MY DAY HAS BEEN rough. Tiring, to say the least. I've been running for what it feels like forever. And honestly, the adrenaline coursing through my veins still told me to run faster even though my knees started to tremble. Why? Oh I'll tell you why: it had been just another day for me in my usual activity. Today, however, I was very unlucky. I zigzagged through the labyrinthine alleys with no clear path. And trust me, it was the most annoying thing that's ever happened today. The thing is, Bowlcut almost caught me. Well... almost.
"Move!" I yelled at a random stranger who was currently blocking my way. I shoved him away, and down I ran.
I then found myself plunged into an ocean of people. The bustling crowd surged like a mixture of random voices and unfamiliar faces. Before I knew it, I was lost in the ocean of people. Annoyingly, The Blue Danube by Johann Strauss II was blasting in the background while the festivities continued. I swear, it has been played for the nth time already. I don't care if it's the town's founding anniversary. Honestly, I couldn't care less.
"Hey!" Bowlcut yelled, causing my reverie to be shattered.
"Shoot!" I yelped.
I looked back and saw him from a distance. His eyes were fuming in annoyance. Toothpick was there too. And if you're wondering, those weren't their real names. Bowlcut has this brownish 'coconut-husk' shaped hair and thick mustache with a big, bulging stomach. And Toothpick... well, let's just say he's like a walking stick.
My eyes widened upon seeing their stressed-out faces. I traversed away from them and began looking for a way out. Unfortunately for them, the mixture of strangers drowned them out—either that or they just gave up.
Am I in the clear? Is it okay to lower my guard? Is it over?
Breathing heavily, I turned to a hidden alley. With a mixture of delight and anxiety, I slowly unzipped the pinkish wallet I stole. It revealed countless pieces of cash tucked inside its slip-in pocket. The moment I took the money out, the classical music finally came to an end. Glistening cards and wads of cash greeted my sight. And for the first time today, this sly grin etched across my face.
For what it's worth, the government here always turns a blind eye to its citizens. I was not going to settle for a worthless life. I once tried applying for jobs that almost everyone else had applied for, but the low wage and overwork made me realize that the money wasn't enough.
"Two hundred," I counted. Not much. I closed the wallet, pocketed the money, and slowly walked away.
As I slowly exited through the dimly lit alley, the pounding inside my chest slowly calmed. The earlier rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins was inebriating. But honestly, I was used to this kind of situation: narrowly escaping Bowlcut and Toothpick everyday. Good thing Leo wasn't there too or else I would be more pissed. I mean, even when I was young, I was shoved into a world of survival. This is no longer new to me.
"Two hundred," I repeated as I continued walking. Not long after, I slowly reached the familiar entrance of my home. The worn-out paint and flickering lightbulbs greeted me with a weird feeling as I sighed at the sight outside of the porch.
"Life stinks, regardless of how much people try to romanticize it." I remembered my dad telling me this. Then my trance was broken when a slow creak snapped against our worn-out floor.
"Prim," a gruff voice crept out from behind, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "You're back."
The scent of dampness and deterioration hung in the air as I looked back. With a shaking hand, I twisted the knob of the creaky door and stepped into the dimly lit room. The musty smell of old fixtures and stale cigarette smoke hit my senses, causing me to crease my nose.
"Good evening," I said upon seeing him.
"Where have you been? Have you eaten?"
"Nope. I'm just out earlier. You know, strolling," I replied, casually avoiding more questions. Elliot then coughed as I headed towards the couch.
Elliot Hayes is quite stubborn, though. But I got used to it. And one thing: he stood as my adoptive father. But his presence in my life is more than just a father figure; he's like an unending reminder that despite the cruel reality, there're still plenty of kind people around who are ready to help you despite your flaws.
"I prepared some PB&J there if you want," he said, pointing at a covered plate on top of our table. "I made that earlier today, but you were gone, so I saved some for you."
"Have you eaten?" I asked as I removed my shoes.
"Yup. But I was worried you might be hungry," he said.
As I made my way towards the table, I couldn't help but stare at his worn face. It is sketched with deep lines and soft wrinkles. His eyes held a deeply felt sadness. Or was it stress? Anxiety? I can't tell. I just couldn't help but wonder whether he, too, carried the burden of the harsh realities and whether he, too, questioned his own existence.
I mean, I do.
"It's your favorite," Elliot added, pointing at the PB&J.
I nodded in response to his words, unable to find the words to relay the hurricane of emotions spiraling within me. The walls of our home seemed to close in, suffocating me with our current state.
"Thanks," I finally said, making Elliot smile.
As I ate the PB&J sandwich he made, my eyes strayed to a newspaper spread across the kitchen counter. The headlines were squealing in bold, black ink. The words sat there, sharply perched against the white paper, like a raven resting mysteriously on a skeletal tree. The headline made my stomach churn.
Elliot, his spectacles sitting precariously on his nose, then noticed my worry. His usual frowning face crumpled into a serious one as he followed my line of sight. His hand scrupled over the kettle, steam fogging his glasses.
"Terrible, isn't it?" he lumbered over, his voice raspy. He looked at the paper, then at me.
