gone off potion
The rain pelted the stretch of canvas that I stood under, the red and white fabric whipped by the gusts of wind that wrapped around the buildings. It swept up newspapers, sending bits of it floating down the sidewalks, catching the legs of those who rushed toward their destinations. A cold gaze was given to no one in particular, thoughts slow and struggling. My high had gone, and was replaced with the all too familiar hollow exhaustion, the weakness seeping into every bone and taking me to my very core. I itched, fingernails mindlessly picking at the damp fabric covering my arms. The veins there burned, and I rubbed them, furiously but then more gentle as I let my mind go. Jaw bulged as I gritted my teeth, a habit that now continued without my awareness, molars working against each other. The grinding drowned out the muffled voices coming from the busy café behind me, the clinking of glasses and ringing of the counter’s bell lost as I moved closer toward the edge of the overhang. The chill stayed with me, and I purchased nothing, lingering despite the constant protests from the staff. Last dime spent on juice. Last of it gone. My watch? Yeah, that’ll fetch enough. I turned to leave, shoving open the iron door of the waist-level barrier that edged the seating area, shouldering through oncoming walkers, catching a younger male rather forcefully. He yelled at me, and I flinched toward him, throwing a hand toward the street behind me.
“Keep fucking going. Yeah, you. With the shitty fucking gray sweater. Where the fuck you goin? Bible camp? Bet you’re a baby touching piece of shit too, aren’t you?” I snarled under my breath as I pushed past another person, breaking into a clear spot on the sidewalk. Unknown faces wandered toward me, most hidden under scarves and hoods, all except a familiar one that approached in the crowd. My heart sank into my stomach, pale eyes widened in momentary disbelief before gaze was cast upward and away from Kyo. “Fuck.” Quickly, I ducked to the side, sliding behind a lamppost and moving behind a cart selling magazines, hoping to stay out of sight as the heels of my hands were pressed roughly against my eyes, colors bursting to life in the pain. Not today. Not fucking today.