Golden

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

            “So how do you wanna do this?” I ask Quinn. We’re in an alley, full of dumpsters and foul smells. The building he’s leaning on (yeah, tryin’ to look all cool and stuff) has graffiti sprayed on in bright colors, being the only source of lights for what seems like miles. There are leaves on the ground, old and wet, and yet our greatest enemy- because when we step on them, they give us way. Just like that.

            “Hm?” He turns his head to look at me, and I roll my eyes. Because Quinn was in his own little Quinn world when I said it, and this is how he heard it- "blah blah blah wanna blah blah?"

            “I said,” I repeat, pushing to hold my ground, “how do you wanna do this?” He turns away, looking off into the distance. I’m starting to wonder what’s fascinating him so much that he can’t pay attention, or think of any sensible answers. It’s not as if there was a huge secret stash of blood bags in the direction he was looking, or anything. And as I peek my head over his ruffle of blond hair, all I can see is another wall covered in bright green shrubs, thickets, and overgrown weeds. They’re the weeds that look beautiful; the weeds that a toddler would think were flowers.

            “Nothing special this time,” he says, still not looking at me. “But next time.” You see, Quinn and I have different ways to hunt- sometimes we’ll do the norm, and other times we’ll do something special, just for our amusement. There was this one time a few years ago we wandered into an adult party and pretended we were lost. A couple grabbed us after and took us to a house. I remember the smell- putrid, fetid. It was obvious it wasn’t theirs, but we went along with it. They’d asked us our names, and I’d given them my real name, Isabel, while Quinn had simply said his.

            “Are you two siblings?” I don’t know why she’d asked us that- we looked nothing alike. The woman had long brunette hair and hazel eyes. Her long eye lashes batted against her porcelain skin when she spoke. The man had dark hair, a few notice strands of grey starting to grow towards the scalp. And his eyes, a bright yellow, the color of the sun of the hearth of a fire.

            “No,” I’d said. “Just friends.” Which was true- at the time.

            “Dating?” Quinn and I had blushed simultaneously, our cheeks rosy and bodies gaunt.

            “No. Just friends,” I repeated.

            “Well, how old are you?” This time it was the man that spoke, his heavy voice echoing against the strange house, his eyes fixed on a line in between Quinn and me.

            “We’re 10.” It was extremely unbelievable when I said that, because we were 13, and we looked 13. But they bought it.

            “Oh, wow,” the woman murmured. She flashed us a white toothed smile and pushed back a lock of her curly hair.

            It was all a blur from there, the memory I mean. But it seemed so recent.

            It’s a fresh breeze of wind that puts me back next to Quinn, inches apart, wisps of white escaping our lips at every word.

            “Got it.” I get a sudden whiff of garbage, and I want to vomit. What smells bad to a human smells horrible to us. “Gross,” I mumble, plugging my nose. Quinn flashes a small grin.

            “So let’s go.” I don’t respond. Something’s not right. Quinn starts to move, but I stop him- I hear something far in the distance- a few people running, a shout.