Black and white and hues of gray scattered the snow speckled sky as the flakes landed on the exposed parts of the child's face, sending sparks of cold through their body. They blinked up at the white sky, the clouds gray across its bleached surface, the black ash of the fire still falling onto their face. It had been the biggest bon fire ever and everything compared to the image of its bright vibrant oranges and reds and yellows and sub-tones of blue and green was bleached and pale.
The teenaged child stood, pressing their sore hands against the frozen earth, pulling their beanie lower over their ears. Their hood was over their head and their hands had fingerless gloves covering their bloodied knuckles, the remainder of their hands covered by white gauze bandaging. The small 15 year old had dark blue eyes that were covered with red colored contacts and their lips were chapped and naked other than the scarf they pulled tighter over their nose, busted as well, with a scab across the bridge and a bandage stretched over it. The child was dressed darkly and rose from the ground as if they were being watched and glanced around a few times before actually planting their feet under them and walking onto the road, going to the only home they had.
Their feet clapped against the paving as they walked home, face to the sky, only eyes exposed, and hands in pockets. The white flecks fell slowly, floating to grace the ground, like feathers through air. The black ash from the fire and the white flecks of chilled flurries were mixing and disappearing as they met the pavement. The adolescent spun circles, turning on their toes and watching the graceful spots fall.
Something suddenly shattered the peaceful image. Bright bloody red flying through the air, abusing the same grace the flecks of ash and snow used, to land in the child's outstretched hand as they stopped to catch the bright red ribbon as it fell.
As the child inspected the object the silence was shattered by a roar of a man and the child shoved the ribbon into the front pocket on their pants, sprinting away from the noise that came from behind it. The child ran as far as they could go without leaving the road and soon, at the first intersection, they collided with a broad boy.
"Whoa, Ro! Watch where you goin'! Who you runnin' from?" The broad boy asked, his drawl taking a few letters out of the enunciation of the words he dribbled slowly.
The boy was taller than the child and had thick hair that hung in sheets over his eyes in layers of opaque black. His shoulders were broad and he was muscular, his hands were rough and scarred, his face showing the signs of any typical street fighter – though some of the scars that marred him were from his home.
"Mich, man, you gotta help me. My dad is comin' fast and he's rip-roarin' mad. I'm scared out of my mind, man!" The smaller adolescent whispered hurriedly.
Mich nodded, "Sure Ro, come on back, you can crash with me and the boys again tonight."
"Thanks man." Ro whispered, hurrying off after Mich.
Once inside the condemned apartment complex surrounded by boys in the main lobby, Ro pulled the beanie off and let the auburn hair fall over the red eyes perched on the small sharp face.
"Doro! Girl, what 'chu doin' here? You're gonna sleep in the middle of a bunch of scum bags?" A boy with natural black locks asked, his eyes a fierce green.
Ro looked over, grinning, "Hey, Jo, what's goin on?"
The boy shook his head, "Nothin, but come on, spill it, I asted 'chu what 'chu were doing here."
Ro shook her head, running her fingertips through her long red-brown hair, pushing it back away from her eyes, "My dad, starting his shit like always."
She had dropped her drawl, knowing she only used it when she spoke quickly or wanted to smile and have fun. She was dressed in all dark clothes and her lips were busted as she unwound the scarf from her face, flushed with cold. She was the only girl allowed in the apartment. All of the fighter boys or labeled punks would hang out here over night when shit went down and they needed somewhere safe to stay. Mich was the second guy in charge and if he caught you fighting, more than 'sparring' anyway, and you got thrown out and you had to sleep in the cold that night. Dorothy fought, a lot, and her father beat her near regularly and she stayed with the boys quite often.
"Where's James?" Ro asked, looking around.
Jo opened his mouth to answer but Mich clapped her on the shoulder, "He's up there, Red."
She nodded and started up the stairs to the uppermost floor (that wasn't rotted out, this building was condemned). The stairs creaked and were so old and rotten a few were missing, and the banister couldn't be trusted as it leaned out and in when you applied pressure to it.
Her goal was James's "office" which was the biggest room on the uppermost floor, the "Beta" room as the sign said, which was probably the last renters seeing as the sign was missing pieces and was falling apart and actually read "Be_t, A_". Inside he has a thousand monitors for cheap but effective cameras he had all over the apartment. And he had speakers everywhere as well, an intercom system, as well as a plan to hide everything and everyone if the police came to visit. He was also bribing the demolition experts who were supposed to have torn the building down years ago.
James was handsome and very rich, though he picked to use his money to aid the dirt bags of this dirt-hole county. He never wore suits but he wore baggy ripped up jeans, sweat shirts, ripped up shirts, and plenty of bandages. He was nice as well, kind, understanding, soft spoken unless you provoked him. Cool guy, really, but he was dark and had a dark demeanor.
Soon she was at his door and she knocked once to hear him shout something about getting lost.
"Hey, James, it's me." She called back, her voice low, tears threatening her.
The door flung open in seconds, James's face was the best sight ever and she almost giggled but she knew he was seriously concerned and wanted information on why she was upset.
"Hey James," Ro murmured, pressing a bandaged hand against his bare chest, his shirt in his hand, and pushing him out of the way, letting herself into his room.
"Doro, what's wrong?"