Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine...

I don't particularly like this piece. Something about it just bugs me. If you can identify something that bugs you about it, then by all means, let me know.


Carlisle hit his fists against the brick wall, but not quite hard enough to break it. He knew better than that.

"Damn it!" he shouted. He had lost another one tonight, someone who shouldn't have had to die.

He collapsed against the wall, his anger gone as suddenly as it had come. For a moment, before his mind could catch up with his emotions, he wanted to kill them, the people who had used her and thrown her away afterwards.

She had been so young. Just like the rest. Maybe six years old, far too young for how she was living, not like there was much of a choice. But Carlisle was powerless to stop it, not without revealing what he was. And that was out of the question.

"God, why?" he whispered, not sure if he was praying or muttering a curse. "Why her? What had she ever done? Was it bad enough to deserve this?" He leaned his head up against the wall and closed his eyes.

He hadn't been working enough at the hospital, not for his taste. Helping others was how he found purpose and meaning in his existence. But he couldn't work longer, not without having to explain why he never needed sleep or food. So he had begun working in the backstreets at night, the places where the brothels kicked out the prostitutes who became sick or too old. Many of them were past saving, but their children were forced out with their mothers. Sometimes, if the girls were lucky, the brothel would take them back, to take their mother's place. Like this girl had been.

Lucky. Carlisle snorted. How was a hard life and slow death any luckier than a quick death from exposure? And sometimes they struck out on their own, begging, stealing, and selling themselves to whoever would offer them money. One lone vampire was not going to make much of a difference. And they were easy prey for other vampires. No one would miss them. Society at large ignored them.

Maybe the vampires were a blessing in a way. That death was faster than anything else, kinder. Almost an execution, for nothing more than the world into which they'd been born.

Sometimes Carlisle walked the streets at night, just listening, watching. He learned more about the evil side of human nature then than he had ever known was possible to exist. And he could not step in and stop it. Never before had Carlisle had so much power to do good, and never before had he had such limits on his ability to use it.

He used to think that he was a monster. But the longer he stayed on earth, the more he realized that there were human monsters far worse than he was.

But Carlisle knew that he could do no less than what he was doing. One person might not make much of a difference, but it would have to be enough. And maybe he could make something happen, over time. He wouldn't try to save the world. He couldn't. But maybe he could just start by saving one life at a time.

He dusted his hands off, and began to search for more people who needed his helping hand, even if it was only to lead them to death. Because each person mattered. He smiled. Maybe that's why he wasn't able to sleep. So he could do this. Even as useless as he felt, there was a purpose, and he would follow through it. Maybe this was his redemption.

AN- I wrote this after Natalie Grant came to my school and spoke about Human Trafficking. Slavery exists, even today, and even in the USA. I could give you more information on it, if you'd like.

And sometimes I feel as useless as a broke college student can. And then I thought maybe Carlisle would have struggled with the same kinds of things on the streets of London, when he could see so much that he could change, but wasn't able to.

Please review! Even if it's to flame, I would still appreciate it. I might delete this if I don't get any positive responses, so if you do, by some miracle, like it, let me know.