#fastfoodfiction

[laikc]

work on pratt

It's finally getting cold and the tourists are fading out. They get on my nerves but they're the main ones that look out for me. If I'm lucky I can catch the remaining few near the bars before and after football games. Most locals tend to stare straight through my hollow shell, or whatever is left of it, but the special ones tell me to "get it together". I'm not sure which of these two types has more soul.

I typically spot the same young woman headed to work everyday around 4:30 pm. She knows who the hell I am but we both prefer to pretend we don't recognize each-other. She has money to give but doesn't waste it on me anymore. She used to toss over a little extra change when she had it on her, but she's a city girl now, and she's onto me. I don't even ask when I see her saunter the sticky sidewalks, playing dart with her eyes, blatant attempts to avoid eye contact with me. She's walked by me at least 400 times since I realized I can rack up the most coins on Pratt street since my descent into debauchery. I'm proud of her. I've swindled her over the years but it won't be happening anymore. I've helped her grow by allowing her to believe she was a good citizen for sharing her hard earned cash. And I did it by using drugs. And by using other people like her. Not by purchasing water, food, or doing anything to better myself. Na. She never would've toughened up that way. She had to see for herself that I was liar. So I continued to ask for money when I saw her, until she became sickened by the sight of me. I don't know what I look like anymore but I feel rattier and dirtier both inside and out and she's noticed.

At first whenever she left the 711 near the train stop, she struggled not toshare her spare change. That ended when she figured out I had designated post up areas. I started to feel her judgment piercing me when she was anywhere within eyesight.

"Yeah that's right girl. I'm at work, I work just like you".

But I never had any intentions of bettering myself with my work, my addiction is in charge. But even after the shared funds quit flowing, she still felt obligated to acknowledge me as a human, which I regret to say I no longer am. Being able to stand up straight is the only triumph I have over my fellow zombies. I'm younger than most of them, a plus for me when it's time to pan handle. People tend to hold tight to the false hope that I can turn it around. One day she caught me accepting money, yet turning down food from a couple of preteen girls. Her kindness towards me left permanently that day. It was the first time she didn't respond when I feigned a cry for help.

From then on she was a realist. Able to walk by with her chin in the air and close her ears to the sounds of my rattling cup like the rest of the locals. My parasitic ventures won't end unless I die or the world is completely purified of heroin. Until then, more tourists and naive pedestrians have the misfortune of passing me by and it's my job to show them the world for what it is one person at a time.

[laikc]

cara

Derived from a prompt. Create a character and explain their life leading up til now.

I was born on the outskirts of Charlotte. A sleepy little town finished off with wide roads and nosy neighbors on the borders of the train tracks that centered Shelville. Knew i wasn't cut out for living in an "everyone knows your name" neighborhood by kindergarten. Sheila was a fair skinned girl, armed with heavy barettes on the ends of her two ponytails, and all the makings of a future successful snob. I don't know how she was able to see inside my windows of my home, but she always knew minute details. "Cara doesn't have a mom," she'd inform my classmates. "Her Daddy tried to braid her hair last night and didn't know how to do it, so he gave her a ponytail." I might've been the first five year old to experience paranoia. Her announcement of my mother's jail time earned her a bloody nose, and me a week's suspension, and silent respect. In first grade, I realized Sheila's commentary had been mistaken for teasing. Her shares were merely short reminders for the other girls to cut me slack for my less than fashionable appearance. She lived in the complex behind ours, and my father had been dating her mother for some time. "My mama wants to meet you but your dad thinks you'll be mad. I saw them kiss," she whispered. "I'm sorry punched you before." "It's ok. My mama said it's 'specially hard when the mom goes to jail and not the dad. I won't tell anyone else." With a our best-friendship solidified, I cruised through grade school with my head up, but still had to knock out a few girls here and there for saying mean things. "That wasn't ladylike" Sheila would say, supporting on me on my walks toward the principal's office. In sixth grade my father finally dropped the news. Sheila would be my sister in law soon, and I was in paradise. Ms. Connie made sure I looked as cute as Sheila, coming over to prep my outfits and hair every school night. My nosy neighbors quit looking at me with the unnecessary pity they once had, like my daddy hadn't been doing a good job all along. My father went from virtually mute, to an expert conversationalist.. He became organized, and confident overnight. He smiled at the nosies on the way to the car, even though I knew he didn’t want to. He never did before, just forced automated responses. What magical creatures women are! A month before the wedding, my mother was released from jail. I whaled like a dying animal the night I found out. I was the brink of having a perfect family, and I realized it didn't include my biological mother. Of course she wanted me with her, and the fact that I wasn't sold on the idea made me feel more guilty than she was of her past robberies. Sheila wiped my tears and held hers in. "Stop you'll make yourself sick. We'll still be sisters." It was true. My mother turned out to be as pleasant as I remembered, and New York City ain't that bad. A lot of these kids had it way worse than me. I've got more gossip than my sister these days. She can't wait for my after school calls. After the wedding, I decided my mom deserved a second chance. I had Mrs. Connie, but I was selfish and in need of two mothers. After months of negotiations, court proceedings, and more tears, I skipped up here to Brooklyn. I’ll be spending summers with my dad, stepmom and Sheila. No one seems to be worried about what we've got going on, these New Yorkers mind there business. My perfect family is of no concern to them.

