At a Crosswalk

 
Mags looked out the window and saw the scene slide past. She felt cold and tired and she wanted nothing else to do but sleep. She had fallen into the routine of waking, working, sleeping. She knew that there was something more to this, but she couldn't remember what. 

She had awoke, it seemed, from a coma a few months back. She had no memory of who she was and where she was and what she was doing. Apparently, she had fallen through someone's roof and onto the floor. The mystery was how the hell did she fall in the first place?

She didn't know, how could she? And she felt empty inside because of it.

She snapped back to reality when the transit came to a stop. Mags stood up and exited out the door, stepping out into the crisp and cold New York air. She walked down to the crosswalk at the corner, stopping at a street vendor to pick up a few newspapers. Glancing over the headlines, she knew that something major was happening somewhere.

She waited at the crosswalk for the light to change and then went across the street. The car slammed into Mags, sending her flying up and over the the hood. Newspapers scattered through the air like an exploded pinata. She impacted on the ground with a sickening thud, her head hitting the hard pavement.

The car came to a screeching halt and a man stepped out. An imposing figure, built like a jock, and brandishing a huge chrome prosthetic gun-hand, strolling towards Mags.

Mags slowly moved her body. She winced and spat out some blood, but then a wicked smile came across her face. She glared up at the man stalking towards her and said, "Thanks, I needed that!"

Rainy Day Interlude

Rain spattered against the windowpane as thunder rumbled across the sky. The day was dark and murky, sort of an ambient mood to a bitter day. Inside a brownstone within the city, two women passed the time. One of them reading a novel, the other by the window looking out over the city.

"So what's he like?" the cheerleader asked, diverting her attention from the view and back into the room. "I mean, what's he like in person? You've been traveling around with him. What's the real deal?"

Maggie glanced up from the book she was reading. She was in the middle of a story about a boy who went to a magical school and battled fantasy creatures, though the book wasn't supposed to be a fantasy to begin with.

"Who - Trump?" she asked, feigning ignorance with a slight smile. "Oh, we found him awhile back, and he's just been..."

"No. Max," the cheerleader said. "I wonder if he's the key to unlocking the events that are unfolding." She shivered. "Why are the dreams I'm having like peering into the souls of others?"

Maggie got up from the sofa and tossed the book down. She strolled to the table where the cheerleader was sitting. The sound of a coffee machine coming from the kitchen, gurgling like it was a volcano ready to go at any moment.

"Let me get a coffee first and I will tell you a little story," Maggie said.

When Do Bullets Cry?

She was caught between a very hard rock and a very hard place; bullets showered around her like it was raining. Chips of stone, plaster and dust covered her, making her look like alien ghost. She knew that she was out-gunned and out-numbered. This hit squad had pulled no stops; they meant business.

Mags had been out on a shopping spree and happened to come to this particular Mall because it was her favourite, and she loved the fountain. But it ended up a different night than what she expected.

In all the noise, she could feel the vibration of her cellphone. Mags tapped the screen and brought it to her ear. There were tear streaks in her dust covered face; she had been crying.

"It's getting close," she said into the phone.

"Hold on, I am almost there," Max's voice told her. 

"I can do that," she replied grimly.

"You okay?" he asked; he knew Maggie lived for combat but something sounded off.

"I'm fine," she replied, and after a short pause she added, "But they got Suki."

The young girl was sprawled out on the floor near Mags. She could see her bullet-ridden body. It would jig every now and then as a stray bullet hit it. Mags was crouched in cover, a furnace of rage inside her. There was nothing she would like to do more than put each and every one of those sons-of-bitches through hell first before putting a bullet in each of their heads.

"Max," Maggie said after a few moments. "Let's do this one by the book."

There was a silence on the phone, then Max said, "Fuckin' A."