The Death of a King

Chapter 3

Morning - 4:02 - Jax Dean

Breathing in the frigid air, my breaths escape my lungs like clouds of smoke and dissipate into the blustery wind. My trembling hands grasp the sides of my thin, well-worn coat trying to pull the thin fabric closer to my body, and shivers travel throughout my petite frame chilling me to the bone. Delicate snowflakes descend from the sky landing on the snow covered city creating an image one would usually only see in pictures. Moments like this are my only source of happiness anymore. Most wouldn’t find walking in these conditions every night as desirable as I, but when you’ve been stripped of everything you have ever dreamt of and loved, you begin to appreciate the most insignificant things in life as if they’re all you have left now. I used to be one of those people who didn’t take the time to acknowledge everything that I had and what I had access to. I used to have the freedom to be my own person, but now, the Jax I was five years ago isn’t the same Jax I am today. And on nights like these I stare at the same stars I did on that night, but now, they mean something entirely different. Instead, the stars are a bitter reminder of how much of a prison reality is as the definition of you is locked up in these cells formed by society and the trauma we experience in our lives. And while I feel so alive as the cold wind crashes against my skin, and the deep snow fills the bottom of my worn converse, I know this feeling will only last so long before my walls begin to close in and my heart will start pounding like a thousand drums all at once. I walk closer to the entrance of my broken-down apartment, and I can feel the anxiety building up in my chest knowing that I will go inside only to repeat tomorrow everything I did today. I open the door to free myself from the blizzard outside only to greet the intoxicating odor of timeworn wooden floor boards and mildewed covered walls. My apartment isn’t the best place, but it’s all I can afford considering my circumstances. I creep up the stairs careful not to wake my neighbors, but each step brings on a loud creek that echos in the cramped stairway. We moved here around a year ago because even though I was working two jobs and trying to do whatever else I could for money, I couldn’t afford the house payments, and eventually we were evicted. Here was the cheapest place in Chicago, but here nothing’s cheap anymore, so it still manages to nearly empty my bank account every month. I fiddle with the keys in my pocket outside of my apartment, but my shivering hands make handling them nearly impossible. I can barely feel my fingertips causing the keys to slip from my grasp hitting the floor with an echoing clink. I wince and squeeze my eyes shut listening for any sound of my neighbors waking up. It wouldn’t be the first time I have woken one of them up at four in the morning, and I honestly do not want to get lectured all over again. I retrieve my keys from the floor only to nearly drop them again when a voice startles me.

“Have you forgotten how to use your hands?” A sarcastic voice asks, and I sigh in relief realizing that it’s only my neighbor, Cody. He lived here when we moved in, and at first I was wary of him because of his sarcastic attitude, but he ended up being a real nice guy. He’s aspiring to become writer, and is only living in this lousy apartment building because he feels he needs to devote all of his time and  to his writing rather than having a nice apartment. When he told me that a few months back I couldn’t help but stare at him dumbfounded, but then he confessed he also had a “minor” addiction to video games which didn’t help the finances. I haven’t quite figured out what kind of job he has outside of writing and video gaming, but occasionally we play this game where I have to try and guess what he does. I haven’t had much luck so far, but I’ll figure it out someday. It could be said that Cody was really my only friend, but it’s pretty much a one sided friendship. I haven’t really told him anything about myself, while I feel I could write an entire story about him. I stare at him as he leans against the doorframe of his apartment; his arms folded across his chest and a cheeky smirk forming on his lips.