realities desperation | ✫

three!

Today the train was full, and its rattling kept me sane, at seven in the morning. Until a whistle calls and my head perks up, in desperation.

Of something.

Of a red jacket and a baseball cap, yet he's there and his grin is evident in the sparking lights that never were redeemed as safe. "Morning Sweetheart!" The blonde saluted, and I only sigh, watching as the officer ran past him.

Was that it now? Was 'Goody-Two shoe' gone so quickly that I was now fucking Sweetheart?

I was about to projectile vomit all over the man in front of me's polished leather boots. Doc Martens, i'd take a wild guess from the yellow stitching.

The train screeches to a stop, and I take my leave, pushing my way through the people, through endeavouring students of NYU, and maybe that could be my life.

I though the seven o' clock train was always, empty? Not empty, nothing in New York is empty.

I'm shoved into a moment later, peering at eyes of bottle green, of forest green. Theres a spark in them, that ignites fires that reaches and brews like a storm. 

Holy fuck you've got to be kidding me, I thought I got rid of you.

"We meet once again." Dream smirks, holding me close. Why are you holding me. Not a question.

"Good morning to you too." I finally reply with, and Dream laughs. "Wanna be my ride or die?"

That sounds like the worst thing ever. Never will I risk my life for you, never will I trust you. Frankly, you and I should not associate, nor should we speak again. Fair? I think so too.

"I'm not running through Manhattan in order to get away from a cop."

The whistle blows again, and the officer starts running towards us, "Well shit, sorry, you're gonna have to!" Dream grins, taking y wrist and pulling me along. 

Are you actually, fucking, kidding me.

We bump into drunks, who gawk at tits, theres a guy with a ukulele on the stairs going up to the surface. To the streets that are painted yellow with taxi cabs, and dull greys.

"Just to make things clear! I am not your 'ride or die'!" I shout, the message was clear, and... and Dream did not get the message, only looked back at me, smirking and pulling down his baseball cap. Navy washed, or washed navy, I shook the thought away, I am not about to spend my time thinking about a fucking colour when i'm getting dragged along by a maniac student. The cap was dark blue washed, with the bold white letters, 'NYC' stitched in.

And the red jacket, he hadn't actually worn today. And instead it was the same black and white letterman, worn with the usual uniform our school enlisted for us. Ugly ass uniform, although i'm thankful theres no colour in it. Unlike the stupid green and yellow uniform for the school in Brooklyn. Two chains rattled at his neck, tying him down like ropes. 

"Is he still behind us?" He asks me, why can't he check?

"Who?"

"Sam!" Oh the officer, I forgot we were in the middle of a fucking cop chase.

"I don't know!" I retorted, and a whistle blows again.

That answers your question. Idiot. 

"Okay through here." Dream laughs, and he slips us into an alley. The streets of Manhattan are busy, theres brilliancy in the dull worlds that call themselves this city, of this state. And it is me and Dream, two teenage boys who have already missed twenty minutes of school as we run through broken shards of life, and finally, their world quietens down a little.