Prologue:
I never thought that tonight would end up like this. A black eye, some bruises here and there. I kick one of the filled trash cans into the street and its contents spill onto the asphalt. I huff as an on passing car swerves away from the pile of junk. The winnings from to tonight aren't going to be sufficient enough to pay for a place to sleep or a nice cold bites my cheeks as I wander the streets of Los Angeles.
I must blend in with some of the poor people on the streets with my mud-stained pants and knotted ginger hair, as i'm taken no notice to by the wealthier people chattering amongst their fancy dresses and formal wear, on the other side of the street. I wonder what people of a wealthier city would make of this, as one side of the street is filled with clubs and restaurants that are buzzing with people, while the other lacks color and has trash that lines the crumbling buildings. My boots click against the pavement as I make several turns down alleys of different poor neighborhoods.
If only I could have finished that last fight, I would have been on the minds of all the fighters in the bars tonight. Maybe I could have even been challenged with big cash at stake. I rub my fingers anxiously against my lucky ring as I watch clouds roll in overhead. I bet all I have that I could take that rooky policeman that dragged me out of the bar.
I snap out of my thoughts as I hear the smooth pattering of someone running behind me. My breath quickens as the distance between me and the person behind me shortens. I will my legs to plop right in front of another to lose this person behind me. In places like this, I'd rather not be followed in an alleyway so close to midnight. My lightweight sweater doesn't protect me from the onslaught of rain that now comes as I make rapid turns through these short alleyways. I'm not cold though, the heat that builds from my run between the worn out buildings spreads throughout my body. I turn down a slightly more narrow path and my breathing begins to become more rapid which each step. At this point, my muscles are aching and my brain is willing me to stop.
The pounding of our shoes against the pavement becomes heavier and my form becomes more clumsy as I begin to tire. The burning in my legs doesn't cease and suddenly they give out below me. I grunt as my face collides with a puddle on the concrete. Move, my mind screams but my body doesn't comply. There is no more sound from the stranger who was chasing me, maybe they're pointing a gun at my head right now or maybe they're waiting for me to make the next move.
The scrapes on my knees sting, as well as my bruises that are spread across my face. My arms shake as a raise myself above the mucky water formed by the cracked cement. I don't recognize the person staring back at me as myself, as she has somewhat of a darker hair color and her eyes are wide with fear. I tear my eyes away from her as I begin to search behind is no one there. A mind-numbing ache racks my head and my whole body begins to tremble. I lean against the wall next to me; under a small covering overhead.
The rain dulls my thoughts and I wipe some of the tears that have failed to leak off my cheeks. My muscles are still taught even though I must have already lost the person that was following me. Suddenly, i'm glad that no one was able to see my breakdown. I sling my backpack off my shoulders and my fingers fumble against the zippers as my heartrate calms. I mutter a few curses into the open air and wipe the sweat that has accumulated on my brow.
Slightly trembling as I sort through the contents of my backpack, I take a sip of water out of a thermos that I stole from some lady at a park one day. The corners of my mouth tilt upwards as I stick out my tongue to catch the rain that falls from the sky. I try to convince myself that i'm not going crazy or maybe I actually already am.
Next, I pull out a faded leather book that I have been using as a diary for as long as I can remember. Although it's binding can barely hold all the extra papers I have stacked in there, I still refuse to find myself another one. The cursive-like handwriting jumps out from the off-white background on each page. My mind wanders to everything that has happened since this morning.
Dear Diary,
Today, November fifth judging by the radio and other forms of broadcasting, was pretty normal. Well, except for the fact that I was unceremoniously chased down by a creepy stalker. I'm unsure whether I lost them or they realized I wasn't worth the chase.
Also, there was this kid in the park who was having a party for a birthday? I thought it was interesting that he got all these presents for just being born. I mean, he didn't do anything to deserve all the attention he was getting. I wonder what it would feel like to have one of those party-type things. What would it feel like to have friends that you could keep for more than one day?
Sincerely,
Addie
I jump to my feet as I get back my mental bearings and head towards on my way again. Even though I have no place where i'm needed, I've decided to make my way towards the gigantic orange bridge i've seen on the televisions through the glossy windows of electronic stores. Although I have only seen this bridge twice, I happened to bargain one of my bracelets for a complicated map of California's highways and streets.
When closing my eyes, I can see the interweaving curves of streets and the bold text of names. I lean my head back against the brick wall behind me and rest my eyes as I listen to the melodic hum of the oncoming rain. A few minutes past unbeknownst to me. Then hours begin to pass and the soft noise that fills my ears fades. The sun that suddenly hits my face causes me to squint and I feel the waves its warmth wrap around me. My joints in my back ache from my awkward sleeping position. I prop myself up on my knees and throw my backpack over one shoulder. The alleyway fills with light that reflects off the lingering moisture on the ground.
It's a very serene morning; silence fills the empty alleys and is broken by the occasional chatter of birds. I adjust my backpack and start to work my way out of the complex streams of streets that seem to flow in opposite directions and rejoin each other in various places. In a way, it reminds me a maze; another puzzle for me to work my way around. There is no need for me to be worried about the weightlessness of the content of my pockets; for i'm Addison Oates, the most courageous person you'll ever meet.