The Fiammetta Chronicles: Legacy

Chapter One

San Francisco stunk like ass. A guy hyped up on drugs biked down the middle of the street, screaming "Fuck this! Fuck you! Fuck all this shit! Fuck everything!" while dispersing the contents of his bag behind him. Trash of all kinds decorated the streets and clogged drains, from empty booze bottles, to fast food wrappers and tourists who walk everywhere but the damn sidewalk.

Faded, black converse slap against the concrete alongside Jimmy Choos, a worn side bag clashes with the crowd of sleek briefcases and leather Coach bags. The girl attached to such peculiar items, with her dark brown hair tamed into a long braid and small stature, did not scream for attention. The only thing that caused her to blend in with the suits of San Francisco's business class was her private school uniform, announcing her a pupil of St. Joan's Girls School.

Mercede Fiammetta had just hopped off of the tram, glad to be free of the small confines of a moving vehicle, where the seats were never clean and the smell of trash and cigarette smoke hung in the air.

Hands stuffed into the pockets of her school-issued hoodie, she continued down the street, making the necessary turns like it was second nature. Mercede has lived in San Francisco all her life, and her parents have lived in the same house on Marina Blvd as the previous generations of Italian-Americans in their family had before them.

Continuing down the crowded street, Mercede makes her way to Randy's Grocery, a corner store she visits only a couple times a month. She turns sharply to break through the crowd towards the door, consequently running into a lady talking rapidly into her earpiece, her speech a mess of English and some other language.

Mercede half turns, raising a hand in apology, "Sorry miss".

She gets a sneer and a hand gesture in response.

Stunned, Mercede shakes her head and turns towards the door once more, Well fuck you too lady, she thinks in response. Gripping the metal handle hard enough to dig into her palms, she shoved the door open, a small bell clanging wildly in response. She'll be less suspicious if she makes her presence obvious.

She shivered as the cold air of the shop found contact with her skin despite the thickness of her sweater. She always felt the cold easily and the AC was always on, even when they're in the middle of winter.

Strolling through the aisles, she glanced at the front counter, the attendant was busy, trying to wrap sandwiches with one hand and answer the phone with the other. Mercede was coming in right as rush hour hit, and this place was always understaffed for one of the most popular corner stores in the area.

Her chucks squeaked on the linoleum floor, and she found herself marveling at how a place so horribly staffed could find the time to deep clean the floors every day, her face practically shined back at her in the linoleum. Coming to a stop, she grabs a pack of licorice from the shelf, examining the package, searching for a price on the shiny red and blue wrapping.

Mercede's dark eyes glanced up as the bell tinkled above the door, about four people entered, nearly right after the other. One dawdled behind, browsing some of the shelves, before joining the others in line behind the front counter.

They're sure to keep the employee busy.

With the licorice still in hand, Mercede continues down the aisle, pausing every now and then when something catches her eye.

Along with the licorice she picked up earlier, she's amassed quite a few items by the time a fifth customer arrives, of those include: cherry red chapstick, peanut m&ms, and pink hello kitty sunglasses.