Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

For the average person, breathing was probably something they never really thought too much about. It was simple. Involuntary. No point in "controlling your breathing" if it is already controlled for you, right?

Meg Thomas was not your average person.

Jogging down the city streets, Meg knew that maintaining proper control over your breathing was the key difference between winning the marathon or burning yourself out before you even get a chance to leave the starting gate. Each breath was deliberate; each stride was well planned. Meg knew if you truly wanted to excel as a runner, you had to turn the involuntary into the voluntary. You had to keep everything in check.

And while Meg was by a lot of people's standard the perfect stereotype of the cool, controlled jogger who meticulously calculated every lungful of air she gasped during a run, there was one thing that Meg knew she couldn't always control. No matter how hard she fought, some days it would just be too much and it would just get the better of her: her emotions.

Today was one of those days.

Turning a corner, Meg found herself going from the sidewalk to a dreary alleyway. Her jog began to slow to a brisk walk, until finally she came to a stop. She closed her eyes as she turned her face up to the sky and took in a deep breath of city air, holding it in her lungs for a few seconds, before finally exhaling. Meg was wearing one of her more urban outfits today. Her ruddy-brown hair was held out of her face by a blue headband, and for a top she was wearing a navy sports bra under a light runner's jacket, unzipped. The dark gray joggers and sneakers she wore insured comfort as well as a bit of style. Her mother had endearingly called it a "bit of a 'mean streets' look!" the first time she saw her wearing it.

Her mother...

Meg's eyes slowly opened as she looked back towards the destination before her. The whole reason she had jogged 45 minutes to the outskirts of the city in the first place. The abandoned factory at the end of the end of the alley looked deeply foreboding against the overcast sky of the city. As Meg began to walk over to it, she couldn't help but feel that general uneasy feeling in her gut. The feeling of trespassing. Being somewhere you don't belong. But Meg had been here before, and she knew those feelings would pass in time. Nobody visited this part of the city anymore, she was probably the only person around within half a mile. And right now, she really just needed this.

The factory was an old steel mill that looked like it had stopped production years before Meg was even born. "HUGH E. BUTRAM & CO." was printed on a rusted tin sign that had fallen off of the front of the factory and was now leaning against the door to the place. Meg reckoned that the factory was about 50% rust and 50% cold concrete. None of that concerned her, though. Meg was too busy looking at the multiple windows that still had unbroken panes of glass in them. Those were her target. That's why she was here.

Bzz! Bzz!

Meg flinched a little bit when she felt her cellphone vibrate in her pocket. She dug her fingers into her pants to fish her phone out and see who it could be.

1 New Message!
Sent: Today, 6:22 p.m.
From: Claud (BFF!)

"im sorry she isnt doing well. :( would you like me to bring over some more herbal tea? i could brew some up right now and be over there within the hour! :) your mom really seemed to like the brew i made last time"

It was a text from her best friend, Claudette, responding to a message that she had sent her earlier. Meg stared at it for a second with her brow furrowed as she tried to think of how to respond. She typed a few words, then deleted them, then started over again, then deleted them again. Finally, Meg let out a frustrated groan as she shoved the phone back in her pocket without responding. She wasn't in the mood to talk.

There was a pile of bricks and loose cement from a collapsed wall right next to Meg. The same pile of bricks that had been there last time she was here. Meg reached down to pick one up. Standing there, brick in hand, she took a second to appreciate the weight of her chosen weapon. She looked over at one of the factory's old windows and saw her reflection in the dusty glass, her reflection standing there holding a brick in a dirty, dingy alley. She saw herself standing there alone... and she saw the darkness in her own eyes.

Finally, the anger inside of her bubbled to the surface. Gripping the brick as hard as she could, Meg reeled back and threw it with all the precision of a professional baseball player. It was a direct hit, the brick careening straight through the middle of the window.

CRAAAASH!

The sound of glass shattering was enough to cause Meg's heart to skip a beat. Hearing the hundreds of shards collapse in on themselves onto the floor of the factory was therapeutic. Already Meg felt a little bit of tension ease from her shoulders, and she took another deep inhale to try and steady her heart rate back down.

