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But why does it have to be that way in the first place? There isn't always an explanation for the reasoning behind the impediments and difficulties casted upon such people; except that maybe a higher power has something better in store. Better, later.
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A/n: Hey everyone. That right there was the introduction to my story. It's a tragic story and very difficult for me to write, because I don't always have the drive for this style of writing, but nevertheless we'll see how this'll work out. This is my first story to post on fictionpress. I'm a veteran to writing in all senses, but I've never posted an original on the internet. This is a very nerve wracking experience because I feel so protective of my originals, but with the help of Forbidden Shadow, I've been convinced that it's all right to take a risk and to put this one up. I hope you enjoy it.
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Climbing the stairs of the subway terminal, the light poured in on my head and the cold air nipped at my cheeks. The subway had been so warm and I had to leave that comfort to walk.
It was a nice site though. Loud and busy, with gray clouds looming overhead. It would be raining soon and I had no umbrella to shelter me, so I started to walk faster. The wind started to blow ferociously against the New York City skyline. There were people trying to stay standing while others continued walking on with ease. Tourists clung tightly to their belongings, afraid of losing their memorabilia of the beloved place. Some kids were struggling as they were blown half way out into the street, their parents holding to their wrists with iron grips. You could always tell the tourists from everyone else. Real New Yorker's know how to walk against the force of the wind. A subway rumbled underneath my feet as I walked over the metal grate. I stepped off it. It always had made me feel uneasy. Safe as it was to walk above the subway, it didn't stop my stomach from churning. And somewhere off in the distance a siren started to whine. Anything could be timed by the sound of an ambulance. They ran just about every twenty minutes. After while you learned to ignore them.
The sites and sounds of New York City.
I pulled down tighter on the bottom of my beanie to cover my ears more, and pulled up the hood of my hoodie for protection against the cold. Traveling down the streets of China Town, I gazed around the place I once considered a prime stealing area. I was familiar with each vender and their items for sale. Some of them gave me dirty looks when I came by and watched me closely while others didn't recognize me at all and observed me along with their other potential customers. I loved China Town. It was my home and it had a cheery air about it.
Not having any time to look around, I found the building I was looking for and approached it.
"Hey, Jimmy," I called to my buddy, who owned the store under my apartment. Coming into an indoor open shopping market is always warmer than the street outside, door or not. "How's it going?"
"Not so good, Dawg. It's a Monday. No one's shoppin'," he shook his head. "How was school?"
"Jaded, as usual." I dropped my bag onto the floor in front of his makeshift counter. "Did you notice if Stefan came home yet?" I stopped to observe the necklaces and new souvenirs that had been brought in that day.
"Yeah, but he left with Kirsten."
". Did he say where he was going?"
"Nope."
"Typical." I examined a hanging chain of assorted necklaces. I found a cross bone necklace and examined it more closely. The titanium-looking metal intertwined with ivory-like bones laid upon the black acrylic cross. It was cheap and cool. My friend Wesley would love it.
"Any reason you need him?"
"No, just wondering."
I dropped the necklace, picked my backpack back up and slung it over my shoulder. "I gotta go start this junk." I nudged to the thick bag. "Stefan has started making noises about making me quit school to get a job if my grades don't pick up. because. you know. so."
"You ain't gonna buy nothing?" he asked, slightly miffed that another person was going to reject his items.
"Sorry, man. I ain't got no cash. Ask Kyle when he comes in."
"S'okay, Dawg," he said. He knew I didn't have the money. It didn't ever stop him from asking though. He was good guy. "Come down later and you can go for some Chinese or something, 'kay?"
"At your expense."
"Course."
"Aiight. Bye."
"Ciao."
Climbing the stairs to the apartment, I remembered a time when life hadn't been so good. A time when I was struggling to survive, to stay alive - it wasn't too long ago. It was painful to remember my old life, but I had learned to deal with it and to look forward to the future. It was something I wasn't used to.
Sometimes I don't feel like relaying my life story to people I don't know. Or rather I should say that I didn't want to. It wasn't any of their business and they were too quick to judge. It didn't help when I told a person about living with Stefan. They automatically assumed the worst in both situations. Mine and my family's. It's understandable, I admit, but it always irritated me how quick some people are to pass judgement. Not only that but I don't like to retell each and every friend or legal authority my story, so I decided once and for all to write it down. I learned that it doesn't hurt you to let others in on your memories and tales whether I know them or not.
It all started when I lived in Atlanta, Georgia. It was a comely city with friendly people to greet you all around. But I wasn't lucky enough to see that side of it. I got the side that would have broken me if given the chance.
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A/n: Thanks for those of you who read this. I'd much appreciate a review and anything you have to say, positive or not. Thanks.