The steady pitter-patter of rain was accompanied only by a sigh. Graverobber had never particularly liked the rain. It was cold, for one thing, and it caused a lot of nostalgia among high scalpel sluts. They were always particularly talkative when they were reminded of home, and Graverobber had his own problems without having to listen to some addict tell him about their long lost puppy or some other nonsense.
Though he wasn't all that much different from them; the rain always reminded him of his old life, back when he had a home, a mother, a name… All trivial things to him now, but he still missed them from time to time.
He always tried to shake off those memories, but tonight he just couldn't. The sound of the echoing rain inside of his dumpster was nearly over powering. The sound was like gun shots, ringing over and over, shadowed by harsh thunder. It hurt his head, and forced him to close his eyes. Imaged flashed back to him like waves.
He remembered his mother, his childhood home; every pleasant memory that his mind could conjure up.
The clearest memory was that of his mother. She was always a warm, kind hearted person, with amber colored hair that was always in fixed curls. He remembered her porcelain skin, her pretty dresses, but most clearly, he remembered her smile. Her smile was just as warm as her heart, radiating an accepting light that made everything seem like it was alright. Her smile made Graverobber feel like he was home, and that he was safe. There could never be any darkness in a world so beautiful.
It warmed his heart to remember that life. It filled him with a joy that seemed all too distant. It was with bleak disappointment that he opened his eyes. The world was dark once again. The inside of his cozy dumpster revealed none of that bright, warm beauty of his childhood. His mother wasn't there to smile at him. The stench of trash and the musky alley consumed him, and made him wonder why he ever left his home. Why would he have thought that he should leave such beauty for the dark and dirty job that was now every aspect of his life? Why did he ever leave his mother behind to steal, to rob? Why did he ever bother to take up the task to pedaling drugs? What in the world was he thinking?
He let out a shaky sigh and resigned to himself. He wasn't going anywhere tonight. The dumpster was warm, the night was cold, and he was going to let himself mope, just like all of the junkies would after they got their shot of Zydrate.
He closed his eyes and tried to erase his mind. "Let the junkies get their fix somewhere else," he muttered half heartedly as he listened to the cockroaches scurry in the garbage around him. "They aren't my problem tonight."
There we go! This story was written at three in the morning last summer. I'm actually very proud of this story because it was published in the Repo book of fanfiction over the summer. It's also the first, and probably last GR story I will ever write, as fun as it was.
Critiques are always appreciated!