But it wasn't enough.

Meg reached back down and picked up another brick. She threw this one at the corner of a broken window that still had a little glass left on the sides. Another direct hit, this one completely knocking what was left of the window onto the floor to shatter. Meg clenched her teeth as her breath became more shallow.

That still wasn't enough.

Meg picked up and threw another brick. And then another. And then another. The late afternoon alley was filled with sounds of shattered glass as multiple bricks found their way into the factory. Meg was throwing as hard as she could, until it felt like the muscles in her arm were about to catch on fire.

Every broken window was a thought for Meg. She thought about her sick mother who had recently taken a turn for the worse, but still put on a brave face. She thought about her absentee father who had never so much as cared to send her a single birthday card since she was born. She thought about her aunts and uncles who "wished they could help!" but were just "too busy." And then, as Meg picked up a piece of concrete with rebar still stuck to it, she thought about the college acceptance letter that she had gotten... the one she had to turn down now so that she could take care of her mom. Her senior year of high school was almost over. The past four years had been wasted. All that work for what? Just so she could get accepted into a college that she won't even be able to attend now? It wasn't fair, Meg thought. It wasn't fucking fair.

"Goddammit!" Meg screamed as she hurled the piece of concrete and rebar through a tall, double-paned window of the factory's lobby. The glass exploded with a loud boom as the crystalline fragments rained down to the ground. The sound echoed through the alley and the factory, as Meg stood there for a second taking it all in.

Exhausted, sore, and with tears beginning to well up in her eyes, Meg collapsed down next to the pile of bricks as she tried to calm her very heavy breathing.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale...

Eventually, Meg's breathing exercises began to work. Her heart rate slowed, her breathing went back to normal, and her head felt like it was finally beginning to clear. Feeling a bit guilty for leaving her friend 'on read', Meg pulled her phone back out from her pants and began to texting away.

Send New Message!
From: Me
To: Claud (BFF!)

"hey, sorry, i appreciate it, but im kind of busy rn. maybe 2morrow?"

Meg sighed after hitting 'send' and put away her phone. Claudette really had been a big help ever since Meg's mom took ill. The fledgling botanist was constantly swinging by Meg's house after school to drop off herbs, teas, and all sorts of botanical medications for Meg's mom and would even stick around long enough to play a few board games. Meg wasn't entirely sure how potent the botanicals were in helping her mother's illness, but they certainly improved her spirit and improved some of her symptoms. As far as Meg was concerned, that was worth its weight in gold. Maybe she would buy a new botany set for Claudette for Christmas, Meg thought to herself. But where would she even buy that? Is there a "Botanists-R-Us?" somewhere in the city she didn't know about? Now that she thought about it, where did Claud get all of her seeds for her plants from? Did she have to order them online, or was it more of a-

"You got a hell of a throw!"

A voice from behind Meg startled her out of her daydream as she quickly bolted upright and bounced a couple steps back away from where she was sitting. She turned to see a single, lone figure standing right next to the pile of bricks where she was just sitting by. It was a young woman, probably about Meg's age, wearing a grey beanie and typical "punk" skater clothes. Meg didn't even hear her creep up on her.

"SHIT!" Meg exclaimed in surprise as she held her chest. "Are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack!?" The skateboarder let out a mischievous laugh as she held her hands up in surrender.

"Sorry, sorry," the girl said, smirking. "I don't mean to sneak up on people, honest. Just got little cat steps is all, heh, or at least that's what I've been told."

The skater took a few steps forward as she eyeballed the factory. Her long, dirty blond hair was flowing freely out from underneath her beanie. She was wearing a loose-fitting tanktop that Meg just now realized was emblazoned with pictures of "Howdy Cat," the 80s pop icon that was out of style when Meg's mom was still a kid. A backpack was slug over her shoulder, with several cans of spray paint stuffed into the backpack's pockets, and a skateboard was strapped on as well. Her pants were skinny jeans with ripped holes in the knees, and her shoes were a very bold choice of mustard yellow converses with black spots of dirt caked around them. The skater whistled before looking back over at Meg.

