A new story in every chapter.
The Reveries I Keep is a collection of one shot stories from contests I participate in, written under different genres. Set in different places and different time periods, this collection will take you on a whirlwind of...
¡Ay! Esta imagen no sigue nuestras pautas de contenido. Para continuar la publicación, intente quitarla o subir otra.
Prompt: "I'm not a thief. I'm just good at acquiring things that aren't mine."
•
I sit down on the only couch in the small living room, its cushions hopelessly sagging with decades of use. This has been here before I moved in this place three weeks ago. All of the furniture in this place, actually. There were even clothes in the cabinet in the bedroom ranging from crop tops to dress shirts. I didn't even try them on though, I'm not that desperate. It's not something to feel sorry for anyway; they're yellowish and smell like dust and old sweat. I left them in the cabinet and decided to keep my own clothes in my duffle bag.
Now, I try to focus on the TV. It's showing a sitcom, and the recorded laughter errupts every now and then. The jokes aren't even funny to say the least. Peeling my eyes off the TV, I sigh as I look out of the window overlooking the drab buildings and littered alleyways. In between buildings, clothes like flags waving in the wind are hanging on dozens of clotheslines. It's not the best view in the city, that's a given. But it's a better alternative than spending my nights beside dumpsters or on the steps outside grocery stores like a homeless person. And I almost became one.
"Breaking News!" The TV booms suddenly that it makes me look at it again. It's flashing red and white colors then the profile of a man in suit and tie, his face rigid. He starts reporting, his deep voice filling the small living room of my apartment unit.
"This just in, a body was found in an alley along 18th Avenue. A clerk of a grocery store supposed to have found the body while throwing out the trash. It was wrapped tight in a black garbage bag and thrown in a dumpster."
They proceed to show a clip of a police officer. Microphones, phones, and cameras surround her as she speaks, "We have identified the victim as Kayleigh Mendoza who was reported as missing a day ago. As of now, we have no leads, but we are working on this-"
I stand up and turn off the TV. I try go get rid of the goosebumps on my arms by rubbing my hands over it. 18th Avenue is near this apartment where I stay. Who knows the truth how she ended up in that dumpster, but I'm convinced it's homicide. Was she killed in the same alley? Was her body just dumped there and she was actually killed someplace else? Was she abducted from her home and then killed? Questions like these keep coming, piling up in my head. With the possibilities being endless, it's not wise for me to take any chances.
I walk over to my apartment door and checked if it's locked and it is, but I don't feel any safer. The security's horrible in this place, plus there's the mysterious tenants, broken door knobs and windows stuck half open.
I walk up to the fridge, getting hungry. It's already nightfall but I had my last meal earlier this morning at 11:30 or so. Opening it, cold air greets me as well as empty refrigerator trays. No food is in sight.
I curse as I slam the door shut angrily. Stomach grumbling, I walk over to the only table in the center of the room where I left my wallet.
