Tendrils of white, vaporous powder danced across the asphalt to the tune of the wind, shifting direction and changing shape erratically all the while. Serpents of snow, the coiling streams of ivory rose sharply upward and into the face of their observer, mingling with the twisting helix of smoke emitted from the cigarette at his lips. The ordinary fellow stood companionless in the midst of the wide expanse of asphalt-coated land, the gentle snowfall dusting both he and the ground around him with a fine coating of the alabaster drizzle. Eyes glazed over and body shrouded in black, he gazed out at nothing, the cigarette clinging loosely to his lips. The moral conundrum he faced at the time often filled his mind, as the implications of dealing troubled him greatly.

The Dealer witnessed an unusual shift in the distance; a figure of solid gray emerged from the interspersed snowfall upon the pure white backdrop. The Dealer’s heart began to race as his contact approached, no doubt with giddiness at the thought of a large purchase occupying her own mind in the same manner that guilt and worry occupied his own. She approached rapidly, increasing the speed of her gait once she’d verified his presence in the lot.

“Op! Hey, Op!” She exclaimed upon coming within a reasonable distance.

“Got fifteen hundred for ya! Now I get half an ounce, right?” The excitement in the young girl’s voice caused him to shuffle his feet out of discomfort.. A girl barely over the age of twenty-one shouldn’t have had heroin on the forefront of her mind. Sorrow flooded the Dealer’s mind at the thought, the black woolen scarf concealing the frown he wore.
The two merely stood there, the smile fading from the girl’s face when no response was given, the only real sign of The Dealer’s awareness being his deep sapphire eyes fixed upon her own hazel irises.
“Uh, you okay, Op? ’Thought we had a deal,” she said, raising an eyebrow to more thoroughly convey her confusion. The Dealer snapped out of his stupor immediately, lowering his scarf and clearing his throat to begin his own monologue.
“Yeah.” The deep rumble that emerged from the Dealer’s throat heightened the girl’s mood once more, holding with it the promise of another day of escape under the grip of the black tar he held with him.

He unbuttoned his coat, reaching within it to retrieve the promised product, and she, in turn, reached for the bundle of hundred-dollar bills hidden in a compartment in the sole of her boot. Her eyes fell to the miniscule buckle that hid the small fortune within her footwear, as undoing it in such frigid conditions would prove to be quite an annoying task. After fumbling with the compartment for a few agonizing moments, she stood, holding a bundle of the worthless bank notes. All of the people she’d robbed and hurt, all of the horrific crimes she’d committed, and all of the demeaning actions that had to be taken on her part to acquire those paltry pieces of paper led up to that moment. “It’ll all be worth it,” she thought, imagining the sweet release of the illicit substance hitting her brain. “Just one more fix.”

Her eyes rose along with her body, finding the eyes of he who promised to give her the ever-so sought after drug. What her eyes found instead was the barrel of a revolver trained on the space between her eyes. It took her a moment to take in what was happening. Tears welled up in her eyes when she realized the extent to which she’d been betrayed.

“C-C’mon Op, I have your money, see? I just want my stuff! Please Op, don’t do this!” Her lower lip quivered, eyes searching his own for mercy. The Dealer had knit his eyebrows, and a shiver of guilt seized him as he watched the girl’s sobs rock her body until her knees buckled beneath her. Her hands concealed her face and the warm streams that poured from her eyes, shaking her head to and fro violently. The revolver followed its mark the whole time.

She uncovered her face one last time, only to stare down the barrel of the weapon. Seeing no intention to rethink his decision, she steeled herself for the inevitable, wiping her eyes and calming her sobs. “No point in dying like some pansy.”

“Do it, then,” she said, hiccups and puffy, bloodshot eyes the only remnants of her previous bout of sobbing. “Do it.” She looked up and into the eyes of The Reaper, awaiting freedom.

The Dealer paused for an instant, shocked at her resolve and further saddened all the while.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered under his breath.

Tears of crimson burst forth from the girl’s body and desecrated the snow with their vile tint as the cries of the weapon and the girl rang out in unison across the lot, deafening in their intensity. The Dealer looked down upon the hollow shell he’d left in the place of the girl. Of Mary Kidd. Little more than a child.
He picked up the wad of hundreds lying beside Mary’s frigid hand and walked away from the scene, not once looking back at the remnant of life he’d left behind.