Our Lives Are Too Short (Levi Ackerman)

Chapter One

"It's not so bad."

That's what I tell myself every morning, my own mantra of sorts.. 

“It's not so bad.”

“You get used to it.”

But who am I fooling? I hate it down here.

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A small shed sits between two eroded brick buildings, small and miserable. The windows have been long since boarded shut by past occupants. The front door, which used to be a vermillion red, is peeling and ruby brown with age. The bottom right corner is riddled with obvious dents and scuff marks the shape of footprints. It wasn't much, but it was home.

"Hey, where were you? Carlos gave us another job." Caileigh says after Alex kicks open the door. It sticks on rusty hinges.

Alex shrugs and lies easily, "I was out."

Cail looks at her with skeptical hazel eyes, following Alex's form until she reaches her own little corner of the shed. The floor creaks and groans at the added weight. Cail knows nagging Alex will get her nowhere so she turns back around to finish oiling her ODM gear. Alex knows Cail would heavily disapprove if she learns Alex is fighting again.

"Where's Oliver?" Alex asks while rummaging in her sack for some shorts. Managing to find a brown pair, they used to be beige, Alex turns to Cail. Just as she opens her mouth to respond, Oliver's 6'2" frame bursts through the door holding a small loaf of bread. He gets a total of 30 seconds before both Cail and Alex crowd the lean, dark-skinned man. 

"Is that what I think it is?" Cail asks, practically salivating at the sight of the bread.

"Here, now will you stop being a menace?" He asks while splitting the loaf into thirds. They savor the stale, moldy pieces as it was the first thing they've eaten in days. 

"Mm-hank youhh" Alex muffles through the crunchy pieces of the bread. Oliver nods in acknowledgement, 'mhm' and begins unbuckling his gear, holding his bread between his teeth.

"Where did you find this?" Cail asks, amazement sparkling in her voice. Oliver sets the heavy metal contraptions down with a sign of relief, unwrapping the fabric holding his shoulder length locs so they can fall clumsily in front of his eyes. He sighs in relief and sits on the rotted floor while messaging his scalp.

"You know that old man Jenkins down the way?" He asks, brushing a heavy loc of hair over his shoulder. Both women nod, their mouths filled with another bite of bread.

"Well, I was passing by looking for something to snag and I heard some kids talking about him having a huge bag of it. Turns out that was a lie, but I did manage to find that small piece on him." 

Alex pulls a tattered shirt from her sack and tugs it over her head, tangling her thick curls in it in the process. 

"You didn't kill him did you?" Alex grunts as she wrestles with the clothing.

"Nah," he waves his hands. "He probably won't even remember what happened. Hit his head a little too hard" He says and looks through his own bag for a change of clothes.

After managing to wrangle her hip length hair free, Alex ties the curls up with a piece of twine she stole from a vendor earlier that day. 

"That's too bad. Someone that awful deserves to die" Cail says Alex nodding in agreement.

Alex's hands brush the dirty fabric wrapped around her torso. She peels the stripes of fabric away, and focuses on the large dark purple-green bruise that covers her side. A nice trophy from her fight a week ago. A few spots weep pus, the fabric having snagged on the still fresh scabs. While underground fighting is an easy income, the wounds are certainly a bitch to take care of.