One had to fight in order to live ; life was not easy and life was not great. It was harsh and it was truth in the purest of forms, there were no lies to hide behind, nothing to shield you away from the claws of reality. It was broken and bleeding, smudged into the deepest of reds, singed in black like the crusting of a bruise blossoming on flesh left exposed and aching, always wanting for something. Everything was dying, as things often due, and there was nothing to be done that could save them - save the children, the lost souls pitting away into their sweet candies and their elixirs of numbing proportions. Less, none would come, for this was Hell - and it was burning, threatening to take everyone down with its hellish flame, there were no Angels to bring the light of salvation, there is no God.
There was only yourself to have faith in.
Katerina Kingsworth believed in nothing, nothing aside from the function of her lungs [blackened and tainted] and the flex of her legs ; the breath filtering through her pale lips and the feel of being here, alive and in control of her own life. There was little hope to be had in a community ringed in the depravity of the out skirts, she witnessed most of the transcendence from immaculate, primped gardens, to festering weeds clustered in browns and withered, died out, greens that were muted and lost to the carelessness of men. She glanced carefully around the broken ground, eyes like thunder heads swollen in greys with tinges of blue marking the dullish colour, they flitted down the alley way as her shoulders scraped brick and was chilled from the lack of warmth in the foundation. Her harsh breath plumed pale and white in the air, her neck craned, her hair waving around shoulders and features, tendrils tickled her inked chest exposed by the slits of her blouse : the vintage logo worn into flaking colours and patterns and tainted into the faintest rouges of blood.
Her shoulders ached, her hips burned, and her fingers trembled as they skittered over cemented grooves, she eased along the alley wall, keeping her breath low and quick, white smog tickling past her lashes when she glanced around the corner and harsh breaths, voice, assaulted her ears in low, rage-laden baritones. She'd come to regret this decision : when she had dug into the pockets of men who did this for a living, who marketed pure products across the way and with money so heavy and green. Kat had come to the big boys, tired of the low, Mexican products, she wanted something more, something pure and wanted more of everything. She was turning to her greed and manipulation as a woman, smiling false little grins, fluttering curled lashes and curving her back in a distraction. None had noticed the way she had pilfered product and stash into her tattered pocket, or the way she slid heavy green-backs in her blouse and let it curl around her breasts.
None had noticed until, moments later when the Kat-tempest was gone, that there was a heavy hole wearing down into their sale. None had made the connection until much later, and now they were out for blood, trying to find the woman of colour and sarcastic charm, the harsh one that stood up to life and fought for her will and right to live. She didn't know why she fought for life so badly, why - when - everything was dull and worn and better off dead? Maybe she was afraid to die, to be nothing, for Kat couldn't comprehend how the deceased were content with rotting into the ground.
Are you there, brother, letting your body rot with the worms. Where's the spirit? The one you hid from me.
Katerina sighed heavily and took one last glance around the corner, she had been hiding away with other squatters, been in the bustling city for nearly a week now, trying to get away from those that desired her blood to stain their suits and walls. She had her window of opportunity, now, and she couldn't lose it, less they corner her into their blank, dark rooms and show her just what happened to little girls trying to play the big game. Kat breathed in deep, clutched her nails to her heart, and spun around the brick and took off down the road with the harsh slap of her boots to the asphalt and her breath whooshing from her teeth and lips in a gasp. She never dared a glance over her shoulder, already hearing the sharp exclamations of her location being spotted, deep voices calling for her capture.
Kat never stopped running, she was always running, never permitted to stay in one place for long. She was pushing it here, having lingered for a year already, too long in her opinion. She had developed friendships, good, solid contacts, and even bitter enemies. She pushed her slender frame through the gap in a chain link fence, winced at the metal chafing her soft belly and sharp hips and tugged free the threads of her hair caught into the make-shift window. She breathed a weak sigh of relief when flashing lights swept on past her escape and immediately took off down the darkened alley way, leaping over boxes and make-shift homes, thankful to her former training in field.
