# I will stop publishing my story on wattpad because I'm worried about plagiarism.
The world has been destroyed. All that remains is the Ark, and inside it, humans are oppressed by the Eldritch. On the outside, only death awaits thanks to heat so s...
I sit down and place my backpack down below my feet. I then take out the script for the group presentation for a last-minute review. An hour passes by and I am able to read the script fully twice before my stop is up and I have to get down of the bus.
The commercial district is beautiful. Even at 7 am it is bursting with people buying and selling things. Some people give me looks as I pass by because of my clothes. I can feel their disgust and it stabs me all over as if it were a physical thing. But, I am used to this. I have to do this every single day after all. You'd be surprised at the things we get used to.
Ignoring all the weird stares, I head straight for Cartman Tools & Metalworks. Frank, the owner, gave me permission to change out of my clothes on the back of the store, and leave them there with him for when I come back from school. I still remember the day I met him. I was going around asking the shop owners if I could change in their stores before going to school every day.
When I enter the store a soft bell announces my entrance and a big, burly dark-skinned man with greying black hair, a big nose, and square jaw greets me with a nod and a no-nonsense expression, "How you've been, Son?" he asks warmly. Frank is wearing a simple white long-sleeved shirt that barely fits him, and through his v-neck, I can see his medallion, worn as a necklace, being cushioned by a forest of chest hair. I can't see what he is wearing below that because the huge counter that faces the door hides it. The counter goes from one wall to the other, demarcating the space available for the customer and the rest of the store. Customers don't really have access to the store; they ask for something and Frank goes and gets it. Lots of tools and products hang all over the place.
"I've been better... How's the family?" I ask about his family because I don't want to talk about depressing things I can't change. I only focus on my goals and what is changeable. It's a subject he likes and always brings a happy expression to his stoic face. So, every day I ask about them to solidify my relationship with him.
"Oh, well, you know how these things are. 3 women are too much for any man to handle. I swear, Eris, they are troublemakers. All of them." He says it with joy. He doesn't really think they are trouble. He loves them and is a family man through and through. Also, yes I gave him a fake name. I could get in a lot of trouble with the school if they found out about my background. Can't be too careful.
"Sounds like you have your hands full," I say, smiling at what he says, even though it isn't really funny, and raising a section of the counter that works as a door, heading for the bathroom at the back.
"Yes, exactly! You don' know how right you're. We were at the fair all day yesterday, and Philipa saw this terrible pink unicorn pillow. She fell in love at first sight. She cried and cried for hours asking us to buy her this terribly made pillow with its head thrice the size of its body an-" I tuned Frank out. When he gets going, there is no stopping him. As I change, I answer him with 'hmmm' or 'oh man' when he expects me to answer.
When he sees my backpack he stops and asks, pointing at it, "Son, what the heck happened to your backpack?"
So I tell him, and he cracks a big hearty laugh. So I tell him it's funny when you don't have to buy a new backpack before going to school.
"Buy a new backpack?" He says, "Don't worry about it kiddo, you can have mine. I barely use the darn thing anyways."
"You sure, Frank? I still have time to run down the store and get one. I don't want to trouble you." I say, but I don't really mean it. I don't want to run to the store. Life is about taking shortcuts. Still, I make it sound truthful.
"Nonsense. You're a good kid. You remind me of myself when I was younger. I'm telling you, Prettyboy, you're going places." He says with a big grin, patting my back with his huge arms.
"Hey," I say, grinning like the Cheshire cat, "Maybe when I get syred to some rich master in Billionaire's Row, I'll come back with my McLaren and steal both your daughters to live in my manor." What can I say, I'm weak to compliments.
"You, Casanova! Get the hell out of my store before I chop off your pickle!" He booms out, smiling, and chases me out the store.
Before I go, he hands me the backpack and I transfer my belongings to it, minus my old coat and trousers, which I give to him, which he promises to out below the counter as always.
I exit the store feeling great, in all the splendor of my Arlington uniform, feeling like there are still some good human beings left and everything will be fine in the long run.
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Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
Chapter 3, is ready to go. For those of you who can't wait for the action and horror, it will be coming later. Patience is a virtue.
