As the school day dragged on, hours ticked by like days. When the bell rang, my enthusiasm peaked. I sprinted out the door, starting my 3-day hiatus and expedition to retrieve the RFL unit My trusty wagon, with its faded blue paint and squeaky wheel, waited patiently by the door, packed with snacks, water, For a fleeting moment, doubt crept in—was this journey worth it? But the warm sunlight and crisp autumn breeze, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and freshly cut grass, reassured me. The universe seemed to whisper, You’re making the right choice.
As I walked, the familiar skyline slowly disappeared into the distance. The tall buildings seemed to touch the sky, their peaks shrouded in a misty haze. The wind rustled through the air, weaving a symphony of car horns and birdsong that transported me to a moment of introspection. Memories of my parents’ divorce and the pain, fear, and separation resurfaced. I remembered watching my family being torn apart by words. My dad’s face, etched with worry and sadness, flashed before my eyes. The endless nights of crying, feeling lost and alone, repeated like a broken record. My heart felt heavy, but the prospect of saving the RFL unit or saving someone from a broken life reignited my determination.
As the sun set, casting a warm orange glow over the landscape, the streetlights flickered to life, illuminating the road ahead. A steep hill loomed before me, its peak shrouded in darkness. After hours of struggling, the recycling facility’s neon sign flickered into view, its red glow pulsing like a firefly in the night. Excitement propelled my legs forward, but as I drew near, a disturbing chill crept up my spine like a cold mist. A tall, slender man emerged from the doorway, his foot tapping impatiently on the ground, his eyes fixed on me with a gaze as piercing as a drill.
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His chest rose and fell with a slow breath, and then he spoke in a tone as gruff as sandpaper. Where’s my money? He growled, his voice like a snarl. My head jerked back in surprise, my eyes locked on his face, searching for a glimmer of empathy. But his expression was a mask of indifference, his features chiseled from granite.
Maybe he was just preoccupied, but his demeanor sent a shiver down my spine. I handed over the money, my fingers trembling like leaves, and he counted it with a slow, deliberate motion. When he finished, he pointed to the trash can with a dismissive flick of his wrist. She’s in the trash where she belongs, he sneered, his tone like a rusty gate. He walked back into the building; the door slammed shut behind him with a cold, emotionless slap, leaving me feeling like a discarded wrapper in the wind.