"ANOTHER GIRL ABDUCTED," the newspaper said.
I nodded in response to Elliot's question, my throat narrowing around the half-chewed mouthful of PB&J. Swallowing hard, I looked back at the newspaper. The victim's photo was a monochromatic image of a very young girl. She's probably around ten, maybe nine. Her smile on the photo brimmed with innocence and life—the same innocence that was now likely shattered. However, there was something weird in her photo—her eyes were... blurry?
"Times like these make you realize how short life is," Elliot said, his large palm swallowing my small hand on the counter.
As I stared into Elliot's eyes, I saw a flash of worry drawn in them. He sighed as he continued puffing a smoke with his cigarette. I, too, continued eating before heading upstairs.
As I entered my room, the crescent moon was suspended in the ebony depths of the night sky. When I sat in my bed, the worn-out springs squeaked beneath me. The sheets were strained and the threadbare quilt having seen better days. I was laying undisturbed there for a couple of minutes when a gentle knock on my slightly open bedroom door broke the motionless silence that had coated the room.
"Prim?" Elliot called softly.
Elliot's shadow stretched across the wooden floor as he moved closer. The moonlight, seeping through my cracked windowsill, painted a silver path for him. I looked at him, pushing myself up to a sitting position.
"Did I disturb you?" he asked.
"Nope, I was just counting sheeps," I replied. Elliot then became silent for a few seconds.
My worn-out jeans and oversized shirt felt rough against my skin as Elliot sat next to me on the bed. His mouth opened, and the words that came out turned the storm into a cyclone.
"I didn't mean to disturb you, but the landlord came by again earlier," he said. "Threatened to pull the house down if we don't pay up."
My grip tightened around the quilt. But I kept quiet, allowing Elliot to say his fears into the silent room.
"I don't know how to pay for our debt. I honestly wanted to give you the life that you deserve, but everything seems so hard right now," he said.
To break the weight of the sadness that slowly filled the room, I thought deeply. Sure, I have a little something. Thinking about it, I reached under my bed, pulling out a crumpled three hundred dollar bill. Handing it to him, I tried to inject some calm and some hope into the somber-laden air.
Smile, Prim. Smile.
Elliot's eyes widened as he took the money, confusion painting lines into his weather-beaten face. "Where did you get this?" he asked, his gaze flickering between the bill and me.
A spectre of a smile smacked my lips as I shrugged nonchalantly. "I got a job down the streets," I said. "I'll help with the debt."
But I lied. I lied though. I'm good at it. Either that, or I'm just convincing myself that I am good at lying.
Elliot just stared at me, a sad smile dragging at the corners of his mouth. "You don't have to do this," he murmured, his voice thick with concern.
"But we're a team, remember? You helped me. It's time I help you with the debts," I said, making Elliot frown.
"But I don't want you to worry about—"
"I mean," I interrupted him, "you're my only family right now. It's totally fine for me if I work to earn a little something for our loans and dues."
Elliot looked at me for a bit before sighing. He looked at the money once again and smiled. He had no other choice, anyway.
"Thank you," he finally said as he motioned to hug me.
The lie sat between us like an unseen shadow as he hugged. Afterwards, he stood up and left my room with the bill clutched tightly in his hand. Before leaving, he looked at me one last time with a smile on his face, whispering, "Thank you." He didn't know—he couldn't know—where the money came from. I just don't want him to worry about that even for a bit.
I then laid back down on my worn-out bed. As the moonlight fully lit my room, I couldn't help but think about how many more nights we had left before our world started crumbling. I know the money that I'm stealing is not consistent. Sometimes, I get less. Sometimes I get enough. But for now, I have bought us some time. I finally closed my eyes and sighed, ready to face another day in this life.
***
A few hours had passed as I moved. Is it two in the morning?
I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them. And when I opened them, it was there: the massive Victorian house, its gothic outline distinct against the blackness of the void. Its ornate gables and turrets were swallowed by the penumbra, yet the darkness somehow seemed to illuminate it, making it an island in the vast ocean of blankness.
"Not this," I muttered. Of course, I'm trapped in my dream again.
"Let's get this over with," I said. My voice echoed weirdly, as if bouncing off walls I couldn't see. Every single night, the same dream. Every single night, the same exact house. And honestly, I'm sick of it. And secondly, I couldn't help but raise a bunch of questions in my head. Does this dream mean something? Is it a memory of a past that I have no recollection of?
I sighed, my breath flowing through the void. Could my reoccurring dream mean something?
Just as my question tumbled out of my mind, a familiar figure stepped out from nowhere. It was the guy. His sudden presence and his laden aura were both perplexing and impossible to avoid. His voice also resembled a gentle breeze, rustling through the silent mansion as if he were breathing. My forehead wrinkled in perplexity as I simply looked at him.
"Who are you?" I asked. As expected, the man didn't reply to me. Instead, he said something that makes my head hurt even more.
"Be careful," he warned. His words were cryptic. And honestly, I'm more baffled by it.
"They might know your real identity, Prim."
I didn't say anything; in fact, I stayed cautious. My ear was filled with the steady pounding of my heart as it rumbled in my chest. Who is he referring to? What could they possibly know?
