PLASTIC FLOWERS ( k. bakugou )

chapter 03

trigger warning: sexual assault

' curriculum vitae. '

━━━━━

She needed a saviour, a helping hand, a saving grace, but in the worst of environments where the youth grew, salvation was impossible. 

The youth knew that for a fact and yet, she hadn't learned her lesson. She hadn't stopped believing. She wanted to bring ruination to those around her, level cities to bring fairness. Justice she had been denied ever since her jealous parents threw her to the wolves and let her scavenge for food.

She was just eight— ninety six months, approximately two thousand nine hundred twenty days, seventy thousand and eighty hours. Just a short time in this world full of transients and void of constants that tethered humanity to this living world forever.

Her eyes, two pools of red that would have been mistaken for dozens of rubies once upon a time. When they weren't jaded, defiled by hope and two cruel parents with two sets of eyes and one mouth for each. She was human like them— two eyes, one nose, one mouth, two barely discernible eyebrows and almost thousands of strands of hair.

The world was cruel. And in this bleak town, existing for hundreds of days and a population of thirteen thousand two hundred forty seven legally registered humans, she was feeling death crawl up on her skin. (The youth wasn't part of that legally registered number for the populace.)

She sees one, two, three, four, five clouds up above the sky, dark and grey and she can feel them covering the sun and she huddles closer to the pavement for warmth, aware of the upcoming rainfall. The thin fabrics she calls clothes are punctured with wholes and embellished with scraps, she can feel its end coming and she's aware that she will die of cold if she doesn't find new ones.

Hopefully, pants with less holes this time and fabrics more susceptible to warmth and sturdier under rain. She stands up, hunched as she walks past vendors to find a clothing store still open at five o'clock in the afternoon.

It's a strange town and the store clerks are half sloth so they always close early, before four thirty to be precise— the youth is always precise.

She finds a clothing store, a thrift shop that sells hideous clothing only the most desperate would buy and the hippest kids would wear. But those with good fashion sense and the foxy body types would be able to pull it off. The youth belongs to the desperate section, but she's not here to buy.

She's here to steal. She doesn't use other words, she won't sugarcoat. She's a thief.

She catches sight of the store clerk, dozing on the counter with dribbles of saliva falling from her mouth. The youth has faced too many disgusting things to be even revolted. For goodness sake, her whole appearance would have made Eris— goddess of discord— step back and say, woah.

Shaking her head, she takes quiet steps towards the store. She's grateful for the lack of surveillance cameras and the moment she grabs the first piece of clothing— a top (green)— the store clerk shuffles on her seat. The youth would have swallowed bile in apprehension but her body is literally void of any provision so she swallows arid air and the faint scent of naptolenes. She grabs a pair of boots, faux leather with those feathers on the top and some pants.

A smile worms it way to her lips and the next thing she knows, someone has yelled and the store clerk is clutching a metallic bat and glaring daggers at her.