I grab my bag and gingerly, I walk down the hallway, careful not to wake my comatose mother, sprawled out on the sofa. I open the door of our tiny, apartment and step outside.
This isn't the first time I've snuck-out, It's basically a daily activity for me. Besides it's not like anyone's going to care if I'm gone, I only live with my mom and she's always drunk anyways.
As I walk, I drag my feet and kick rocks down the sidewalk. The wind picks up and my dark, hair is blown away from my face, revealing ghostly pale skin. I put my hood up. If anyone from my school were to recognize me, I'd probably get jumped or stabbed.
You can probably tell by now, that I'm not exactly your average fourteen year old kid.
I continue to walk along the side of the street, staring at the ground and trying to keep a low profile, when all of a sudden, someone bumps into me and I fall to the ground. I look up and standing above me is a middle aged, obese, greasy haired, man wearing a white "I Heart NY" shirt and Bermuda shorts.
"Oh sorry." He says. He puts out his hand to help me up but I don't take it and I get up by myself. I walk away without saying anything.
After a few more minutes, I realize that the sun is starting to go down so I check my watch. 5:30. I start to walk a little bit faster as I only have another half hour to get to the subway.
No,no. I'm not running away. I just go there to hang out every Friday night at 6:00. Its pretty much the only place in the world where someone appreciates me and I have friends.
It still sounds weird saying it: I have friends. Its like some foreign object has entered my body and my brain can't process what to do with it. Should I poop it out or should I slowly, over time, let it tear up my intestines?
About another 20 minutes passes before I actually get there and when I finally do, I'm glad. A few minutes after the fat dude bumped into me I realized that he was actually following me. Creepy, I know.
I look behind me, half expecting to see the man still standing there, but I don't.
Feeling relieved, I walk over to a nearby man hole. I bend down and lift the lid off of it. I plant my feet on the first bar of the ladder and climb down. I've been coming here for about a month now but I'm still not sure how nobody ever sees me do this. I step off the ladder and my feet echo off the walls.
No,this is not the sewer. It is a sanctuary. This is a place for people like me. Every Friday night, we come here to express emotion and feeling through art. Well, actually, it's more like graffiti but who cares.
As I slip my bag off my back and take out multiple cans of spray paint, I see the regulars, Steven, Ross, Lara, and of course, Glenn.
Glenn has basically been my adoptive father since I started coming here. He's this big muscular guy in his mid 20's with short cropped hair. If you didn't know him you would probably be afraid of him but if you get to know him, he's actually just a big teddy bear.
"Hello Elise." He says as he hugs me tightly.
"Hey Glenn." I say breaking free from his arms, smiling.
I greet everybody else and then I get to work. I grab my cans of spray paint and walk to the nearest clear space on the walls. Then it begins.
I imagine I am part of what I am creating. As I stare at the dull gray wall, I pretend am standing in a dark, field with no escape. When the light brown shade of paint hits the wall, the tall grass separating me from the outside world turns to quicksand and I sink.
I spray a light coat of blue onto the wall. Then I am treading water. But I am slowly weakening and the water is pulling me under. Then I drown.
This goes on for a while until I am finished and the version of me that is trapped in the painting finally escapes.
I step back to examine what I have done. It's a landscape painting. There's a lake and a bridge. Across the horizon, trees can be seen. On the bridge, a little boy is sitting, watching the fish swim by.
Satisfied, I go to where Glenn is standing, to show him what I've done.
"Glenn," I say poking him in the small of his back. " I'm finished."
"Oh, great!" He says placing his spray cans on the ground. "Show me where it is."
I point my finger to where I was standing moments before and goes to inspect my painting.
I watch him. As his eye's grow big, I assume that he likes it. But a few moments later I realize that it's not due to my skill. For some strange reason, He starts to smell the walls of the sewer, which I could only imagine did not smell very good. His nose appears to be leading him to where I came in from.
"What is it Glenn?" Steven says backing away from what he's doing.
"I can't tell...but it's not good."
YOU ARE READING
Failed Attempts
Fanfiction*This is going to be part of a fanfiction writing competition between Walkingtobooks, Futurecatlady43 and I so follow them and vote for your favourite* This is going to be a HoO fanfiction told from the point of view of two demigods from CHB named...
