Strangers

There is a little girl in the hotel courtyard, playing hopscotch with broken chalk.

Pigtails bounce in the morning light and she giggles to herself.

Hotel patrons watch from a distance, smiling for a moment before moving on.

Nobody notices the look in her eyes, the one she hides behind an innocent smile.

The morning rush passes and the courtyard is empty, save for the little girl.

A man rounds the corner and there is nobody left to see the girl reach beneath her skirt.

Nobody left to watch her remove a gun.

The man freezes as she turns the safety off with a delicate hand, little fingers trembling.

The man speaks, his voice measured, though his body trembles.

"Who am I but a stranger to you? Why target me?"

The little girl giggles, the sound lacking any emotion.

"We are not strangers."