"Treasure Series" Book 1: CURSE [[CURRENTLY EDITING]]

Chapter 2: Astrid - Scrapbooks of Threat & Jealousy

*THE PICTURE IS OF AHSLEY BENSON, WHO IS ASTRID IN THE BOOK.*

When Sam left my side, I was alone amongst the busy urban environment of the downtown area. Early town-goers were hustling from street to street, sidewalk to sidewalk, building to building. I spied upon them, taking time to watch my surroundings. A mother and her daughter were busying themselves on the side of the street with a pail of chalk, scribbling designs onto the asphalt. An old man was hobbling down the cobblestone sidewalk, city-dwellers angrily dodging him as they passed by. A beggar was lying low in the gloom of a narrow passage between two buildings, scraps of clothing covering their bareness.

So much diversity. So little time to view it all. Dark Falls was known for it. After all, the folklore of this place was based on the legends of the supernatural. There was one story I remembered that described the homeless as our protection from extra-terrestrials. I didn't rely on that assumption, but it was still captivating to consider. There wasn't a chance in hell that any of it was real, of course.

My mind relied on logic. Pure, rational calculation. It was a mantra of sorts, and I had somehow found a way to live by it. Maybe it had been my sheer genius or my parent's sternness that had made me this way, but...it was who I had become. It wasn't that I was devoid of emotion. It was more that I wanted to live in a world where coherence meant more than creativity.

After all, creativity was just a cushioning for the harsh realities of life.

That was something my mother had told me every day growing up. And it had unfortunately stuck with me.

A gentle breeze picked up along the street, drifting through my hair and sweeping it off my shoulders in a fairy-tale-like manner.

But fairy tales were fake, weren't they?

In my world of intelligence and unyieldingness, it was all false. But after today, I didn't know if I would still have that mentality.

Just as I began my usual stroll through the network of roads and walkways of the downtown area, my eyes caught a suspicious figure moving down the street at a diagonal angle. I casually turned my head to find Howard sneaking through the lane of a passing car. He sidestepped the shiny heap of metal, narrowly missing it. He grunted and then headed down the sidewalk, his hands pocketed.

Sam had been walking in that general direction as well. This couldn't be good, I thought.

As Howard turned a corner, I hustled through the crowd of pedestrians congesting the footway. I rounded the same corner and found Howard speaking to a hooded figure on the edge of the street. They were discreet, partially hidden by the darkness idling in the alleyway. I didn't want them to see me, so I stood by the edge of the street corner to avoid being exposed.

But it was rather disadvantageous, for their words came to my ears as murmurs and I wasn't able to get an effective analysis of the hooded figure in cahoots with Howard.

I didn't know much of anything at this point. For all I knew, this concealed individual was a drug dealer. My mind told me that was probably true, but I still wanted to wait it out. To see what the result of this confrontation would be. To see where Howard went next.

I stayed put for dozens of minutes as Howard and this unknown person continued their conversation. It was rather nonchalant – too calm if you asked me. Almost like they were waiting something out themselves. As if they were waiting for someone. Suddenly, I felt terribly alone on the edge of the street. And awfully vulnerable.