Kuro sat in a booth in a fast food restaurant. The seat was cold and a tray of food lingered in front of them. They were always hungry. The food would be gone in no time and it was likely that they would go up to purchase more. But did they have enough? They had already bought a week’s worth of their personal fix; never mind the groceries and toiletries they needed at their apartment. The place was virtually empty and they didn’t seem to have a care in the world as long as they had what they need...
It was an addiction. Since the early days of March, they had been stuck in a cycle. They were destroying their own body with old and new narcotics they regularly abused. The changes hadn’t been noticed by them yet, but gradually their figure shrunk, their strength diminished, their glow dimmed, and their cheeriness ceased. This unhealthy outlet took away the bad things at first, but now it was stealing away the good too; their health, their friends, their family, their self-respect.
They dipped a single french fry into their small container of ketchup, gingerly coating each one before eating it. They hummed a tune to themselves as they observed the restaurant and the few people that sat in there with them. There was a small boy with his mother; it was clear the child was upset and his mother appeared distressed. Why sudden feelings of nostalgia and jealously rushed through their weakening veins was a mystery.
The mother and child leave. Kuro felt a wave of loneliness, but that happened too often enough to explain. It didn’t make sense. A lot of things didn’t make sense and they were actively looking for answers everyday. Was it under the bed? In this restaurant? Across the city in a ditch -- ?
“Why does that person over there look like a zombie?”
Who says that out loud? Kuro peeked up from their meal and tried to find the person whom had spoken so openly. They often forgot they weren’t of homosapian species, but because their secret was something they kept so hidden, their true origins had began fading away along with the light in their aura.
Perhaps it was just their heightened hearing that caught it. However, what they didn’t miss to catch was the three pairs of eyes staring in their direction. It was a group of young people such as themselves. They quickly avert their gaze down and attempted to regulate their sudden hyperventilating.
The fact that they felt the burning eyes of the flock of friends only confirmed they were talking about Kuro. But they couldn’t disagree or do anything. Dark circles had paired with their sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks; they were miserable. Even so, they finish their food and move on.
With an unsteady stance, they stroll through the damp and dangerous streets of abandoned buildings. Were the buildings really empty, though? No. Kuro would often come across drug dealers, prostitutes, and people who were downright looking for trouble.
How could Kuro afford the narcotics they desperately craved everyday? It was something they never talked about; something they kept locked in secrecy unless someone brought it up, but who out of all people knew about it? Maybe just one person, but it didn’t matter to them. It didn’t stop them. It didn’t hinder them from loitering on corners, seeking out clients.
Did they enjoy it? No. Every second of every occurrence they tried their best to keep their eyes shut. They thought of the wonderful things that made them happy, and constantly reminded themselves that in the end, it was worth it. But honestly, is it?
