I loved her, even if she never knew my name. She was my Ariel, and I know I am her Eric.
No matter what she says.
#1 in short story on 02/07/18
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In front of me stood the warehouse. It was twice my height, with dusty windows that used to show workers packaging boxes meant to go out to a few clothes stores in a seventy-mile radius. The store moved out in 2011, and some lass bought it and turned it into a shelter.
I had been here once. My mother was worried about me and took me here to do community services. I passed out soup we no longer wanted, and while I was miserable at the time, I now am so thankful since it gave me an opportunity to memorize the layout.
Stepping in, I was hit with the odor of stale air. Dust covered most things, and it was evident that no one had cared about it since it was bought. There were a few spots where the floor was clearly visible, mostly footprints or what I could only assume were sleeping bags.
Apart from a few wooden chairs placed around the room, it was empty. This was a little shocking, but at the same time I was relieved. I'd rather not waste any sandwiches, thank you very much. Walking to the office, I opened my briefcase and moved everything off the clothes.
Looking back, I should have planted the clothes in the basement.
