The Return
Sea-at-tel. It's been my home for so long that I'd nearly forgotten my old
home. And the home before that, to be honest. Life became eventful and joyous,
as best can be for a girl living in a cardboard city full of vagrants. My
circle of friends were those 'crazy people' on the bus, the bumps on the
sidewalk you remember long after your wallet was stolen, the dancing and
parties behind convenience stores where highschoolers would flock.
It was one of those days me and Jorge were leaning against a graffiti-covered
dumpster behind the Plaid Pantry smoking cigarettes. Jorge was the type of
guy that was always around, as if he had nothing better to do. He once got me
an ID card that said my name is Carmelita Gonzalez so I can legally buy booze
and cigarettes. That's what friends are for, right? It was in that moment when
Jorge was about to tell me some juicy gossip about Patrick that I got a
piercing headache. I pulled my dreadlocks out of my face, trying to get some
air, but this headache wasn't about to let go.
"Zeph, you alright?," Jorge asked, genuinely concerned.
"I don't know," I mustered. My eyes stopped focusing on everything but color.
Form, line, and definition disappeared. The scrawled graffiti on the dumpster
and brick held my attention, growing and morphing;
What once said "Ratz 4 Lif3" in a pleasant green paint seemed to morph into a
long snake, hovering, floating, and moving. The feeling was strange, a feeling
I had felt once before when a little green-eyed girl materialized before me
and spoke with my voice.
"No...," I whispered, "No."
Blinking hard, I tried to regain myself. I felt a clammy hand grasp my arm,
probably Jorge's, and concerned, direct words calling my name. A rush of what
sounded like trains bolted through my head, and when I opened my eyes, I was
no longer behind the Plaid Pantry, but in a solid box.
A glass box, with spiderweb cracks, and jagged shards protruding against my
skin.
I did what came natural, I screamed. I knew this place. It was a place I had
snuck into many years ago when I wasn't supposed to. A large refrigerator
took up a wall, the walls screamed of pain, and a shocked Zillah Grey blinked
at me.
home. And the home before that, to be honest. Life became eventful and joyous,
as best can be for a girl living in a cardboard city full of vagrants. My
circle of friends were those 'crazy people' on the bus, the bumps on the
sidewalk you remember long after your wallet was stolen, the dancing and
parties behind convenience stores where highschoolers would flock.
It was one of those days me and Jorge were leaning against a graffiti-covered
dumpster behind the Plaid Pantry smoking cigarettes. Jorge was the type of
guy that was always around, as if he had nothing better to do. He once got me
an ID card that said my name is Carmelita Gonzalez so I can legally buy booze
and cigarettes. That's what friends are for, right? It was in that moment when
Jorge was about to tell me some juicy gossip about Patrick that I got a
piercing headache. I pulled my dreadlocks out of my face, trying to get some
air, but this headache wasn't about to let go.
"Zeph, you alright?," Jorge asked, genuinely concerned.
"I don't know," I mustered. My eyes stopped focusing on everything but color.
Form, line, and definition disappeared. The scrawled graffiti on the dumpster
and brick held my attention, growing and morphing;
What once said "Ratz 4 Lif3" in a pleasant green paint seemed to morph into a
long snake, hovering, floating, and moving. The feeling was strange, a feeling
I had felt once before when a little green-eyed girl materialized before me
and spoke with my voice.
"No...," I whispered, "No."
Blinking hard, I tried to regain myself. I felt a clammy hand grasp my arm,
probably Jorge's, and concerned, direct words calling my name. A rush of what
sounded like trains bolted through my head, and when I opened my eyes, I was
no longer behind the Plaid Pantry, but in a solid box.
A glass box, with spiderweb cracks, and jagged shards protruding against my
skin.
I did what came natural, I screamed. I knew this place. It was a place I had
snuck into many years ago when I wasn't supposed to. A large refrigerator
took up a wall, the walls screamed of pain, and a shocked Zillah Grey blinked
at me.
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