Premonition

Chapter 1 - Sleep Is For The Sane

The sunlight sheathes through the color-drained curtains amongst a girl, who had been terrified to wake up.

Yes, most admit, nobody enjoys the morning. That temporary comatose of quietness, disturbed by the need of you to go about your day. the sun hits your eyes, (or worse, the squawk of your alarm hits your ears), and it breaks that little moment of divine intervention.

No, not with this girl. She wanted to get up. She wanted to dart out her door any chance she ever got, she lived for that freedom. But while her mother was on that third man of the week, and all men that hated that girl's existence, she didn't want to interact with them. She's homeschooled because of her mother's inconsistency with moving, not to mention her dreadful past attempts to be a normal PTA member. So no, the girl didn't get that experience. She stayed in her room most of the time, staring at the peeling, antique flower-covered walls and looking at one of the three astronomy books her mother supplied her 5 birthdays ago.

To be fair, her mother never taught her how to read. Also, they were full blown textbooks, yes. But those images of the farout atmosphere, the glow of burning hot gas casing itself millions of light years away, the vast galaxies of visual matter, it wasn't a worry that she couldn't read. She could see entirely fine. And she saw beauty within the universe, one that constructs itself up and down all over again all the time. One that recovered from pain within itself and held those who have said pain, alive or lost. It still does, and that is beautiful.

She thinks about this. She thinks about a lot of things. She's young, 8-and-a-bit to be exact, but she knows how to understand the universe more than your average adult. She wakes up, and begrudgingly faces the task of dressing into the last pair of washed clothes she had in her wardrobe, stashing the books under the bed, and opening the door to her bedroom. (Not without the struggle, though. Her door has been unhinged for about 2 months, and she's tried to ask her mother's past boyfriend for help. He just struck at her upper shoulder with his fist and marched off. She's scared her mothers other afairees will too.) She holds her hand on her door frame and strikes at the door with her fore-shoe, hitting the back wall with a sharp-bashing noise. She'll go downstairs.

She'll always have to.

She truds through the halls and down the winding stairs, trying not to cause much noise to occur. Her mother and her temporary partner were asleep on the other side of the house. This normally works. Even so, her mother got mad when she made breakfast, let alone interfere with her life. the home was old, yes, she shared a duplex with her uncles, who she supposedly never met. She thinks about them sometimes. As she walks across the scrappy floorboards, she finds herself wanting to go outside. Her mother would kill her if she walked out, that's no surprise. She might make it out with a beating, and then some.

Cereals the go-to. Her mother doesn't let her look in the fridge often, nor does she let her touch her food. It's not a big fridge, either. Not for the many men she lets in, not for the copious amounts of food she fixes, and only for herself at that. Her daughter didn't get but less than a meal a day often. Today, said daughter plans to grab herself the bowl, reach into the far, dull colored cabinet, and grab a bent-up spoon because she wants to eat. And that's exactly what she does. She's learned not to spill anything or the result will be consequence heavy. She doesn't want that, nor does she want her mother to know she's leaving the house at 6 in the morning. She pours a bowl of her personal cereal, the one she got 3 years ago that's all stale and barely tastes of anything. Her hands also grab the freshly-bought milk from the fridge, another thing her mother would kill her touching. She didn't mind anymore. She was used to it. She transfers the bowl of cereal and milk into a gallon freezer bag, takes the spoon that has seen better days, and she leaves.

Bliss. It's the outside world. She sees this every once in a while, the city streets lit up with the brightness of dawn. She can reach the street in no time, walking amongst groups of people who are most likely late for work or going to get breakfast for themselves. Maybe they have their own secret bags of cereal in their pockets. That'd be a sight. Cars flutter fast on the roads, far off traffic bustles, and the sounds of bikes running over sewer grates fill the block she walks into. The smell of some gyro food trucks fill the streets, along with the steam and slightly grimy smell of the backstreets she walked along as she found her way to the main street.

She had walked for about an hour, taking in the sights. Many blocks later she finds herself not knowing where she is. It's a big area, bustling and people come from all directions in flocking distress. Nothing is happening, she knows that much. She's more interested in the big, abandoned skyscraper that stands to the other side of the block. It towered above the crowds, its intricate architecture looking more modern than modern to the girl. Nobody seems to notice it. News articles haven't covered it or anything, or one of her mothers partners would have mentioned it. they all have that "I hate the news, it's a lie gra gra gra" visual. She keeps walking towards it.

...

....

Moments pass. It eludes the child. Can passersby notice the building? "Surely they can." She repeats mentally. "Surely they ca—"

"And that right there's what you're noticin-? It's been down for years, kid. Whatcha staring wide-eyed for?" A taller man approaches. He's obviously seen his better years, that look of lost childhood wonder apparent all over his face.

"I'm-"

"Surely ya gotta know about the pivot. Ya don't know what happened?" He says, brow furrowing as if he himself doesn't quite understand what he's saying.

"What's a pivot??"

"... Alright, that's fair kid," he admits. "But this was a big place. It's just intimidatin', contractors who go in come out scared losin' their deals. Ain't none of us know much about what's goin' on in there." He looks longingly at the building.

"I'm... I've never been... I like this place." She says, taking in the building even more before looking down to the other man's feet.

"Why don'tcha go in?"

"I've never been here. Just.. I want to look around."

"It's all good, they can't do anythin' to ya, there ain't no one there!"

"Tell ya what, take my card. Name's Matthew, call me in any way possible with a room phone when ya get in." He hands her a cardstock laminated square, not expressing any images of the man. It only had a phone number and his stowaway job attached to it. You think about it. "You've been wantin' to look around, ya said. this is the perfect place to do so! A huge place, all to yourself..."

She folds the card into her pocket, throws the plastic outside of her soggy freezer bag in a trash can at the corner, takes one last look at the man, who's already going off, and she walks in.