Her fingers curled around the object in her pocket. With a laugh, she whipped it out and the distinct sound of a bullet was heard. Marissa crumpled, like a falling leaf, without a noise. No scream, no cry, no shriek of pain. Just tumbling, breaking inwards, slamming into the concrete.
A deep scarlet liquid began to stain the pavement and slip through the dodgy cracks, leaking into the murky river. All sounds slipped away, and all that was left was the snapped body of Marissa lying alone. Stefonie edged forwards, and she could see the wound. A horrific hole, gaping in the head, pieces of shattered skull spread around her. The sight didn't shock Stefonie.
One of the heels snapped with the sudden plummet of Marissa's body and you could see her red nail polish covering up small blood splats as she had felt the wound before she died. Her coat buttons had opened, and underneath she wore a smart white blouse paired with a slightly pleated black pencil skirt. Everything about her was so smart, and now her fatal outfit portrayed her so well.
Stefonie took in the brown curls slid around her face, somehow adjusting themselves to fall in place with her cheek bones. She looked beautiful and all for nothing. Sound came flooding back, breaking into Stefonie's ears. Above all of them, the bleating sound of sirens was the loudest. The news settled; she had killed someone.
Wrapping a hand around the basket, she stared inside. A child, so petite, so fragile, lay awake. It did not cry, there were no tears or weeps, just concentration. Taking in Stefonie's face, her eyes, her nose, her lips, her hair. Memorising her features.
With that, she fled. Leaving behind her the broken houses, the rushing river, the squawking birds, the black sky and the dead Marissa laying on the pavement. Never to do anything else again.