She didn't know where she was running to, she didn't know where she could go.
But she only knew that she couldn't stay here, not when others were wanting of her death.
Hours passed on by, the early morning touching her skin and chilling the exposed, pale, flesh. She shuddered, pulled her leather jacket on tight around her frame and glanced down the broken, tainted streets of the outskirts. The soulless children lived here, ones like her, ones broken and lost and wasting away into life. Her pocket was heavy with sweet candies, her breast uncomfortable against the crush of cash against her smooth skin.
"Shit," she breathed, her breath pluming the air once more in a swirl of blanched hue. Her boots sounded too sharp and too loud against her ears, which made her wince and glance over her shoulder periodically, as if they were coming hard and fast on her trail. They could find her, she knew, but for now she could only lay low and wait for the inevitable patrol they'd scourge through here. When the time came around, she'd leave, once again, shed her skin and start a new and leave all these depraved, ugly fucks behind in the dust. She wasn't going to die here with here in the festering hole, she was better than that, she wasn't some hopeless, dependent whore like the masses that blotted the run-down housing and pressed up to their clients.
Kat curled her fingers into fists, felt muscle and bone shift, and thought on who she could go to around here. Exchange her thievery for a place to bunker down in and hide whilst the big-boys hunted her down in obsession. One name flitted across her brain and she ground her teeth together in agitation ; she didn't need him. The top underdog they called him, the competition for her earnings rather, another one who sold drugs to the hopeless and aching. Kat blew a harsh breath between her lips, chest rising and falling with her previous sprint down the dark-ways of the underground. She had no other choice, she didn't want to admit it to herself, or anyone, but she had none other to run to in this pitiful moment. Katerina dug her nails into her palms, watching the crescents form like greedy, little mouths begging for tastes of sin.
She took off once more down the street and ignored the pain in her legs, focused on the burn, the feeling of breath coming to her lungs and just ran.
Time was lost to her when she finally came upon familiar housing and feelings that peppered the air in sex and depravity. She broke through the shambles of post-fencing and came upon the street, arms crossing under her breasts, boots clacking sharply to the asphalt as she tried to regain breath stolen from her. Wherever she passed, eyes following, raking over her form, tasking off various figures of her person in lecherous grins and winking gazes. She blew ebony tresses from her cutting glance and tossed her rude gestures in the flash of silver and black nail. They cooed, whistled and Kat, as ever, merely flipped her hair and tossed verbal barbs.
"I'm sure there's a cheap whore for you to find, they're everywhere, like cockroaches." Her voice slid out in a languid drone and they feigned a swoon, which made her giggle and flutter her fingers in a wave as she continued down the street, she tallied off the houses in her vision, nodding her head at each until a familiar dilapidated garden of weeds and bottles came into her vision along with a flash of garish pink and worn, broken-broken eyes. The roseate was familiar as a routine client and it appeared as if she was trying to peddle herself off like Kat often did her product, she chuckled a little at that and rolled her eyes. Some things would never change in their predictability, she thought, watching the exchange with a quirked smirk and catching the faintest whisper of the Lolita's words.
"A discount? Tut-tut, I wouldn't allow this guy that much privilege." Katerina called out, approaching the pair with a flourish, flicking her wrist dismissively and chiming the bracelets on her thin wrist. She passed by the fence, stepped into the worn down yard and stood next to James, as was her custom, Katerina cared not for typical boundaries or space and leaned back against the fence, mindful of the sharp splinters at her back and crossed her arms at her breast, refusing to meet their gazes, especially James. Too often did he try to peer into her eyes and attempt to decipher her, often like he did everyone else, but Kat would never allow him that luxury - she was stronger and too much for that. She breathed out a sigh and glanced over her shoulder, casually tossing her eyes away.
"Got some new product, pure, clean cut and good. Better than the shit you're still getting, pixie sticks babe, compared to this. You'll want a few, good tastes. She breathed, selling her blow as usual, tossing the proffer out their in a tantalizing murmur like a cat in the sun.
Reply With Quote
