Red Flags

Introduction

Smoke fills my vision as I exhale. Heat spreads against my back from the flames that burn behind me.

Yet somehow, it's the most quiet it's every been. The atmosphere around me reflecting exactly how I feel.

Calm

This is the most relaxed I've been in the past 5 years. Five fucking years of nothing but hell. Nothing but pain, torment and emptiness.

Now I'm finally free

I take a deep breath, somehow reminding myself that I'm alive.

I shouldn't be

The cold breeze causes little ache to the cuts and bruises along my skin

I take the bloody cigarette from my mouth, exhale and take the moment in. I can't believe this is my life and as far as smoking, I really should fucking quit while I'm ahead

Looking down, I examine my hands. My palms are red and scratched all over. My knuckles are bloody, missing some skin and I have fucking hang nail. That shit might hurt worst of all.

Looking at the rest of my body, I notice my jump suit has red splotches all over. There's a toe hanging out of my shoe. My wife beater looks pale pink and there's a cut so bad on my stomach, I think I'm missing part of my tattoo

My body hurts to touch but that's to be expected since I had to fight my way out. I can just feel the bruise on my neck. Just like I can feel my head leaking.

Damn I fucked up

Finishing my cigarette and stomping it out, I start walking down the street.

It's still so quiet. Maybe that's because it's the crack of dawn. There's barely any cars out and people are in their homes. Well except the junkies, homeless, and a few gang bangers.

I tuck my hands in my pockets and look down. Not because I'm scared. Nah fuck that. I need to pay attention to the pressure I'm putting on the gravel under my feet. I also need to make sure I don't fuck up my loose toe.

The things you find on the ground around here, is enough to send the entire neighborhood to the hospital.

They never take care these parts of the city. Buildings look condemned, homes stay vacant and the people who do live here, look like they never recovered from the Great Depression

Unfortunately, it's the life we're use to. The life we get bashed and judged for but one thing I can say about my people, is that we know how to make a way out of no way. We may get hated for it but ask if we truly give a fuck. Because based off what I just did, the blood covering my clothes, the scratches from the event. I really don't but..

Did I mention that my body hurts?

I've been walking for about twenty minutes and this shit is becoming unbearable. Where the fuck am I going? Better yet, who the fuck is going to take me in, looking like this?

Maybe someone will have pity on me? Or maybe I could crash at the motel? They do have this unspoken don't ask, don't tell policy.

But where is the nearest motel?

Maybe a shower, smoke another cigarette to pass the time. Or something that else ease this ache

Yeah

I need that, a shower and to sleep for at least two days

A bright light flashes in my peripheral and I look up to see I stopped in front of the run down La Quinta

Fucking finally

I open the door and the receptionist looks at me like he saw Satan himself

I drop a rack on the counter

" I need a room"