The immaculately folded sheets give me a sense of unease, don't want to be reminded of my nightmares any more than I can. I stay in the cheapest hotels I can find situated around the homeless kitchen, rotating between different hotels so that I don't get recognized, remembered.
I ruffle the bed as soon as I enter my abode for the night and hit the shower, making sure to soak as much as I can, washing off the street. I try to limit myself to one night a week with the cash I have remaining, unless something really makes me feel... grimy... and then I need it to just get a personal space to cry and bemoan my existence.
Every day I visit the homeless shelter in the afternoon for their lunch service. The family team is there most days and seem to dote on me a little. A young adult on the street, just skin and bones, I feel bad using their sympathies against them when there are so many mouths to feed, but it's all I can do to survive.
The young guy seems to have taken a liking to me, I can only guess they are around my age, it's hard to tell.
They are my height, although slim and slightly feminine, a dreamy sleepy look in their eyes. Every time I come through, they give me a big pitying smile and give me extra, I'm sure it's confronting seeing our two lives so differently, both on different sides of the fence.
They could have been me and I could have been them, although I doubt, I'd be helping in a homeless kitchen. It never seemed like my family's thing, or at least my town. I assume we would be still living in that dusty place, bullied and with no friends after she had left, looking to leave for university at this point, if... the town still existed.
While I'm eating, they've gone on break, sitting down next to me on the short stone wall opposite the kitchen. The chairs and table that are set up are too restrictive, hard to get up quickly if something goes wrong.
They love to talk about books and stories they read online, things they have played with their parents, some kind of roleplaying game they play together. I can only really sit in silence; I don't know what to say but they keep talking anyway. I try to nod and make affirming noises as much as I can, so they know I'm still listening, it's... comforting, hearing their voice.
They aren't judging me, just... speaking to me, not asking questions, not asking what I've been through, like some of the councilors that visit the homeless shelters. The world is already a fucked mess, I know that much, I've seen the videos on my scrounged half broken smartphone.
Some rich kid threw out their device without wiping it, all their 'home videos' were still on there. Those were deleted fast, as tempted as I was to try and blackmail them. I knew it was asking to get me killed, it was an easier world to die in now. Seeing their lifestyle disgusted me, but at least I got something out of it.
Some places had free network connections so I was able to see the world still, the mess that all the governments made out of an already horrible situation.
The politicians fighting each other to fuck over the common people, trying to put more people on the streets just to appease their already rich beneficiaries.
The 'success' of the moon base even after its use was made redundant by the earth not expiring. No one ever came back from the moon as far as I had known, Acropolis, the scum gods had just disappeared, at least I hope they never come back. A holy land for the rich, famous, powerful, and corrupt gone just like that. I'd seen some leaked pictures and videos, it wasn’t... human, that was before they stopped transmitting, I can only imagine how bad it had gotten in the end, when all the resources ran out, when the nuclear stations failed, when they started turning on each other. It was bad enough here on Earth with the governments gone and society having changed, just trying to survive was a miracle.
I've zoned out in peace, listening to that quiet attentive voice, broken out of it by them stopping talking and telling me they have to get back to helping, I nod and smile at them as best I can, it's hard to smile the way other people do, there's not much left to smile for.
…
The synthetic bowl fills up with some kind of corn and vegetable soup, the bread roll on top completes my lunch. The woman places a second bread roll on top, carefully moved so as to not dip into the liquid, something that I can save for later.
"I know you're not much of a talker, but if anything ever happens you can come here to talk to us, we've been seeing you for a good year now and our kid seems to be fond of you. I'm Amy and this is Peter, if you need to look into getting into any programs there's always help for younger people." She talks quietly as if I was a scared rabbit, ready to dash away at a moment's notice of danger, which was not entirely wrong... but I would fight back if cornered, I'd fought enough to survive, again and again in this world.
I smile weakly at the sentiment, I've been to those places, they expect too much of you, pushing you to try to be... human, I've been betrayed and broken too many times. I can't trust those places, the faces that look down on you like you're nothing, looking to just make some more credits off Sci-Axium without any actual effort being put in.
