The Witness

Not really a fanfic, but a short story I did in my writing class. Anyways, enjoy...

The Witness

By: Donald Truman

The alley was dark and cold, a stark contrast from its daytime nature. Wrapped in ragged woolen blankets, nestled beside the trash cans and recycling bins of the neighborhood pub, I sleep. Feebly I toss and turn, a vain attempt to stave off the cold of the night. Finally I lay still, slipping into exhaustion. In time, my shabby character is indistinguishable from the rubbish around me.

An intruder stumbles in from the street, trespassing on my realm of security. Panting, he leans against the wall, desperately attempting to catch his breath. I remain still, well-versed in the art of remaining unnoticed. It's not hard, most people ignore bums anyway. The intruder's breathing slows, and he starts to relax. He is dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. Hardly appropriate attire for this kind of weather, yet not surprising since he won't have to sleep in it.

A spasm of pain grips him suddenly, and as he grabs his arm I finally notice the cut above his left elbow. It is deep, and his blood, the ever-flowing river of his existence, trickles down his arm to the pavement below. He looks up into the air, cursing or praying to whatever gods would listen. They don't listen, or don't care.

Another intruder walks into my domain, this one with purpose. He is silhouetted almost perfectly against the fog of the street beyond. So silent is his approach, that the first interloper doesn't realize his presence until he is within a dozen feet. In a panic, he scrambles backwards into the alley. He yells, screams, shouts at the top of his lungs, but this part of town is empty at this late hour. A knife flashes in the light, and he is silent forever.