Black Delilah

Her hair was matted as it always was. Her two begging, green eyes looked among the people walking by. Her mother and father stood by a barely burning fire as she looked at the people in the street. A small, empty jam jar was in her hand. "A little money, That's all. A penny would satisfy me, just something!" she begged. Her heavy coat was covered in holes. She wore only socks on her feet, one of them with a large hole on the bottom. "Just a lite change, that's all I'm asking for." A sympathetic woman handed her a dollar. She greedily grabbed it and stuffed it in the jar.

Her name was Delilah. Her family lived among others like them, the homeless. Jar clutched in hand, she showed the dollar to her mother. "Great job, Delilah!" Her father was beaming at her. Delilah held the dollar with pride and sat next to her mother, trying to get warm despite the nippy wind and snowfall. She only had a large coat given to her by another man traveling with them, along with tattered boxers given to her by a boy.

"Mom, I'm cold." she shivered. Her mother pulled her on to her lap. Delilah was only eleven years old, and this entire situation was incredibly hard on her. Her mother and her shared the same black ebony hair and green eyes, while she had her father's thin lips and small button nose. They all lay there, looking up at the dusk sky.

"Mom, are we eating tonight?" asked Delilah. "I don't think so." sighed her mom. Delilah looked down at her bony stomach and nodded. "Okay, Mom." She was used to the hunger by now. It'd been like this since she was little, it didn't bug her. She had been hungry since the day she was born. She began to close her eyes as her mother stroked her messy hair. She fell asleep to the sounds of the people talking and men and women on the streets shuffling back and forth, busy.

The next morning, when she opened her eyes, she peeled away from her mother's arms and picked up the jar. It was time to get back to what she was use to. With her dirty face and skinny knees displayed beneath the thick jacket, she ran around begging. All she wanted to do was get enough money to feed her family. The most money she'd earned in a day was thirty dollars. Hopefully she could beat that record some day. With pitiful eyes, she looked around at the passer-byes. "Got anything on you?" she asked an obese man swallowing a hot dog. "Yeah." He reached into his pocket and gave her a gum wrapper. Laughing, he walked away. She hated when people did that. Throwing the wrapper on to the floor, she angrily went back to asking around.

By that afternoon, she had ten dollars. Tonight, they were eating. She could buy them each a fruit. Maybe she would get her favorite, a tangerine, for a job well done. Asking around, the money began to pile up. Dollar after dollar, cent after cent went into the jar. By the end of the day, she had a staggering fifty dollars. She never would have got that much if she hadn't have walked across town. Her jar was nearly overflowing.

She merrily began walking back to her mother and father when a man stopped her. "That's a lot of money on you, kid. Shouldn't be showing it off to everyone." The guy gave her the creeps. He had piercing blue eyes and a nose piercing. "Okay." she said in her usual innocent voice. Clutching the jar, she began walking back. However, she noticed the man was behind her. A chill when up her spine and she began to run faster. "Please! Go away!" she begged. He responded by laughing and lunging down, grabbing her foot and watching her collapse. He ripped the jar out of her hands and ran until she couldn't see him again. She tried getting back to him, she really did. Her feet just slowly gave in to the exhaustion and cold. Delilah couldn't run anymore.

She fought the tears threatening to spill down the sides of her face. Every part of her wanted to just sit there and cry but she couldn't. She needed to go see her mother. Walking back to her little camp, she looked up at her parents. "What's wrong?" asked her father. "Delilah, you don't look too good. Are you okay?" Delilah shook her head, the tears finally slipping over the sides of her cheeks. "Some guy took the jar. It had fifty dollars in it. Fifty dollars!" Her parents glanced at each other. "That's awful!" cried her mother. "That bastard!" snapped her f6ather.

The worst part, the one Delilah was trying to not mention, was that he appeared to be financially safe. He wore a nice jacket, she was well shaven, he smelled like soap. There was no way he needed that money as badly as they did. This slowly began to enrage Delilah. It wasn't fair! He didn't need the money like they did!

Delilah searched the streets from this point on. As she begged, she looked for this man. If she ever saw him again, she'd give him a piece of her mind! He needed to answer for what he did and why he did it. What was the reason for stealing from a small, homeless child?

One day, she found him. He stood staring at her from across the street. Same clothes, same eyes, same piercing. When he glanced at her, he grinned, holding up and empty jar. Furiously, Delilah charged across the street. "Give me that jar back! Now!" she charged. He laughed teasingly, tossing the jar in the air and catching it.

