat on the other side and looked into her room through the glass. Natalya wanted to say hello but there was a problem. The window didn’t open, and even then, the iron bars prevented her from sticking her head out and greeting the visitor.

Unfortunately, she was forced to remain in the grey room, with its barred window and its locked door.

The next day, the same man from before had taken her somewhere. Natalya noticed that this man kept appearing in matters involving her; she couldn’t help but wonder if they were friends now, and she finally had her first friend. It filled her with excitement, yet at the same time, she was given a slightly troublesome task.

It wasn’t the two of them alone this time, but rather, they were joined by another gentlemen. His face couldn’t be seen, unfortunately, due to the sack covering his head and the string tying it around his neck. However, as if making up for his lack of a face, he used his voice passionately to make his presence known. His screams echoed throughout the room with the occasional choked sobs. Natalya wasn’t sure if the man was sad or if it was simply hard to breathe with his strange head accessory on.

Her own role in this was of great intrigue too. Surprisingly, she met with the tool that helped her in the past again, but this time, she didn’t know what it was for. No one in this room was threatening her or looking to harm her.

“Come on… You’ve done it before. Just one pull of the trigger and it’s over,” the familiar-faced man encouraged. He looked slightly impatient, but his expression showed a trace of discomfort; a slight amount of fear and hesitation was hidden behind the bravado.

Lately, she had noticed this fear in a lot of people’s eyes. They try to hide it but it shows. Right there, in the pupil. Unfortunately, that meant she couldn’t tell how the other man was feeling, since his face wasn’t visible.

She aimed the gun.

A harsh light shined in her eyes, while the recoil hurt her shoulders a little. It was mostly the moment of shock immediately after pulling the trigger. Lined up in front of her, there were many targets with vaguely humanoid shapes. She had been placed here now to ‘practise’ her aim and weapon-handling.

“Listen, Natalya,” the same man lectured, “there are bad men in this world. They’ll try to steal your possessions, because they are greedy and believe everything should be their own. As a person born into this world, you have a right to defend your property. Don’t let anyone take stuff from you—okay?”

The sound of a bullet firing off ringed.

He continued, “Because you are small and weak, they will try to take advantage of you. Don’t let them.

“There’s a lot of sick freaks in this world… Being a girl means you're susceptible to things worse than death, so you’ve gotta learn to protect yourself.

“That is your self-defence tool. It’s your partner. Your life-line. Treat it well and it’ll take care of you.

“Pull the trigger, Natalya.”

She pulled it again. The snow was stained with red.

Lying on the ground, no longer wailing, crying, shouting or screaming, the man with a bag on his head remained silent. Unlike his blank expression before, there was a big gaping hole with crimson seeping out of it. This man is dead.

A few weeks later, Natalya suddenly decided to visit her mother. She had been awfully busy but far too much time had passed since her last visit. With excitement and joy, she opened the door to her mother’s room, and entered it. The interior was a lot like her own room; except, the bed sheet was plain, lacking the cartoonish design that hers had.

Alla slowly craned her neck towards the door. Her eyes were sunken and dull, with traces of fear and expectancy in them at first, only to brighten slightly after laying eyes on her daughter. She quickly, hurriedly, tried to sit herself up and greet her daughter properly, with a smile that fully represented her own joy. But she was unable to, instead breaking out into a coughing fit and simply remarking softly, “Natalya…”

Natalya responded with a strange calm and lacked further emotions. Her eyes lost their gleam, turning towards greyish-green; a dead look observed her bedridden mother. She was used to quick deaths—bang, the pull of a trigger—so it was strange seeing the reaper work so slowly. After some time, she had come to understand how her mother couldn’t work anymore, and what it was that kept her alive.

Natalya herself was; her presence inspired a burning will to live, to not abandon her and leave her alone in this cruel world, and then her work, exchanging the packages of ‘snow’ and putting people to rest, kept her mother from meeting an early end. But to what purpose?

She listened to her mother without saying a word. Alla couldn’t talk, save for slurred bouts of speech and occasionally calling out, ‘Natalya’; why was it taking so long? Natalya walked over slowly and leaned over her mom. She stroked her head gently, before lifting it up and taking the pillow out from beneath her. She then used this pillow to smother her mother’s face.

There was very little resistance.

After leaving and coming back to her mother’s room, Natalya was lying on the ground with sheets of blank paper. She used the crayons given to her at some point to draw pictures. It was mostly depicting this one hero, who had appeared in a motion cartoon she was lucky enough to watch at some point. The figure of the man stood proud and strong; the face of justice.

That man walked into the room.

“Drawing are we?

“How’s your mother?”

His eyes sank slightly.

“Did she finally succumb to her illness…?”

The pillow rested beneath her head now. A peaceful expression was on her face, seemingly accepting and appreciating death. Meanwhile Natalya did not speak a word; she merely whistled a tune. The man couldn’t discern what, since she wasn’t a good whistler.

Natalya smiled. Now, she had many colours to express herself. The drawings were vibrant and exuded unbridled creativity. If she could choose what she did in the future, then she wanted to create stories, much like the ones she read and watched. She was happy.