Blood splatter my face, hand and cloths. Screaming I ran as fast as I could away from my nightmare.
*your nightmares are real*
i stared at the soap in the health and hygiene isle. man i wanted a shower... and a tooth brush. as i swiped my tongue against my grotty teeth, i stared longingly at the strawberry blitz mouth wash and didn't move until an old lady came over and asked " why are you staring at the mouthwashes deary? can't decide whats best? can't say i blame you." i looked over at the old lady and smiled. i liked old people, such nice people. " my god, your filthy!" okay...maybe not so much. ":and your cloths... is that blood!? deary why are you so dirty? no wonder your staring at this stuff!" i looked at her and back at the health products and sighed" my parents... kicked me out saying...saying" i choked up as tears started falling. the old lady looked at me in concern " what did they say deary?" by now i was trying not to breakdown, this old lady didn't need this " they said i was a disappointment and that.. that they didn't have a daughter. after that i never saw them again. not hard considering that i took several buses and used all my money to get here from Florida." the old women looked at me in pity. god damn it! i just sort of lied to a old person and made her pity me. " well deary, we can't have that! now can we" she opened her purse and handed me a fifty dollar note " what? no i can't take this" i said backing away." nonsense! and don't worry, you'll be working it of for me by doing some cleaning. god knows my old bones can handle it" i smiled at her and graciously took the note and asked her what her name was "Imogen, Imogen Herondale" she asked mine "clary, just clary"
*for every kindness, there are two sins*
i was in an old eighties styled bathroom with yellow tiles and white swan feature tiles that bordered the baby blue walls. i stripped down and turned the faucet until it was as hot as it could go. i sat in the boiling hot until my red skin started to wrinkle and my soaked hair smelled of water melon. hmm i like water melons, i wonder if imoge- wait! no! i am not taking anything more from this women. i sighed as i stepped out of the now cold water and dressed in the old cotton pajamas that Imogen had giving me. in my malnutrition ed state they were a little big- in my defense the women even though in her late sixties, was 5 foot 5 compared to my 5 foot 2- though i didn't mind.
feeling as clean i had in months, i walked quietly the kitchen were i thought i heard imogen cooking. now imagine my surprise when i walk in to see a very tall, lean, well muscled man with blonde hair and sun kissed skin making tomato soup near the stove. i grabbed the nearest thing - a frying pan- and stalked over to him. he must of sensed my presence, because he started talking " so how has your day been? mine has been pretty crap-" he was cut short when he saw me, just as i swang the frying pan as hard as i could toward his face.