The Unnatural Disasters

1, p1. All the reasons not to trust strange women: Copycat

Copycat

Alas, it is soup.
I really shouldn't complain- I've been given more kindness and food at this homeless shelter than I could ever have had back on the street- but there is something rather soul-crushing about having that old soup of faceless charity thrust at you, again, by an uncaring do-gooder. Their horribly condescending eyes, determined not to meet mine, and my eyes determined to meet theirs. Oh, and the random homeless man I've been copying has a rather detailed knowledge of stock trading, something that speaks volumes without saying a single word.

It is all far too normal, this simple world of lentils and sleeping bags. It puts me on edge. Where's the drama? The fights? I am presumably the oddest being here, and that is a terrible feeling. I like the gentle crush of people, though. I missed people.

I don't have any of them, not anymore.

I sigh. There isn't a single thing to do here, other than drink my disappointment soup and rifle through somebody else's stock knowledge. The good news is, I don't have to wait for long for something to arrive.
Because that was the moment when a random woman decided to sit herself down at my table.

The woman is plump, middle-aged, and utterly out of sorts with everyone else here. I am also out of sorts with everyone else here, mainly because thirteen-year-olds don't tend to visit soup kitchens. But I don't look like that right now, nor do I feel like it, so I assume I am safe. It's probably just one of the do gooders. Yes, that'll be it. Itching for a lonely person to talk to, yearning for something good to show off. But she looks at me. Smiles.
"Hello, Coral," she says.
And yes. Then I drop my soup in my lap.

My mind is racing. Not in the clean way minds really should do, in the manner of thoughts running a marathon. No. My mind is racing, racing in the same way a person might when running from a large, angry swarm of bees. How did she know my name? Could she be an assassin of some kind? Was she sent by them? Am I about to die? Is this it?
No. They were stuck, imprisoned, right? Right?

My thought process is very suddenly interrupted by my small, and largely ignored, conscience. Wait.
From her perspective, I wasn't, necessarily, me.

"Coral?" I question in my best I-don't-know-you-lady voice. "Who's that? I don't know them!"

You would think, by now, I would be better at acting.

The woman laughed. It is a remarkably nice laugh, the sort befitting of a kindly mother. Not really that of a serial killer. However- I, of all people should know how deceiving appearances can be. Who knows! Maybe that's her entire gimmick. Lulls people into a false sense of maternal security, then stabs them with a pair of knitting needles. I don't know! I'm panicking!

But she smiles her kindly smile once more, and beckons for me to come with her. So, for some reason, I do.

Before I know it I'm standing with her, in the alley outside the shelter.
"Good place," I comment. "Nobody else here, quiet, secluded..."
She murmured in agreement.
"Look. if you're planning to kill me, just do it already."
"What?"
"Might as well start," I said, shifting back. God. Feels divine. Shifting back to my actual body, for those who don't know the experience, feels rather like having a shower after rolling in muck all day. Only issue is, considering the fact that I had just turned into a 13 year old boy, I had lost any height advantage against the woman.
She looked taken aback. Fair enough, considering that seeing me rearrange my entire body structure is hardly fun. But it feels good; one-upping the woman who apparently knows everything. After taking a few moments to regain her composure, she speaks.
"I'm not planning to kill you, kid."
"Oh, thank someone for that," I say, rubbing my temples, "it's been a long day." It takes a few moments for the words to properly sink in.
"So- wait. Why are you here?"
The woman's eyes flash.
"I want to make a proposition."