she has always hated the cold in the winter.
but the summer's heat disgusts her the most.
shows how much time she spends being inside.
she leans her back to a brick wall and tilts her head up letting her bangs fall slightly off to the right. the sun shies away hiding behind thin clouds emitting only a ring of vague sunlight.
she sighs.
what a mess.
she closes her eyes. trying to soak in as much as she could. the sound and the smell of the outer city. although the city is said to be overpopulated, most of the people look almost familiar to her. tired eyes, sagged postures and those poker faces.
pfft, zombies.
the city is divided into two parts. although it's not stated black and white, but the public is well-aware of the significant differences between the outer city and the city center. the way people dressed for example in both parts of the city is different. the state-of-the-art superstructures and skyscrapers mostly emerged in the city center leaving the dull old crappy buildings ready to collapse in the outer city. even the people's names depict which part of the city they come from.
don't go. we could run away you know.
she chuckles. her inner voice has a mind of its own.
she loathes the city. be it the outer or the center. she spends most of her life living and commuting only around the outer city and if and only if she has to deal with the upper people she steps foot in the city center. to her, the whole city reeks of lies and deceits.
trust no one.
the more she stays immobile, the more the cold air bites into her. she grits her teeth as the cold is starting to really agitate her. her palpitations start to elevate. the people around don't seem to mind her. they're too busy worrying about themselves.
"it's a dog-eat-dog world," her deceased mum once told her after she discovered that she was suffering from breast cancer and she had just got laid off from her job. "i mean, shits happen. you just have to man up and face them." she was 8 then.
she slowly slides her right hand on the barrel of the gun inside her pocket.
feeling it's features. it's expensive metal. it's weight. it's texture. it's power.
"you're wrong mum, it's a bitch-eat-bitch world," she whispers under her breath snickering, her fingers carefully curling the handle of the gun. her pocket has never felt so heavy, so out of place, so different.
her other hand flicks the cigarette to the pavement. she steps on it to distinguish the tiny flame. she swallows hard and pushes herself off the wall walking with her head down towards the city center. with the gun fully loaded and her target identified, she is ready. her veins are filled with adrenaline, vengeance overwhelms her heart and her hallow eyes show no sight of a human soul. she is determined to get it done.
