Vanessa He didn't see or hear her approaching. He didn't even look up in his half drunken state. He sat there on the sidewalk, a week’s worth of beard on his chin, black hair hanging to his shoulders. A bottle of whiskey sat next to him, the cap long forgotten. His eyes glittered with unshed tears. Even drunk he didn't like to cry, but he knew sooner or later it would happen. Green eyes stared at the pavement as he remembered. He had been wearing the same clothes for two days and they were both wrinkled and stained. He lifted the bottle and was about to take another swig when she stopped in front of him. He slowly looked up until his eyes met the clear blue eyes of a woman about his age. She was tall and lithe. Her hair was a bright red that would have put fire to shame. Her skin was pale and took on a glowing softness. Looking into her eyes, he saw no imperfections, no flaws, only a strange perfection that had not been corrupted by the evils of the world they lived in. She wore a pair of blue jeans and a baby blue zip up sweater with a hood. Tennis shoes covered her feet, keeping them warm in the chilliness of the night. The whiskey warmed his blood, making him invincible to the cold for a short while. Neither one of them moved. The sound of their breathing was the only thing to be heard on the empty New York street. He almost opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't bring himself to break the silence. "Are you alright?" She finally said, her hands hidden in the pockets of her baby blue sweater. Concern filled the depths of her eyes, making them look brighter. "You shouldn't be out alone and talking to drunk strangers." He replied, his voice sounding weak and unnatural. She didn't budge, but continued looking down at him. "Are you waiting for death?" The question was odd coming from a girl as beautiful as she. He almost dropped the bottle, but his grip was firm and he sat it down instead. He wasn't sure if the question had been a joke or if she knew what was running through his head. He was stuck on how to answer, almost fearing how she might look at him. He didn't want to taint that perfection, that light. "You needn't worry yourself with my troubles." He said. "May I sit?" She asked and motioned to the spot where the bottle was setting. "I could be a serial killer for all you know." She smiled at him, the act lighting up her face, as he moved the whiskey bottle to the other side of him. She sat down on the cold sidewalk, her eyes never leaving his. The sadness in her eyes was enough to crush his heart. He quickly looked away, afraid that if he watched her any longer he was going to break. He found his eyes back on the pavement, but every now and then he would glance to his left and she would still be looking at him. He wanted to shout at her to go away, to leave him to his misery and punishment. He would gladly die as long as she wasn't there to witness it. "What happened?" She said, her voice musical and light. "You're not going to leave are you?" He replied, finally allowing his eyes to meet hers again. "No, I'm staying right here as long as you are." He took a deep breath and thought of taking a drink of whiskey. Looking at her he didn't think she would say anything, but he knew that it would only make that sadness grow. He let the air out of his lungs as memories came flooding in. Dark and ugly they tore him to pieces, but she wanted to know and he was willing to tell her. Even if she left him there after, he would still have let out his sorrow. "About a year ago, my wife died. Her name was Vanessa, she was beautiful, a lot like you. She was kind and gentle, loving and honest. She had this glow about her that seemed to rub off on people and make them feel better. One night while we were sleeping, a man broke into our apartment. Vanessa was pregnant at the time. I refused to give him anything and I tried to fight him. He managed to get me down and that's when Vanessa attacked." He choked on his words as tears welled up, "He pulled out a gun and shot her. He just reacted, he didn't want to kill anyone, he just wanted our money." He couldn't look at her because he knew Vanessa's death had been his fault. "You blame yourself." She said and those words broke him. Tears spilled over and ran down his cheeks. Sobs racked his body and a tightness formed in his chest. "Her blood is on my hands." He choked out, his eyes moving to meet her's. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and grabbed his. He felt like if he squeezed to hard, he would crush her bones. She seemed so frail and small next to him. She turned his hands over and examined them. Her eyes seemed to search every inch of them before moving back to his face. She raised a hand and brushed away his tears then moved pieces of hair out of his face. "I don't see any blood." She said, her warmth seeping into him. "What do you see then?" "Strength, love, and patience mixed with sadness. The first three will save you from the last and death." She leaned in and brushed a light kiss on his forehead before standing. She gave him a smile, knowing that her job was done and started to walk away. "Wait," he said, coming to his feet with new #life, "what is your name?" "Vanessa." She replied, giving him another smile at his shocked expression. "I'm Hayden, will I see you again?" "Of course you will, I'll be back around." With that she left him with the promise of a new #life a long distance from death and destruction. He bent down, picked up the bottle of whiskey and gave it a look. He tipped the bottle over and the rest of the liquid inside hit the pavement promises of false hope gone to be replaced by something fuller.