[laikc]

kevin

Derived from a prompt. Create a character and put them in a situation. I've always felt awkward in my own body. My legs are super long, and my torso not so much. I've got a mini fro, and acne scars that lay on my copper face and attack myself esteem. I wish my melon shaped eyes weren't so close together. At thirty, I resemble that of a twenty three year old, but without the excitement of the future. Sheila finds me handsome in spite of. Still surprises me as much as it did when we first started dating my last semester in college. I can't believe she wants to marry me. I somehow squiggled my way into love. It was foreign but needed. I laid on Sheila's fuchsia blankets pretending to sleep. Her parents kept her old room the same way it was in her high school years. It had all the pleasantries a teenage princess would need. My room during the teens mirrored a carpeted jail cell, with one window, covered by stained mustard curtains. A place to breed the future criminal that I  never became. Can’t say the same of my former neighbors. Our upbringings never mattered until now. I was sweaty and nervous. I couldn't tell if every knock I heard was another relative at the door, or the beating of my own heart against my chest. “‘So tell us about yourself’ they'd say. Um, I’m an orphan, but I’ve got a degree and a job? No that wasn’t good enough. But what else could I say? There was nothing I could scrape up in time. They were ready to meet her knight and shining armor and he was nowhere to be found. Sheila must’ve told her parents a BS background story on me. Her parents were great so far. But I still had the others to worry about. Everything was perfect before the added pressure. Now I was enslaved by the fairy tale ideas of my own imagination. Don't know why I thought I could have Sheila to myself. I'd be marrying Sheila, and every relative there that came to celebrate our engagement. They were downstairs. I could hear the laughter of the rich taunting me. A coward. They all sounded so vibrant, witty, and refined like Sheila. Probably equal in the looks department too.  I felt their warmth rise through the vent and it burned. I just kept laying there, introverted, and uncomfortable. So unlike them. So unlike Sheila. A product of Philly slums, who managed to get a degree from Temple University. They'd never approve. Who was I kidding? I was an impostor. I’d try to warn her before it all bubbled over. But she was so sure, certain they’d accept me, trusting I had a future to provide. But I was broke. I had nothing but Sheila. I didn’t think I’d led her to believe I had anything more. Just my undivided attention, devotion, and debt I’d be out of later than we’d both liked to admit. Could her temporary heartbreak be worse than going through with it, and failing her later on? It’ll be easier for her to heal from this, than a failed husband. What can I really give to a woman that already has it all? "Kevin get up. Everyone's waiting for you." said the voice of an angel outside the door. "Are you really that tired?" "Yes."

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and rushed down the stairs and out the door. I left my integrity, Sheila, and the family I didn't deserve.