My real identity? What more was there to know?
Before I could come up with a response, the mansion's door swung open, and out ran the same group of children. Their voices, trembling and scared, reached out to me. "Come with us," they cried, their words entangling with my thoughts.
"We'll wait for you," the others chorused.
I remained still while the children's pleas resounded in my head like an uncontrollable noise. I could only stare at them, listen to their screams, and make an effort to try and drown them out. Drown him out. But the thing is, I am just as confused as my rational mind. Just as I was about to reach out to them, it came like a snap, and the house, the kids, and the man crumbled into dust.
Awake, I tried catching my breath. As usual, questions kept racing through my mind. Who are they? Why did they need me? Of course, I was left with even more questions.
As the dream's end pulled me away, the void swallowed their pleas and left me chilling alone in my room. I then caught my breath, noticing that the sun had slowly appeared. The beginning of a new day unfurled its petals as I flayed my eyes open.
Shoot, I have to go out!
I sat up, shaking my creepy dream off my mind. There's still a bit of residue of the dream that adhered to my mind like cobwebs. But those things can wait. The disturbing images that remained are still vivid. However, they somehow try to lace themselves into a reasonable tale inside my mind. Why? I honestly don't know.
I padded across the old carpet underneath my bed, my bare feet touching the soft fibers. I then approached the mirror, staring at my own reflection. The way the soft morning light tinted the strands of my hair made me look away. My eyes stared back at me. My stare lowered afterwards, docking on the strange stuff that hung around my neck.
I had this necklace since I was a kid. It was a delicate chain of silver lacing in a pendant—a tiny, mystifying gem. I don't know where I got this necklace, tell you honestly. All I could remember was it was already there in my neck the day I woke up in the orphanage.
"Get a grip, Prim," I said to myself.
I turned away from the mirror as I opened my cabinet. I took a random pair of shirts and pants as I changed. Then, I headed downstairs, my feet exploiting a familiar noise on the wooden steps—a beat that announced my presence to Elliot downstairs.
"You're up," he said.
"Yeah," I replied, putting on my worn-out shoes as he ate his breakfast.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Outside, I want to take some fresh air," I lied.
"Aren't you gonna eat first?"
"Later."
"But you could get sick by that," he said. "You haven't eaten all that well within the past few days."
"Don't worry," I reassured him. "I'm just gonna go to my job. It won't be long."
Because I needed to arrive at the location before the crowd start to thicken.
Elliot hesitated at first, but he had no choice. I already bid him farewell as the breeze greeted me. Afterwards, I made my way towards the subway—where in the core of the town, beneath the streets and the random buildings up top, I stood, watching.
I typically arrive here before 7 am. If you're asking why, because it's easier for me to steal during this time. I mean, each passerby was a story—a puzzle, to be exact. But if you continue to study them, you'll figure out their vulnerability. The nerdy businessman, the lost tourist, the chatty teenagers, all of them.
My eyes continued darting like hawks, until they landed on a lone person. She was alone, undisturbed by the echoing noise of the subway. She held her purse close, her knuckles white, and her face worried. She's kind of familiar, though—or I'm just letting my thoughts flow freely.
When a train stopped by, I narrowly followed her. The world outside the window was a hasty blur, and honestly, I couldn't think of anything other than stealing.
When my eyes narrowed into tiny slits, I noticed that the girl was smiling to me as she happened to look at my direction. I was surprised, but I remained nonchalant, sitting in the humming belly of the beast of steel and sparks.
She really looks familiar, I thought.
The girl stopped when her phone happened to ring. She fished it out as she answered, lost deep within the folds of her own conversation. Her words thawed into the noise of the other conversations around us, blending into a sound that was as ordinary as she chattered with the person on the other line. I then looked at the other passengers. I mean, they seemed to be consumed by their own world, too.
Slowly, my fingers made their way into her small purse. The wallet rested unsuspectingly in the middle of her stuff. Before I knew it, my fingers made contact with the leather band of her wallet. As my fingers held a grip around it, I gently lifted it. Swiftly, I placed the wallet underneath the confines of my shirt, the fabric swishing subtly against the leather. I looked at her for reassurance, and by the looks of it, she hasn't noticed anything.
Few minutes went by when the train came to a stop, crashing into the steel rails like a halt. The doors slowly opened, letting a cold breeze out. My heart raced. I stood up from my seat and exited the train into the bustling street as fast as I can. Then, I sprinted into a nearby alley, breathing heavily. The silence here was the opposite of the noise inside the train; the only sounds were the remote echo of city life and my own breaths.
With shaking hands, I took the wallet out of my shirt. As I opened it, the stacked notes and a few coins greeted me like an old friend. However, just as I was about to zip the wallet close, a small plastic card slipped from its pockets, falling to the ground. Picking it up, I narrowed my eyes into slits at the name imprinted on it: Mamori Greene.
The name rang within the chambers of my mind, a rustle of something I couldn't quite decipher. I pondered over it, my mind twirling with a few thoughts and questions. This was not part of the plan, but then again, life rarely goes according to plan.
Mamori Greene. Why is her name so familiar?