The Plot Thickens

1

The sirens, shouts, and beeps of the city nearly drowned out the relentless beat of the rain.

The dark alley surrounding you was silent save for your echoing footsteps and the occasional cough of the homeless from a dark, side alley.

The water sank from the drainage pipes and leaked onto the cracked, discolored pavement, leaving your sneakers and backpack sopping. You were sore from martial arts, and all you wanted was to be engulfed by your bed.

"It rains so much here."

You uttered, the familiar sensation of pruney feet, and wet socks making your nose scrunch up in distaste.

"It's only nice two months in the year here, then five its raining cats and dogs and the other five it's freezing iron and pelting hale." You didn't like it here, not because of the weather, but the people in the city always made you feel small. Then you started taking self defense again, and felt a little better walking home late at night.

The bright billboards on the other side of the busy road seemed to mock your mood. One even had the audacity to have a smiling woman eating a burger saying:

'I'm loving it.'

Your stomach clenched in hunger at the sight of the food. You hadn't eaten since breakfast and were ready for some grub.

You turned on your heel letting out an annoyed huff through your nose and grinding your teeth. You really had made a horrible decision not to eat lunch.

Walking back you tried not to kick any trash cans with a passion that would have thrown them across the alleyway with clangs and clatters. You did your best but hardly succeeded, anger was making your blood boil. Today had been frustrating; you had gotten into a fight at school, got detention, missed your assisting job at the studio and forgot your binder with all of your final homework assignments the evil teachers had assigned. You were so bone tired and angry at the world. Not to mention there was a lot of drama going around with your friend group.

You finally decided that it wouldn't do any harm to kick a beer bottle across the ally. The satisfying noise of it skidding across the pavement and shattering made you calm down.

You arrived at the sanctuary of your apartment building. It was an old red brick building that looked and smelled like the Great Depression.

Inserting your keys, opening the door and, taking out a pack of peppermint gum, you shoved the key into the door, in the same moment you stuffed the gum in your mouth. The door creaked open and presented the rotting, carpeted, staires.

The stairs leading to your fifth floor apartment were dreary as ever.

As was the hallway leading to your door.

And the living room behind the door. And the kitchen that was apart of the living room. And let's not forget the hallway and room behind the kitchen. You walked in, kicking your soaked sneakers to the floor and hanging up your brown sweater on the hanger next to your foster backpack. Nothing ever changed. And when it did, it was always expected. New house, new eviction notice, new warrant for arrest, new parents. It was always something. But nothing new, nothing unrelated to being a foster kid at least. Luckily. You turned away from the part of your dark mind that wanted to take over.

"I'm back!"

You shouted to the quiet house, tossing your soaking backpack and shoes next to the couch. You made your way to the kitchen opening the ancient fridge that smelled of dust, ancient mold and something you liked to call disgusting! You rummaged through the fridge, finding a hard boiled egg and some minced, baked chicken from last night's fajitas and tamiles (your foster family were pro's at making delicious dishes, to the point where you wanted to start a religion about their greatness). The egg was already shelled, so you hurried and took a handful of the minced chicken, shoving the egg in your mouth as you walked back to the couch with a handful of baked chicken.