That night was a cold one. I saw her - standing - in the middle of the street, her hospital blues torn and tattered, dampened by the rain sheeting down around us. Her hair hung limply before her face. I could not identify her.
She stood beneath a street lamp. Its puddle of light seeped out into the cracks of the street and snaked sluggishly toward me. The rest of the city was dark and we stood isolated in our own dim little worlds, casting shadows.
After what seemed like an eternity of a ridiclously short moment. She looked up and stared straight at me. But did she see me? Instead she blinked. Once. Twice. Leaving the safety of her own pool of light, she lurched across the street toward mine, blindly stretching out her arms before her. The most horrifying keening clawed its way up from her throat. As she came closer I could see that her eyes were as empty as death. I dropped my portfolio and grabbed at her wrist, afraid of the weapon that would surely streak toward me. There was none.
Caught off kilter by a sudden loss of balance we tumbled to the street. I tilted her head back and peered into her face. She was silent. Naturally "Oh God! Shes dead" was the first thought to come into my mind. Until I saw her breathing. She was unconcious.
In the dim dusky light of the street lamps she was quite pretty, beautiful actually. Her face and hair were both pale. I could not discern the color of her eyes because they were now shut. But I imagined them to be blue. Her eyelashes, impossibly thick and dark, like chocolate dripped rain down her cheeks. Like tears. And looking into her face caused something in my heart to stir. I don't know what, but it was something inexplicably powerful. So, carefully, and somewhat awkwardly, I picked her and my portfolio up and carried my precious cargo home.