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The boy and girl - one willowy, the other petite; one dark-skinned, the other light; the both of them dressed in midnight-black hoodies - make their way toward an abandoned school; armed with cans of spray paint and a bottle of whiskey; a deep crimson aura about them all the while. The after-thought of a setting sun.
Society and their parents gave up on these youths a long time ago. So this has become one of the few ways in which they pass time; graffitiing and drinking in places once meant to save kids like them.
The pair climb over the broken fence of the has-been primary school, walk through dead leaves on the worn concrete, into the utterly neglected building.
The hallways echo with the memories of children who have come and gone, the darkness an accomplice to the two teens as they walk amid it all. The girl leads and the boy follows, their senses enough to guide them through all this tangible black.
The girl slips into the first room that invites her. The boy doing the same after a moment of unsureness - his movements less fluid than hers.
The room, like the hallways is dark, though the light from an outside street-lamp and a blood red sky that drips into the room is enough to illuminate, what used to be, an after school club. An after school club, that once, was if not beloved, then a safe haven for a select few.
That it is no longer.
The walls' paint cracks; a mirror image of the hearts of the youths who stand before it. The floorboards bare bruise marks; trophies, from table legs that have scratched its surface and pupils who injured it whilst also injuring themselves. The desks and the chairs layered with dust; a skin they cannot shed. The seats no longer occupied by children, but instead by their juvenile spirits.
In other words, the room is thick with the scent of false nostalgia. These youths can smell it, but they do not know where it comes from. The room does, though. It remembers a time before this when it was once occupied by children not too different from the ones who fill it now. Only, back then, there were three of them - not two.
A trio of children as sad and as broken as one another, each in search of a place to call home.
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literally making no changes. but the wattys has bullshit dates and I'll be damned if this story isn't entered.
