If you can’t ignore the idiots, run from them. If they still annoy you, make sure not a speck of ash is left of them. Who knows, they might stain your shoes or pants when you step on them otherwise.

Uriel King to his followers

Rain started falling, mingling with the trash on the ground resulting in a slippery film over the asphalt. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as I frantically tried to come up with a viable escape plan with the tools at hand. If I could break past them, I was sure I could outrun them.

Thankfully I never was one of those princess types waiting to be rescued, since cowering in a corner wouldn’t do much good here, and years of school bullying ensured that I was not an utter moron when it came to fighting. I was by no means an expert, but I fight dirty and I could at least make sure that those attacking me would not leave unscathed.

“Think…what can you use here?”

Scanning the area in the harsh yellow light of the streetlamps, I surveyed the overflowing trashcans, my gaze stopping on thin wood planks with nails still embedded in them, probably left over from a broken pallet. It was close enough that I might have a chance if I could somehow distract my opponents.

As they started advancing on me, I took a deep breath, further calming my mind. I evaded left, took a running start and kicked one of the garbage cans on the ground between us, gaining a couple precious second. My footing was much better than theirs since I was wearing safety shoes, as opposed to their fancy street shoes.

Grabbing two trashcans covers, I threw them in the direction of goons number one and two without aiming. One was a miss, but the other one hit goon number two straight on the forehead after a beautiful flight, dropping him in the garbage.

“Strike! One down, 2 left.”

Not stopping, I finally reached the planks I was aiming for. I disregarded the bigger one, grabbing one that had nails sticking out of it instead. I turned on my heels, swinging it as hard as I could in a wide arc, catching goon number one straight in the belly as he tried to outflank me, sinking the nails in his abdomen.

As he curled on himself I swung my makeshift weapon as hard as I could on his neck, sending him straight to dreamland but breaking my not-so-sturdy tool in the process.

“Shit, out of time now…”

Bastard in chief, aka Michael, who had been gaping like a dead fish while I mowed through his minions was now recovering, and surprise wouldn’t work again. He might be a lowlife, but he was an intelligent one.

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I picked up another plank, swinging it in front of me, forcing Michael to take a couple steps back to avoid being clobbered. As he retreated, I jumped on the side, over the dumpsters and started running like hell was snapping at my heels.

“Try catching me now!”

I never saw what hit me. I dropped on the ground, a pair of black men footwear swimming in my vision.

“Must have been a third goon in the pub I didn’t see.”

I fought to stay awake, feeling hands grabbing me through the numbness in my limbs. I could not hear anything, the blood rushing to my head blocking everything. I was furious, at them for putting me through this, but mostly at myself for making such stupid mistakes.

I was back in the alley, my arms blocked behind my back by the man who caught me. Michael was glaring at me, and from the corner of my eye I could see the man I hit with the trashcan cover starting to struggle in an upright position.

Sharp pain spread to my cheek as Michael hit me with his fist, then in my gut. As my vision darkened again I felt my sweater being ripped and hands crawling over my body.

I was screaming in my head, but only small hissing sounds came out of my mouth, the frustration of it reawakening my struggling.

In a state of half-consciousness, I could feel the rage of my assailants, my own fear and disgust, all melting in a cacophony of jumbled images, sound and emotions.

The images retreated, leaving sounds and emotions swirling, clashing, swelling, until all I could hear or feel was an intense screech accompanying raw anger, so intense it blotted anything else, primal, feral.

As I passed out from the onslaught, I could feel heat on my skin coming from the fire raging in the heaps of garbage.

The men who had attacked me were slumped haphazardly here and there, gazing with eyes so vacant at the sky that if one didn’t saw the slow rising and falling of their chests they would have thought them dead.

“Aah…looks like I made it after all.”

As I drifted into unconsciousness, the only sounds I could hear were the soft hissing of the rain falling on the flames, and rustling coming from further into the alley.

“Wait, flames? Why is there a fire in here?”

Thus started the strangest dream I ever had in my short 26 years of life.

From the alley, un invisible ripple spread silently like a wave, unnoticed by most but nevertheless changing everything in its wake.