The thin young man looks back from the giant pot of food, on cooking duty today, and smiles at me, hopeful that I'll listen to their parents. No pity in their eyes, only a wish to help. They haven't been corrupted by the world, only seeing the good in people, their judgment is misplaced in me.
Leaving the kitchen, I pull my duffel bag over my shoulder, it's nearly time to get a room again, you can smell me at this point. Thankfully most of the hotels had their own laundry services so I could feel clean, at least for a few days.
The extra piece of bread gets shoved in my jacket pocket for dinner as I make my way back to my sleeping spot. It's been warm lately, so I haven’t had to cover myself with the ragged blanket I got from my first hotel. One of the cleaning ladies gave it to me, she said she would report it with wear and tear for disposal, it really was a life saver over the last year.
I only saw her one other time on my trip to that same hotel, being screamed at by management, racial slurs thrown this way and that, bringing so much anger into my chest as she took it just looking down, as I'm sure she had a hundred times before. She shook her head at me when I started approaching them. She was a spark of kindness in the world, being snuffed out by those wanting to be in control, willing to help a broken person. I would only make it worse by trying to help back, everyone is living in their own prison.
A lot of the homeless tried to use newspapers and magazines, they were hard to get as lots of places didn't print anymore, either due to use of electronic versions or that some of the factories had to shut down due to restriction on wood use. Lots of the oxygen production is being left to Sci-Axium bases to supplement the loss of many forests over time.
Usually we try to stay away from each other, having our 'designated' spots, which is why I am as surprised as I am. One of the older men, past their prime, is waiting for me, the sun casting a shadow over their squinting bloodshot eyes.
He must have been taking something bad for a while because his face is yellowed and drooling slightly, such fury in his eyes directed at me, wearing a battered and ripped old military uniform, a relic of years past.
The knife in their hand shows their intent, the spite in their voice radiating through the alleyway that I have made my home.
"GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING BAG YOU FUCKING SHIT!" They scream, spit spewing out of their mouth, flaked with blood, I can smell the iron in the air, they have already killed someone... recently.
Panic fills me, my fight or flight response kicks in, the kitchen isn't that far away. I could get there for help, but what if someone gets hurt, because of me, again, always because of me!
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
While my brain was trying to process frozen in action between help and help killing the people that save me every day. They lunge, surprised I drop my soup, a crooked sideways swing of the blade nearly hits me in the chest, instead slicing through my jacket, spilling the bread roll out of the pocket onto the floor, MY DINNER!
Instinctively I throw a punch at the hand with the knife like I was trained to do and it clatters across the ground, shocked they stumble back drunkenly looking to pick up the knife again.
I throw my duffel bag into the air and smash it down as hard as I can, hitting my assailant in the shoulder, I let go of it in the process, stumbling further off his footing he falls past the knife, quickly I move to grab the knife and hold it close to my chest defensively.
"You fucking piece of shit thinking your better than everyone! I’ve seen you enjoy all that extra food and going to the hotel every fucking week while we grovel in the fucking dirt! Give me your fucking shit! I NEED SOME FUCKING PEACE FOR ONCE! They can clean my body off the hotel floor once I'm done with it, I'M NOT GOING TO DIE IN THIS FILTH!"
They scream with all sensibilities abandoned, running at me he tries to grab the knife from my hands, we struggle and I fall backwards onto the concrete ground, my head smashing down as well. They follow me with such hatred in their eyes, I should die, to them I need to die, I need to be punished for trying to survive... I agree... but my body doesn't.
Their eyes glaze over, the triumphant wicked grin slowly leaves their face, replaced with a scared frown, we can both feel it, the life seeping out of their body as it slumps down on top of me, their full weight pressing down. The knife digging deeper into their chest, nicking their heart, the blood spurts out and down the knife, coating my body.
No please, please... Their dead eyes stare into my soul seeing all the bad I've done, all because of me. The hot blood soaking me endlessly.
I can hear the screaming voices down the white corridor as the doctor's eyes stare at me, dead and listless. Eyes sinking back into their skull as the red $*%($*@# grow out of them forming such a familiar shape, begging me to join them. It would be so easy to say yes, I could be free of this.
The voices are louder this time, judging, demanding to know what I've done! WHAT HAVE I DONE?! The dead corpse, my... victim, leans to the side and whispers its secrets into my ear.
