A single puff of smoke leaves a pair of bite marked lips. Orange eyes stare absently out into the pale frozen wasteland that extends to the horizon. White snowflakes fall onto the once vibrant green ground. Gone are the once mesmerizing flowers that littered the ground, replaced by a single bush of blood-red roses. Orange eyes flick up into the damning ash grey sky. The owner of the orange eyes lets her long fingers flick her cigarette, scattering grey ash on the once clean snow beneath the balcony. Her elbows lean against the balcony bar, while her uncovered midsection grazes against the cold unforgiving metal of the bar. Her dark brown hair hovers just above her broad shoulders. Her frame of 6"1 awkwardly drapes itself on the balcony bar trying to find a comfortable position. Her tall frame is dangerously slim, her ribs sticking out at small degrees. The base of her neck is hidden with a black cloth choker adorned with a small purple triangle, a white zigzag in the middle. A quiet sigh escapes her bright red lips. A single drop of blood falls from her nose. A quiet curse stains her lips.
"Shit. What's up with the nosebleeds Loralie. Tch,", Loralie quietly mutters to herself.
Her orange eyes shut as she tilts her head back. Heading inside Loralie grabs a tissue allowing the blood to stain it. Her black underwear does nothing to stop the heat from leaving her deprived body. Giving a quiet huff Loralie spends the next hour cleaning herself up before her client gets to her dingy, grime covered, dimly lit apartment. Each ticking minute getting closer to her inevitable meeting. A meeting that she dreads with a deadly passion.
"Oooh
Lovely bottle caps tipped back
Strange men with heartless glares
Pretty scents and melting wax
Trying too hard gotta keep on track
But I'm going down like a sinking ship
Come on lets ditch this town
Oooh oh oooh oh
I'm trying so damn hard
Keeping my hat on with my guitar strapped to my back
Goddamn fuck you, I don't give a shit
Just doing my thing, with my kickstand flips
I'm trying so damn hard
Keeping my hat on with my guitar strapped to my back
Goddamn fuck you, I don't give a shit
Just doing my thing with my kickstand flips", a pretty voice sang, ringing throughout the quiet atmosphere. The ground was covered in a layer of sparkling white powder made of the finest water. Beautiful ice crystals clung to different buildings giving a unique light show with each hour that passed. A visible breath passed through the air as clean lungs worked to keep a soft soul alive. Bright blue eyes glance into the sky as Converse-clad feet walk to an inaudible beat. The cold wind nips at the cheeks and nose of the blue-eyed boy, turning his nose and cheeks a flushed pink. The tips of his ears glowing a brighter pink. His chapped lips get soothed with a swipe of his tongue. His blonde hair is ruffled by his pale, slightly shaky hand. Putting his hand in his pocket he removes a piece of pink bubblegum. Popping it into his mouth he quietly relishes in the sensation of chewing the sweet tasting gum, before blowing a pale pink bubble. The boy let's the bubble pop, before repeating the process. A soft pop tune stuck in his throat as he gently treads on the shimmering glittery powder that litters the floor. His blue jeans lay snug against his skin. A large baby blue sweater engulfs his thin frame of 5"7. A black overcoat traps in any heat his body might've lost. His phone rings playing a bright catchy bop. A smile plays at his lips as he answers the call. His bright blue eyes brighten before dimming slightly.
"I'm sorry, Clay, but I think that we should break up."
"Yeah, no it's fine. I understand," Clay says forcing a laugh past his lips,"I hope that your life goes great."
"Thanks Clay. Seriously though, I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine. Goodbye Triste."
"Goodbye Clay."
The receiver cuts off. Clay's smile falters and a stream of tears fall down his wind-bitten face. A keening sound comes from the back of his throat. Slowly his body lowers itself to the ground. His knees are bent holding the rest of his body up as Clay starts to crack and slowly fall apart.
The client was gone. Loralie got up from the bed, she felt dirty, no filthy. Every minute spent with the client was shit. The client this time was female. She was a bitch. Loralie honestly wanted to commit suicide by the end of the hour. Her orange eyes were dim, fading quicker as time ticked on. Loralie was seriously considering quitting this crummy job, but then she remembered the cost of her hormones. 'Damnit', she thought,'I wish I had been born a girl naturally.' Her hand gripped the black sheets angrily. She felt numb. She couldn't decide if she was dead or alive yet, she felt as if she were both. She may still be breathing, but inside she was already dead or at least dying. Loralie couldn't help the mild anger that flooded her system. Nothing seemed better than having a fag right now. Loralie stepped outside, a smile gracing her lips, but not quite reaching her eyes. Placing a cancer stick between her lips Loralie grabs her lighter. Cupping her hands around the condensed package of fire Loralie lights the poisonous tar trap and inhales the man-made chemicals. Her lungs shrivel before filling back out to their normal shape. Her orange eyes scan the terrain before bouncing back to a hunched over figure resting on the ground. All Loralie could see was pale blonde hair, converse, and a black coat. Soft sobbing sounds come from the figure. Loralie's heart does a weird flip and her stomach clenches uncomfortably. Loralie considers going to comfort the broken looking figure, but right before she decides the figure gets up. Brushing off the snow that fell on them, the figure moves away from that spot and Loralie. Loralie watches the blonde figure move away, regretting letting that figure slip from her grasp.
