Pasty white skeleton hands flicked the cigarette held in-between two bony fingers, sending ashes flittering to the dirty cement below. Traffic stood at a stand still as the tiny girl took her last long inhaul of the cigarette before chucking it to the ground and stomping on it with her black beat up sneakers. The start of winter could be felt in the crisp afternoon air as she walked toward an old beat up apartment building in down town Manhattan. Her pace quickened as she neared the entrance to escape the colder weather that visited the city without notice. Her shaggy un-kept amber hair flopped in her face as she leaned forward pressing all her weight against the heavy rusty black door. There was no elevator in her apartment building so she climbed the stairs as usual. The darkness consumed her as she neared the 6th floor. Her thin vintage t-shirt didn't help block the chill in the still air as she huffed up the last flight of stairs. She reached the 6th floor and continued with out hesitation down the dim lit hallway. The once red floral carpet was faded into a brownish- red with stains everywhere. It seemed like the carpet was once alive with gardens of roses and tiny pixies that had no care in the world but to fly around on sparkly weightless wings of blue and pink and look more beautiful then all the flowers in the garden put together. And they were good at it. But now it looked dead, limp, and consumed with dirt and dust of many years of people walking all over the non-existent garden. They tiny girl neared the last door at the end of the hall and put a big brass key into the keyhole. She entered the tiny apartment full of empty canvases and collapsed on the bed hoping it would consume her. It would make life easier if she were gone she thought to herself as she got up to make a cup of tea. The apartment was small, but so was she so they were perfect for each other. Her parents had gotten it for her hoping she would be able to pay them back when she got a job. Little did they know she didn't have a job, and wasn't planning on getting one either. There were posters of famous paintings and silent film stars all around the walls. Strings of glitter and dried flowers hung from the ceiling and walls. The only furniture was a bed covered by a sea of sheets and blankets and a chair next to an aisle that stood to the side looking out a window. Books were stacked on top of each other longing to be put on a shelf. The walls were a deep brown and every so often if you looked close enough you could read poems and art ideas that Amber had scribbled onto the wall when she feared the ideas would leave her if she didn't write them in a hurry. She sat cross-legged on the wood floor of her apartment sipping her tea. As she stirred it she watched the steam rise and thought about going to art school next year. She had taken this year off to recollect herself and restart her life. Things have been hell since he left. "He" (as she liked to call him now) was her first (and only as she was concerned) love. It seemed he had come as fast as he left. When he left she felt incomplete and worthless. Depression seemed to hang over her like a cloud wherever she went. She lost touch with friends and painted more then ever alone in her room. Things were getting better; she no longer felt the need to strangle every guy that looked remotely like him. Moving away from Philly seemed like the best move. She wanted to start fresh, as hard as that seemed. As she put the mug to her lips some tea spilt out onto her worn-out jeans. She didn't notice since her mind was busy. Amber knew no one in New York City. Not a soul, besides maybe if you count the Starbucks guy that buys her a free cup of coffee every morning. She didn't know what he saw in her that possessed him to pay for her coffee. She didn't find herself pretty. When she looked in the mirror all her saw was messy hair, pale white skin, and fat everywhere. When in reality she was skin and bones. And if she just put her hair out of her face and smiled a little (just a little) she might actually be beautiful. But you couldn't see her true beauty under all her hair and thick black eye make-up. She took two sips of tea and decided she didn't want it anymore. She loved the feeling of being empty and hollow. The only thing she ever let herself get full on was coffee. There was something about the empty lifeless feeling that she loved. She got up and poured the rest of the tea down the drain. She watched it twirl down until it disappeared. She grabbed her pea coat and a scarf and hurried out , down the steps, and out onto the streets again. She didn't know where she was off to, but she knew her journey had a propose.