The pressure on my stomach alleviates, has it finally sprouted?! The warm blood always makes it grow so fast out of my skin.
The sky becomes clear as it's pulled off me, it's hauled to the side, the knife comes out of my hands, but my hands don't move, still grasping at the space it occupied.
"Please... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." my muttering splutters as I realize that I'm sobbing, my brain hasn't connected fully to my body yet, petrified against the blood soaked ground, a whole body's worth of warm sticky liquid congealing on top of me.
The face of an angel hovers over me blocking the sun from hitting my stinging eyes, the light cascading through their light brown hair, their eyes red and scared, scared for me.
They sit down next to my side and move my head onto their lap, I plead silently, please dont dirty yourself with me, I'm filth, I should have died, not them.
Rubbing my head they move my hair out of my eyes, still petrified, my hands static, as if I was still holding the murder weapon, and it was murder this time, my brain can't deny it. I stabbed them, they can't just say it was an accident this time.
…
Wrapped in a few towels sitting next to my angel, I can't stop looking at my hands, they tried to get as much of the blood off as they could. But I can still feel it, under my fingernails, under my skin, it was always there waiting, none of it mine, soaked constantly with blood that’s not mine.
My angel is warm, and the only warmth I can't feel right now, the clothes I'm wearing are still cut up and soaked in blood. I can feel the growth has stopped, but it still gnaws at the back of my mind. It's always there, it's never going to leave me no matter how much they try to pull it out of me, will I too one day become perfection?...
They have their arm around my shoulder and are talking to me about their favorite novel, Gulliver's Travels, about how it's an allegory for exploring your life in the way you want despite the ups and downs. Are they talking about me or themselves?
Peter and Amy are talking to the police about the situation and the policeman eventually leaves, just another homeless person killed in self-defense... Not newsworthy, not worth their time at all, I never was.
They approach me and Amy crouches down to my level.
"The police aren't looking at doing anything here... We all saw it was self-defense and they don't have enough people to really do any paperwork right now, but they might want to talk to you later... so having you in a safe place that you can sleep, shower and be safe would be for the best... would you like to come home with us?... there's a spare room you can use for as long as you like"
My warmth leans into me further and pleads to go with them, I'm too numb to refuse, I need to get the blood off me before it starts growing again. I nod my head, I'm helped up by Amy and the Angel as I try to move with them as they lead the way, Peter has moved again and started up the car that I always see them arrive in.
As we settle in the car I realize I've dirtied the seat with dried blood from my clothes, I start to panic and I'm told it's okay, it won't be the first and won't be the last time the back seat gets dirtied, they often take care of the neighbors dogs.
The angel tells me their name... It feels... wrong. It doesn't suit them, but I guess mine doesn't either so I can't comment...
…
I fall asleep for a little bit in the warm shower, my bloody clothes getting wet on the floor from the splash back, I'm awoken by a voice assuring me that it's okay and some clothes are waiting for me by the door. A hand pushes them into a dry patch without looking past the door and it closes shut again.
Wearily I put on the clothes, they are a bit tight on my frame but the right length. I wait, doing my breathing exercises for a bit before I leave the bathroom. There's already food on the table waiting for me, pasta bake, it's the best thing I've ever tasted, it could use some more cheese...
The chair next to me is pulled out and I panic a little bit before that same voice calms me down again, it's them. I'm asked if I'm going to be okay sleeping in the room alone tonight, I can't feel it anymore... But I'm so cold, they look so warm, something alien to me, when I'm so dead inside.
I shake my head, they nod and show me their room, a real home, full of them and their lives, the pile of plushies pushed against the wall of the bed, books scatter along the floor, self-made bookmarks lovingly held inside them, bookshelves lining the walls, full to bursting. showing a life lived.
They get into bed in their pajamas and I lay on top of the covers, they are black and silver, covered in stars, cats and moths, our shoulders pressing slightly together, I'm not letting this warmth go.
As long as they don’t see what's growing inside me, like what became of all the rest, I can be safe, I must never let anyone in.
My duffel bag safely stashed under the bed within reaching distance.
I collapse into dreams of white and red, where I lived and died.