Becoming: An entry into the Finish the Story Contest #62

It's been awhile since I entered the Finish the Story contest. I'm possibly too late this week but I'm posting it anyway. I had fun with the idea and had trouble cutting it to fit the word count. I'm still a little over because I couldn't murder any more of my darlings so I might be late and over. @dirge will decide if that matters. It's 11:27 am as I'm posting this in my time zone.

Here's the story with @dirge's beginning:

The mercedes pulled up beside the bar and the couple stepped out,
laughing. The man wore a gold chain and a jersey. The girl was done up
fly with a full body and lips. He held her in his arms and she kissed
him. Not the kind that anyone, if they lived long enough, would know
as fake. Not that contrived giggle or forced smile. It was the way she
touched him. The hands. That takes a whole other level to manipulate,
and the kind of person it takes to do that is either crazy or
manipulative or both.

Gabrielle knew it. She’d seen it, been there, and lord the world would
know one day. When her friends or family came through. When her
brother stopped caring about anyone but himself and decided to finally
come and help his little sister, alone, an old woman, living on the
streets of Chicago.

The club was a good spot to panhandle. Thursdays were the hot nights
for it. Other street folk come out in droves, sure. But Gabrielle, or
L as they called her, defended her territory. They didn’t expect a
woman to fight the way she did. But she could stand her ground. They
didn’t grow up like her and her brother. And sometimes things broke
you or made your stronger and well.

“Made me stronger. I lived,” she said outloud. A couple passed by and
L stared them in the eyes, holding her tin mug. They ignored her.

“I’ve seen it, the star in the sky black as night and burning flames.
Carcarocalee. Carcarocaloo. Carca.”

A quarter fell into her cup and she thanked them, keeping her eyes on
the new car that pulled up to the club. The men stepped out, faces
covered in masks, pistols at the ready. They stepped inside and the
gunfire began. Through the screaming and running, L had the strangest
notion.

“I should go in there.”

The idea pulled her up from her spot and made her walk up to the door. It was as if someone had tied a rope around her, forcing her to follow them. The urge overpowered her, her movements automatic. In a strange way, she felt she was watching herself from the inside, powerless to stop, yet reveling in the strangeness of how it felt. It drowned out her usual thoughts and pains. Whatever this was, she gave herself completely.

She passed the threshold and heard the cries of fear. Two men lay to the side of the inner door with blood leaking out from their wounds. Though neither seemed conscious she could sense they were still alive. Walking past them she saw the five men dressed all in black, heads covered in knit masks, guns aimed at the patrons all clumped together at the back of the bar.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” she heard herself say.

“Get lost lady. This has nothing to do with you,” said the man she assumed was the leader, dismissing her undoubtedly because of the way she looked.

“But it does,” the words flowed softly from her lips, “because I’ve seen the star in the sky black as night and burning flames. And you were there.” She took another step into the room. The leader took a step back, then flashed his gun at her.

“I’ll kill you if you take one more step.”

She stepped forward. The bullets ripped through her chest, but she took another step. The leader paused, she was close enough to see the fear grow in his eyes. She smiled.

“Die you crazy bitch!” He let loose a barrage of gunfire. Riddled with holes and bullets she collapsed backward, feeling only cold burning from the wounds. The room disappeared and she was floating in the silent cool blackness,her body a mist as black as her surroundings. In the dark, a star shimmered into existence and drew her close with an irresistible pull. As she once again willingly gave herself the star engulfed her, the burning flames evaporating the mist she’d become. Then she understood. She was both mist and flame filled with purpose. Long ago she’d fought it, the star and flames. Now she understood, embracing it.

Her eyes opened and she stood, mist filling the holes in her body, a burning flame inside her. She walked toward the unsuspecting leader and touched his back, releasing the fire into every cell of his being. The gun dropped into the pile of ash that once held it. The others turned and fired but she turned to completely to mist and the bullets passed through. She touched each one in turn until there was only the fearful crowd of party goers in front of her. She made eye contact with the false woman who had entered prior to the gunmen, sending a burning energy towards her, just enough to singe her soul. The others too had been false, but only in the inevitable human way no one can avoid. She turned and walked away, letting the pull guide her to the next destination.



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