It's raining again. Thick, fat droplets of water slamming every possible surface in the city.

He went to window and touched it lightly, his warm breath drawing small circles on the cold glass. His eyes fixed blankly on the scene in front of him, trying hard to see through the blurring rain. He drew nearer to the window, nose pressing against the glass. He wanted to see her, see her walk across the street like she does everyday. It was 9.30. Still early. He'd usually see her at 10.05, five minutes before her daily bus came.

He continued leaning against the window. Waiting.

Waiting. 9.45 now.

Waiting. Almost 10.

There she was.

She was hurrying across the street, resisting the wind that was blowing against her umbrella. A thick, pink sweater was wrapped around her waist. Odd, he thought, it must be cold outside yet she has it around her waist. The rain was soaking through her thin blue shirt and jeans, and he could tell that she was shivering. Her lips were almost blue, and on one shoulder a black backpack was slipping off it.

She looked as beautiful as ever.

He lifted the binoculars, focusing on her face. The flawless display of perfection looked a little messy, as if she woke up late and applied her makeup a little hastily. A small, black pool - mascara? He wasn't sure - had gathered around her eyes, making it look as if she had been crying black tears. The focus of the binoculars made it seem like she was right in front of him. He wanted to reach out and brush away those black tears.

He continued following her until she stopped, pausing momentarily in front of the bus stop. He lowered down the binoculars and saw the reason for it. The bus stop was packed, filled with commuters anxious to avoid the rain. Others, like her, were unfortunate. They were forced to stand outside in the pouring rain, some without the protection of an umbrella, a briefcase or anything else. Amidst the crowd he spotted a small child, perhaps nine or ten, standing miserably under the rain, his school uniform already soaked. No one seems to be offering the boy any help.

The lack of humanity broke his heart.

Concentrating on the child had made him lose track of the girl, and this made his heart skip. Where was she?

Using the binoculars, his eyes scanned the crowd, relaxing slightly when he saw her under the shade. She'd closed her umbrella and was using a tissue to try and dry herself off, to no avail. The man next to her said something and this made her laugh, and jealousy surged through him. He wished he could be the one close to her, making her laugh.

She said something back to him, and the man passed her his newspaper. She scanned the newspaper, paper dampening slightly by her wet hands. Suddenly her eyes widened. Her left hand covered her mouth, and her eyes started filling with concern and worry.

He'd read the papers earlier, and he knew what the frontpage news were about. A girl in her early 20's was found raped and murdered; body dumped near the river. It appeared to be nothing more than a random rape case, but what fascinated the public was that three other girls were found dead in similar fashion. There was nothing extraordinary about the case except that a small, red cherry was found in the girls' mouth.

She commented on the story to the man next to her, and he looked non-plussed. He watched as the man replied back, and his lips mouthing the words 'it happens'. The girl looked at the man with disdain for a moment, and averted her attention back to the newspaper.

He wished he could hit the man then. It's only typical that in a world filled with neverending war and terror that rape and murder of young women would seem minor, almost insignificant. It's easier to focus on materialistic things than be worried by social destruction. His girl, on the other hand, was what he hoped humanity would be: concerned, if not helpful.

The bus arrived then.

It was a mad scramble; people desperately trying to get on the bus while avoiding the rain at the same time. He focused on the girl again, watching her hand back the newspaper, fix the backpack on her shoulder, and patiently wait for everyone else to go on the bus. Even the man sitting next to her had rushed to get into the vehicle.

Sometimes beauty can be both inside and out, he thought.

He continued watching her, until she stepped onto the bus and disappeared. He stayed in that position until the bus finally started to move, and vanished under the mist and in the distance.

He lowered his binoculars and placed it one the windowsill, taking a step back before turning around and seeing his breakfast. He picked it up on the way back from work last night. It looked so good on the table like that that he was suddenly anxious to get to it.

He walked to the small container on the kitchen counter, opening it up and taking a small cherry. He went to the table and opened her gag, forcing her to take it in his mouth. She didn't want it, but he slipped it in anyway. It felt good to him, that she was taking in one last meal before he took over her innocence. Like the others, she looked like the girl on the bus stop. So much that he was overwhelmed.

Tomorrow, there will be another body, and another headline.

Labels: fiction - adaptation