The street lamps, neon signs, and passing cars warded away the darkness that sheltered her as she skipped along the rain-kissed sidewalk.
Elly saw a withered old man with an ebony complexion crouched down against a street lamp with his head slumped down. Dirt-encrusted hair shrouded his heavy eyes. Outwardly, he resembled a dried husk, but Elly heard the faint beat of his heart echoing by the chasm of his belly.
The old man looked up, and with a quivering arm, reached out to her with a cupped hand.
“One dollar?” he said, voice cracking from the weight of the effort. “Any change, or bits of food? God bless you.”
Elly bent down and grasped his hand; It was withered, scarred, and callused from his constant use of construction tools, but his blunted fingers made it apparent that he hasn’t used any in years.
Slowly, she opened her eyes to look at his. In those reflections, the steady yet defiant pulse of his heart exposed snippets of his life in a monochrome of red: one beat, one frame, one moment, revealing decades of hardship, discrimination, abandonment, and abuse inflicted upon him by those he devoted his mind, body, and soul to. A life of suffering. But between the frames, faded images of his 1971 Cadillac, his lovable bulldog, his first wife, his grandchildren, his completed projects, and all of his pride and joy, flickered like apparitions on the verge of being forgotten. In those moments, the echoes of his heartbeat the loudest, spurring him to crawl through despair, urging him that life was still worth living.
Ah, this was why she loved humans so. His stubbornness, his perseverance, was something she knew all too well.
Elly rummaged through her purse and placed a few hundred-dollar bills on his hand.
The old man’s eyes widened, his lips trembled as he stared at her.
Elly smiled warmly. She couldn’t very well let a human of his dignity die of starvation in front of her. How tragic that would be. One less human meant eternity became just a little bit smaller.
“God bless you,” he said again, whimpering. “You’re too kind. God bless you. You’re an angel.”
“Tsk, tsk. I’m no such thing.” Elly patted him on his head before continuing with her walk. “I’m just a gardener passing through.”
Three street lights away, she stopped, hearing the steps of four men approaching the old man from an alley nearby. They circled the old man while he remained mesmerized by her good deed. One of them swiped the money from his hand, snapping him out of his reverie. The old man lunged at the thief, tackling him.
“No, no, that’s mine. An angel gave it to me,” the old man said.
The other three converged upon him and rained heavy blows on his already battered form. But the old man held firm, one hand gripping the arm of the thief that stole his momentary reprieve from hunger. His desperate wail drowned out the thieves’ frantic curses.
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One of them pulled out a knife and stabbed the old man in his back—thrice more for good measure.
Elly heard the old man’s dwindling heartbeat through the thieves’ hasty retreat. She walked back to him and stood outside the pool of blood seeping from underneath his body—his blank eyes staring at his outstretched hands.
She kneeled down once more. One beat, one moment, one frame. She saw her image in his eyes, an angelic girl in red, the final happy moment in his life being repeated, overshadowing the cruel reality of his demise, before all that was left was darkness. She reached down and closed his eyes before walking away.
What a waste. She frowned. Her good deed ended in tragedy. That old man didn’t deserve to die like that. Not like that. Wither away and be forgotten in a ditch somewhere like discarded garbage, sure, but to fall victim to banditry—what a disgustingly human end. A dreadful shame, really. She had high hopes for him. Her charity invigorated him, and he would have preached her deed to the good people of San Francisco and eventually the world.
A destitute man of color, saved by the kindness of an angelic bloodsucker. He would have been showered with interviews, testimonials, and attention. Hashtag vampires have a heart. Trending on Twitter. Front page on Facebook. Like. Follow. Subscribe. Imagine that. Elly, the goodwill ambassador of vampires, caring for the old and the unfortunate. Kind. Generous. Angelic. Oh, the stories that could have been. Instead, he was reduced to a useless slab of meat. What tragedy.
Elly heard the footsteps of the four thieving, murdering miscreants following her, keeping their distance, but keeping pace. They must have realized that she had more money in her little purse. It wasn’t enough that they inadvertently foiled her plans, but now they intended to rob her? Or worse?—the audacity.
One of them had a beak-shaped nose that reminded her somehat of her first father. What was he fond of saying to her again?
"Don't be afraid, my child. Just look at the bright side of things..."
The men navigated around the darkness, at times tripping among themselves. Elly took comfort in the night’s embrace. Beyond the park that was once covered by a barrier of trees so long ago, stood the gates of a decrepit manor.
She smiled wickedly as they loomed closer. Let them follow. Her kindness didn’t end with aiding starved humans. No. She also had a soft spot for her starving kindred. It was about time they had a decent meal.
Elly skipped along, humming a cheerful tune, eager to turn this tragedy into a comedy.
Oh, wa-Oh,
on the bright side,
oh, uh-Oh,
the bright side,
dum, de-dum, dum,
on the bright side,
oh, wa-Oh,
the bright side…