Colored Full Of Trauma (Freshly Started Revision)

New Study

An alarm beeps, glowing with flickers in the dark.
The demon being held in the bed next to it rolls over with an immense groan, shaking the earth around it as she slams her fist into the machine, knocking paintings off of the wall, and smashing windows onto the frightened pedestrians below. The monster is tamed, once my chilled feet make it into my pink, fuzzy slippers.

"Fine, I'll get up,"
I yawn.

Well, good morning gorgeous.
I announce to my mirrored self.

Oh, oh my. Good morning to you too, sweetheart.
I once again... say to myself.

Lonesome self-flattery is replaced by workouts and sizzling eggs in a skillet, bubbling the chicken infants as I add more water. I wipe beads of sweat away from my forehead with my aching arm, yet in contrast, my limbs feel more energetic than ever. After locking my door and stepping into the hall, a broom lay flat across the narrow pathway. Too many elderly live here to leave it that way. After it is set up, I go down.

The main metallic door clinks open with resistance from the wind, combining itself with the sun barely peaking its head out to merge into a chilly force to be reckoned with. But over the breeze, a man's voice reaches my ears. I follow the familiar noise,
Mr. Huy Huy, the landlord. And I've definitely heard that tone used before on those who've trashed his properties.

Closing in, I find him on the other side of the building, looking into the alleyway with his fist raised higher than his short stature.

"And what are you gonna do about it big guy, carry me out of here?" An unfamiliar voice scoffs.

"I'll call the authorities!"
His sharp accent pokes through, while the small flip phone rises to his ear.

"And how exactly,"
the stranger pauses,
"Are ya gonna do that?"

That's when I catch my first glimpse of him, towering over Mr. Huy as he snatches the phone, hoisting it above him like a child.

"Hey!"
I shout, stepping behind my landlord. I have a clear sight of him now. Every grain of stubble upon his chin, riding up his cheeks into the hairline in front of his ears. Ears, concealed by a yellow headband, with twice dirty blonde hair spiking up from it like an unkempt summer lawn. The man's jacket matches his headwear, stained just as much, with only the long sleeves parting into light grey down to his wrists. His eyes fail to meet mine as they wash over my puffed figure.

"Aw, you've got a bodyguard buddy, now I'm rootin' for ya. You two make such a cute du-" My knee interjects his slander, whilst therapeutically meeting his stomach. My fingers connect with the cell twice before I firmly grasp it, just in time to admire the man's backward stumble. It wasn't until now that I noticed a bottle of vodka in his right hand, the drained liquid splashing amidst the bottom as he gathers himself to full height.

"No nooo, wait,"
he presses his palm to the dusty brick wall, barely keeping himself from kissing it with his temple.
"Yeah, I might have to sit down."

Tumbling onto his arse with legs parted, the back of his head meets the rusted metal dumpster. I, I admittedly stand there for a moment... or two, before finally handing the phone back.

"Thank you, Zoey. Although I don't think I need it as much now." The old man leans down to grab a battered rug off of the alley floor, dirt hiding any hint of the original color.

"Now you, bastard. Get out of my alleyway now."
He honks, fanning the bum's entire body with the silt, inching closer by the second before making repeated contact. "Gooo. Shoe!"

Through the growing cloud, the man's demeanor doesn't grow, it doesn't understandably become hostile, and it doesn't even raise its head to look at Mr. Huy. His arm meets his headband, shielding from the musty rug as it keeps coming down on him. The bottle is only squeezed tighter between his legs before he finally raises his voice.