"So, Hugh E. Butram & Co., eh?" she asked, her Swedish accent noticeable and distinct. She nodded at the factory's rusted sign. "So, what did these assholes do to piss you off, huh? I thought you were gonna throw your damn arm out of socket with how hard you were throwing those bricks."

Meg's eyes widened a little bit as she felt the blood rush to her face, the realization that this complete stranger just witnessed her complete meltdown. Embarrassed, Meg wanted to crawl into a hole and die. She kept her head down as she quickly walked past the skater back down the alley the way she came.

"Nothing," Meg said curtly, "I don't want to talk about it."

The skater, picking up on Meg's embarrassment, just rolled her eyes and let out a chuckle, "Oh, c'mon, you act like you're the first person to ever be caught in the middle of a temper tantrum before. I don't judge! Really!" she said, laughing a little as she tried to wave the walking athlete back over to her. "C'mon, my name's Nea, what's yours?" She grinned.

"It wasn't a temper tantrum, and stop talking to me," Meg half-yelled over her shoulder as she continued walking, her face beginning to burn from self-consciousness. She didn't really care what the punk's name was, she just wanted to leave. Nea's eyes narrowed a little, unamused.

"Fine, then, whatever," Nea groaned. What a drama queen, she thought. Why couldn't everyone just be more chill? She shrugged before turning to look at the fallen sign of the factory. "Hugh E. Butram & Co.," eh? What a pretentious name. Suddenly, an idea came to Nea's mind, and her lips formed a devilish smile.

Continuing to walk, Meg's stride was paused for a second when she heard the sound of spray paint cans rattling. What the fuck? she thought to herself as she turned around to look at what was making the noise. The skater, Nea, had her back turned to her and was crouched in front of the sign furiously shaking two cans of spray paint that she had taken out of her backpack. After shaking them for a few seconds, the young street artist went to work, and the sounds of the pressurized paint escaping their cans onto Nea's new canvas soon filled the air. Slowly, Meg cautiously began to walk back over to Nea and the sign, unsure about the woman's motivations but still nonetheless curious as to what she could be doing. Nea heard her walking back over, and smiled at Meg over her shoulder as she turned around to look behind.

"Oh yeah," Nea said confidently. "You're gonna wanna see this one. This is a good one," she boasted. Meg's view of the sign was partially blocked by Nea's body, so she couldn't see exactly what it was that she was tagging. Still standing several feet away, Meg uncrossed her arms as she began to forget all about her previous feelings of embarrassment. Eventually, her curiosity got the best of her.

"What's it gonna be?" she asked nonchalantly, not trying to sound like she really cared even though she kind of did. Nea held up a finger in response, her back still turned to her.

"Shh, sh, shhhhh..." Nea pleaded. "It's alllllmoooost..." Nea drug the words out as she made a few finishing touches with the paint. When she was finally done, she laid the spray cans on the ground and smiled to herself, clasping her hands together. "Done!"

Practically standing on her tippy toes, Meg was waiting for the unusual street artist to move out of the way to see what she had made. Nea waited a few extra seconds to add to the suspense before finally stepping out of the way.

"TA-DA!" Nea said, using her arms to gesture at her latest and greatest piece. Using her spray paint to make a couple of clever edits, the sign that once proudly displayed the name of the family run company "HUGH E. BUTRAM & CO." was no more. Instead it had been replaced with something much more cultured and refined. Meg looked down at the sign and what it now said.

"HUG E. BUTTRAMS & COCKS!"

Underneath the now debased words of the sign was a very detailed doodle of a cartoon butt, complete with hair, freckles, and fart gas. There was also about 6 or 7 crudely drawn dicks surrounding it.

"Well? What do you think? Definitely Banksy level, right?" Nea beamed, a quiet sense of pride in her work. "I figured... since you seem to hate this factory so much, now everybody who walks by will know it as the 'huge buttrams and cocks!' factory from now on. Pretty dope, right?" Nea smirked as she studied Meg's face.

