The Roses | Completed

The Roses

Neon lights reflect off various puddles in the brick alleyway as I make my way to my apartment. This is the route I always take from school; left at the first stoplight, which has been out since last September, right at Cheesy Pizzeria, which has long since been closed and abandoned, and then straight through the deep, musty alleyway at the edge of town. My apartment resides at the end of the alleyway, with the metal, precarious stairs leading up to my room hidden by thick, dark green vines that have creeped up the brick walls over the years I've lived here. The walk home is always the same - dark, lonely, and mysterious. I don't leave the high school until the sun has sunken beyond the horizon of buildings and ceased to cast its eerie orange glow over the grimy streets. My teacher always makes me stay much later than the other seniors because she insists I need an adult to look after me, even though I'm technically an adult myself. She knows I live alone. Everybody does. The neon lights are the main source of light for my journey home, as they shower the streets in fluorescent pinks, purples, and greens. 

Every day as I hop around the puddles in the alleyway, my attention is drawn to one mysterious door that sits in the brick wall of my apartment building. The lights always reflect off of its shiny grey surface, leading me on as if to say, "Come on, you know you want to." So, as part of my routine, everyday I try the brass handle, but with no success. The windowless door never opens. I often wonder what could reside behind such a grand door, and its purpose for being locked. I have never seen anyone walk down this particular alleyway, and so have never seen a single soul give the door as much attention as I have given it. I am the only one who lives in this area, and nobody else knows that I live here, so there would be no need for another soul to come down the alley. I've had a few people ask me at school where I live, because they pity me and think I'm lonely, but I never tell them. If I answer them at all, it's to give them false directions. 

I grip the straps on my backpack and slowly focus my gaze on the door. It is filled with a mixture of greens and pinks, which reflect back off the door and shower me in a fluorescent glow. 

"It's going to be locked, Casi," I mutter to myself, shaking my head. "Don't get your hopes up." I brush my golden brown hair from my face and tuck a short lock behind my ear. I then adjust my round-framed glasses and start towards the door. 

A mechanical whirring suddenly fills my ears. I pause, staring at the door. My heart pounds in my chest and I focus on taking deep breaths to calm myself. It's nothing, it's normal. Today is like any other day, I tell myself. I start to fiddle with the hem of my old, tattered black hoodie as a nervous habit. 

My eyes flit about the alleyway as I listen intently for any other sound. Silence. Then, a drip, drip, drip of the old, leaky pipe fastened to the wall behind me as the droplets slowly disintegrate the rusty red bricks below. I smile to myself, thinking I had just imagined the whirring sound. I turn on my heels and start toward the staircase leading up to my room when a bang! reverberates through the alley. I whip around and stare in disbelief at the metal door before me. 

The same door that has been locked shut for the six years I've lived at this apartment is now ajar, but only a crack. A cold breeze blows over me and whips my hair around my face with its chilly fingers. 

"No way," I murmur and pull off my glasses. Sure enough, the door is really open. I wasn't simply imagining it. Neon lights still bounce off of the reflective metal surface, but fuzzier without my glasses on. I re position the frames on my face and tie up my hair in a messy ponytail before starting towards the door. 

I creep toward the entrance ever so slowly with my eyes fixed on the brass handle. The only sounds around me are the buzzing of the old neon signs as the bulbs struggle to continue producing light and the constant dripping of water from the leaky pipe. The alleyway smells musty from being continuously damp, but this is nothing new. However, a new smell reaches me, and I step back in surprise. My feet grow cold, and I realize with a shudder of annoyance that I had stepped back into a puddle. I wince at the sticky wet feeling in my shoes and focus on the strange aroma.