Wounded

 The Boston alleyway was cold yet again. My cheeks were squished on the concrete with the moon shining above. But yet, who was I do complain? Certainly no one would listen to me, Skylar, a twenty year old man with no job or a place to call home. I wondered if I looked the same as always; black hair, brown eyes, and a pale complexion. No, I thought, the dirt probably made me filthy and ugly.

I awoke in the morning to a car splashing water all over me. My clothes were wet, and my skin shivering. Instead of chasing after them, I instead chose to eat from my backpack. I ran over to the side of the brick shop, over to the dumpster I sat on. Pulling a sandwich from my bag, I took out my sketchbook and pencil and let my fingers draw on the paper. Even though the sun had risen, the shop was just too tall to give me light. Despite this, it was apparently light enough for two people to run about arguing.

"Listen, man, I ain't paying!" I watched the couple emerge from a dark corner, a boy and a girl. The boy had short brown hair, with a hoodie and tight jeans. A brown stubble engulfed his dark complexion. The girl, on the other hand, had soft lilac hair and blue eyes made to kill. Her features were smooth, except for a long scar running along her left cheek. A black beanie was on the top of her head, matching her Rolling Stones tank top and black combat boots.

"We had a deal, you gnat! I get you the stuff, you pay me," the girl shouted.

"I didn't know you was stealing the stuff! I thought you was buying it for me! I don't do business with thieves," he yelled. The girl pushed him into the wall.

"Hey, leave him alone," I said. The girl turned to me, a look of greed in her eyes.

"This isn't your business," she said calmly. She didn't have the Boston accent that was common to our area. "I was promised something. I won't have that promise broken." A dignified smile spread on her face. The man saw a chance to leave, since she was looking at me, and bolted off. She latched onto his arms, which seemed hard from considering he was halfway submerged in another alley, and yanked him back. Yet she failed. The man broke off running, bursting with delightful noise. The girl grunted and turned around madly.

"Thanks. I needed that money," she said angrily to me, storming off towards a restaurant.

"Wait," I shouted, loud enough so she could hear me. "Why did you need that money?"

"And what's the purpose of telling you? I don't know you, and I don't want to. Goodbye." A split second decision rendered me running towards her and grabbing her arm. She froze instantly on the sidewalk.

"Please? I may be able to help," I begged. The girl turned from her solid position and slightly smiled.

"Fine. If you really want to." She tugged out of my grasp and gestured for me to go to the restaurant with her.

The restaurant smelt like eggs and juice, a reminder of my mother. She left me to go to her grave, leaving me alone at nineteen. I wondered if the girl had lost someone dear to her. But most of all, I wondered what her name was. While I sat in thought, the stranger next to me called for a woman standing in the corner of the yellow walls of the restaurant. She had dark skin, black hair, and was large in size. She did have a kind face.

"Lindy! I have a friend today!" I saw the girl give a cautious wink to the large woman as she walked over.

"Sweetie, how are you? You doing okay?" Lindy prodded.

"Yes, Lindy, I'm fine. Hungry as heck, though."

"And who is your friend?"

"Oh, er, this is, remind me your name again?" the girl nervously asked.