8B2

Chapter 3

Spades -Past- 1212

The slums of Aforica were dark and wet. The streets were lined with popping bulbs and car alarms screeched in the distance. They weren't built up or technological like the city because the people who live here aren't worth it. We weren't smart enough for school, therefore we are not smart enough for this world. But we do what we do to survive, whether that be selling ourselves, our services, or our chemicals.

I'm just like all the people living here, trying to survive. But surviving is different than living. I've survived for many years but I haven't lived them. People have died so I could survive, I killed so she could survive. That's just how this works.

And it's a chain. I worked for her, she worked for him, he worked for them and they ran everything. But people like me, we're the bottom. We lick what we can off the floor.

I stood beneath the buzz of a white street light, the light shining off the water pooling between cracks in the asphalt down the road of little white and black houses. Chords looped from one roof to the next giving houses power. The wail of sirens and alarms hummed in the distance, the lights of Aforica and that tall glass building shined in the horizon.

I took a step, my patent leather combat boots splashing in the puddle. One was purple and one was blue, just like my hair which was split down the part in dutch braids. One was purple and one was blue. I especially liked these colors for many reasons.

One eye was shadowed in blue, the other purple. Little stars and spades were tattooed beneath my eyes and on my cheeks like freckles. I wore a purple shirt sliced in half, a leather jacket made from patches of my colors left open, the wet wind biting my stomach. Blue jean shorts, a gun tucked in the back pocket, and shimmering purple fishnets the same color of my lips.

I was staring at the little gray house in front of me, lights on in the living room. A patch of grass and three steps led to the front door, the house extending longer than what I could see from the street. I took a step across the street, my heart hammering with bloodlust and excitement. Now she would pay for everything she took from me, everything she made me do, everything she made me.

I slipped my long painted nails into my back pocket, fingers wrapping around the loaded gun. Another step across the street and I was on the little sidewalk before the yard. The TV was playing, she was home now. Another breath and I took a step up the first stair.

The channel switched. I exhaled, my dark eyes turning to the window. I could see the TV, images of couples smiling and kissing before it switched to a scene with guns going off. I flinched and took another step, resting my hand on the door handle. It was locked. Another step and I was just before the threshold of the closed door, hand still on the cold metal handle.

It wasn't going to open. I exhaled hard, my lips cracking open with a wild laugh. I pulled my gun out, loaded with four bullets, resting my finger on the purple painted trigger. I laughed again, the sound carrying through the streets, resting it over the lock of the door.

Then I pulled, the sound of the gunshot carrying through the streets. I slammed my body into the door, it swung open instantly. I was hit with the smell of artificial aromas, the ones that cling to everything after you took a hit once. Everything looked the same as it had when I lived here, although perhaps she cleaned the place up a little bit.

I couldn't smell or see anything illegal in sight and the coffee table that was always filled with bottles, needles, and pills was empty aside from a remote and pack of sticks, little robotic machines that filled your lungs with smoke and whatever else you added. Good to see there were some habits she couldn't break. The sofa was pushed against the wall, different than the one she had when I was here, although still as shitty looking.
And there she was on the sofa. Her hair was still bleached blonde, eyes piercing blue. Her feet were on the coffee table, toenails unkept and jagged. She wore ratty gray sweatpants with words on the side that were too faded for me to read. She was shirtless, just her gray sports bra. No eye makeup tonight, a black choker ringing her neck.