Suddenly, the screeching of tires hit the air. Delilah didn't see it coming. The man's face went from teasing, gloating, and mocking to sheer horror as the tiny Delilah was swept away by the truck. The car smashed into a wall, with Delilah sandwiched between the two. Delilah's mother was screaming and crying, her father speechless. The other homeless stared in disbelief.

Despite the frantic begging from her mother to save her, Delilah was obviously far beyond saving. She literally had to be scrapped off the wall. A large bloody stain was smeared across the wall. Her coat was shredded, her socks smashed and covered in tire marks,

They couldn't afford a funeral, it just wasn't going to happen. The best they could do was choose a place to bury her and leave some flowers. Everyone comforted the grieving parents. They all said the same thing. It was an awful accident. What a tragedy, she was so young. The same thing over and over again. '

Delilah was burried in a nice park. Nothing could be done now except accept was had happened and let it go. After a lot of grieving, both parents came to terms with the fact that they would never see their daughter's bright smiling face again. Never again would she come back, filled with pride, holding that jar.

The man began to feel guilty. This was all his fault. She would be alive right now if it weren't for him being stupid and taunting her with the jar. He didn't even need the money! He wouldn't forget the look on the woman's face as she begged random people on the street to save her daughter from the heaping wreck.

One night, in his apartment, he couldn't sleep. It had been two months since the incident and he was beginning to forgive himself for what he did. I mean, he didn't drive the car into her, right? He didn't tell her to charge across the street without thinking or looking to make sure she wouldn't be crushed. If it was anyone's fault, it was definitely the little girls. With a smile, he began to fall asleep.

What he didn't know was that some demonic forces were at work. The little girl died with a burning hatred. This burning hatred didn't just boil over after her death. The more he began to blame her and forgive himself, the angrier she got. How dare he blame her?! She provoked him and upset him to the point of running! If he hadn't been such a greedy bastard in the first place, she wouldn't be six feet under. A demon of unknown origin loved this however. He fed off her anger and her desire for revenge, her will to harm. He knew a way he could make use of this.

That night, she emerged from the ground. While she expected to look like a hunk of rotting tire covered flesh, when she looked into the fountain, she saw that she looked human again. Her skin was pale still, and her nose was still small. However, that's where the similarities between the new her and the old her ended. Her eyes were now wide, black, emotionless voids. Her mouth was a gaping hole,empty and dark. When she talked, her mouth didn't move. Her hair was brushed smooth and long, the mats gone. Her coat was gone, replaced by a nice dress she'd seen once on a girl passing by. It stopped at her ankles and was pitch black. Her feet were still bare, but she didn't feel the cold anymore against her toes. She felt no pain.

Even though no one was near her, she heard a male's voice in her head. "Hi." She looked around. "Who said that?" she demanded out loud. "You can't see me Delilah. Others cannot here me. Only you can." The voice was a very soothing, masculine voice. It was calming. "I'm going to help you. And we're going to be best friends, you and I." Delilah nodded. "Just do exactly what I say." Delilah nodded. Then, the voice was gone.

On the grave was a gold chain. She picked it up, expecting it to be heavy, but finding it to actually be quite lightweight. The chain was not a whip, as she tried doing a whipping motion. Holding the chain in hand, she carried it around. Delilah didn't know how this was happening. It didn't make sense. However, she felt she knew things. She was drawn to an apartment building in specifics. Walking in, she knew to hit third floor and went five doors to the left. The door was left open. "How did I know to come here?" asked Delilah. "Simple. I guided you. Go on in."

Delilah stepped in and looked around. That's when she found him lying on the bed. The greedy one who had stolen the money and gotten her killed. Rage began to consume Delilah again. "What do I do!?" she asked the voice. "Kill him!" demanded the voice, now much less soothing. "Kill the bastard! Remember what he did to you?!" Instinct took over, and Delilah used the gold chain. She wrapped the gold around his neck, squeezing and pulling tighter and tighter. When she heard a snapping noise, she let go. She'd just killed a man. Worse yet, she enjoyed it. She loved every second of making him suffer.

"How did that feel?" asked the voice. "Great!" Delilah yelled out loud. She began to laugh. "I'm glad you think so." They both laughed together until Delilah stopped. "What do I call you?" she asked. Demons don't really have names, so the voice had to make up something quick. "Call me Black, Delilah."

"Delilah, from now on, you and I, we, are one. You will refer to us as we. There is no more I, or you. We are together as Black Delilah."