Theft of a Life

Ch1

This is probably my least favorite place to stay, but it works, and it's not a shelter. The bar is essentially on the ground.

I slip around back for the employee entrance and try the door. The knob jiggles slightly in my hand, but won't turn.

Alrighty, then.

I close my eyes and try to remember every detail of the other side of this wall. The ugly carpet, ancient lights, how it always smells like stale chlorine; and then I put myself there. I open my eyes inside the building with a cloud of purple smoke dissipating around myself. I exhale a sigh of relief- if I misremember something I'm as likely to reach my destination as I am to end up on the other side of the planet.

I puff in and out of the hallways, listening at different doors and avoiding staff. They've already seen me twice in two months- no need to make it a third time.

Finally I come to a room that seems empty, but I haven't been in it before, so I have to pick the lock. I glance up and down the hallway before flopping my bag onto the floor and dig through for a familiar, unsuspecting canvas bag. I grin to myself and pick out the right size tension wrench and an average pick before feeling for the pins. This was something I picked up pretty early on. Five pins. Simple enough.

With my eyes closed I hold my tension and work my way through the tumblers, making quick work of their flimsy locks. By the time I've turned the lock I've made enough noise that anyone inside should have heard, so I'm fairly confident that there's no one home. I pack my bag again and creep into the room. No shoes, bag, or garbage. Excellent.

Once the DND sign is on the doorknob I flop onto the couch and peel off my boots. Finally! I fish my last granola bar out of my bag and review the events of the day.

Four successful targets. Beat up some random guy. Broke into the hotel room. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me of something else- oh, yeah, burnt six hours in the library again. Six hours could have been another $300. So stupid. I could be in a hotel I'm supposed to be in, maybe one that doesn't smell like stale hot dog water. Idiotic!

My eyes start to burn. This is life. Once again, I'm out of options. Homeless, reduced to pickpocketing; hell, I don't even know my real name! It's a fricking miracle I've avoided social workers this long, and that is absolutely pathetic. I can't go to school, I own exactly 7 articles of clothing, and I steal as much food as I buy. It's lovely.

I blink furiously and fly up from the couch, burning through pushups. Can't think when my muscles burn.

Up, down, up, down. 10. Up, down, up, down. 20. Up, down, up, down. 30. Up, down- straighten out- up, down. 40.

Okay. I sink back onto the floor, the carpet coarse on my skin. Get yourself together. I need to eat. And I smell like alley. I take my bag and dump the contents on the bed, picking through it for clothes and my expensive soap.

I fill up the tub and add my clothes, then the soap, swishing them around together. The cold tile against my skin gives me goosebumps. I sigh and wring out my clothes before setting them down in the water again, leaving to get dressed.

Scattered memories and moments of confusion flood me as I get dressed. This is the shirt I woke up in. Plain grey, ¾ sleeves. A neat pocket on the front breast. I grind my teeth and force myself to ignore it. It's not relevant.

I put my mostly-empty bag back on and port back out of the building, right outside the employee entrance. There's a gas station around the corner- I'll get dinner there, and when I pack up in the morning I'll walk downtown to the actual store, get some real food for breakfast.