Meg... wasn't quite sure what to think. Is she joking? Meg thought. She looked at the sign, then back at Nea. Nea stood there smiling with her arms crossed as if she had just created the next Mona Lisa. Meg looked back at the cartoon butt, complete with fart gas, then back at Nea. The skater started nodding in approval, clearly content. Meg looked back at the sign and... and started to laugh. At first it was just a smile, a grin that escaped her lips, but the more she tried to fight it... the more she started to laugh! Nea saw this, and started laughing herself.

"Haha, w-what? You don't like it?!" Nea exclaimed, jokingly offended as she let out an exaggerated scoff. This just caused Meg to start laughing harder, and Meg soon found herself having to bend over and hold her own knees to stop herself from keeling over from her laughing fit.

"Hahahah, it's- it's- haha, it's just so juvenile!" Meg choked out in between laughs as her vision began to get blurry from the tears. It was such an awful, stupid, unfunny pun with such a poorly drawn doodle, that Meg couldn't help but imagine seeing it in a high school bathroom stall somewhere. It was so unfunny, that it reversed in on itself and became funny again. Nea scoffed yet again at this, even more exaggerated than the first time somehow.

"What?! This is some genuine, art show level shit right here, man! This is gonna make me famous and get me off the streets! C'mon!" Nea joked, laughing along with her new friend. And for a couple minutes, the two just stood there staring at the sign, laughing to themselves at the absurdity and childishness of it. It sure as hell wasn't Nea's best work, she knew that, but it certainly had its intended effect. She had never seen somebody laugh so hard at one of her pieces before.

Meg slowly began to compose herself, her face and stomach beginning to ache from laughing too hard. Wiping the tears from her eyes, and letting out a few final chuckles, Meg stood back up straight and looked at Nea.

"Thanks for that. I, uh... I really needed that today," Meg admitted, smiling. "I'm Meg, it's nice to meet you, Nea."

Nea nodded and extended her fist out for a fist-bump which Meg returned.

"Likewise, bud, likewise," Nea said before looking back over her shoulder at some of the broken windows. "Rough day, huh?" she asked casually. Meg shifted on her feet uncomfortably a little bit, her cheeks getting a touch red from embarrassment again as she remembered Nea just saw her go apeshit on those windows not too long ago.

"...More like a rough month," Meg confessed. She looked away from Nea as she rubbed the back of her neck, trying to stay casual.

"Ahhh... I see," Nea nodded understandably as she looked over at a particularly bare area of concrete outside on the factory's wall. She studied it for a few seconds, contemplating.

There was a bit of an awkward silence in the air as the two just stood there for a second, Nea deep in thought and Meg beginning to wonder if she should just thank the skater for the laugh and begin her walk back home. Meg was about to open her mouth when Nea cut her off.

"Ya know, whenever I have a bad day..." Nea began to walk over to the factory's wall, picking up her two cans of spray paint as she did, "...I like to come out here too. Not necessarily this specific factory, but this area of the city. It's quiet..." Nea was standing directly in front of the wall now, her back completely turned to Meg even though she was still speaking to her. "But I don't break windows though. No judgment! But I have a different outlet..."

Shaking her spray paint, Nea quickly began the outline of her tag. She worked quickly. Precisely. Her eyes darted from inch to inch of her tag within milliseconds, quickly spraying over the areas in her mind where she knew it would look best at. Meg just stood there in silence, amazed at how quickly Nea was able to do her work, as she slowly saw the tag come to life before here. Nea reached into her backpack and brought out a few more cans of spray paint. Different colors. A couple sprays here, a little shading there, and after just a few minutes she was done.

"I don't break... I create," Nea smiled as she slowly took a few steps back from her art work until she was standing right next to Meg, both of them staring at the piece.

It was another cartoonized doodle, but this time it was larger than the one on the sign, and also clearly more effort had been put into it. It was a red brick flying through the air, speed lines coming off of it, and it was being thrown towards a picture of a very still intact window. Meg was... genuinely impressed. The line work and coloring of it was beautiful, and to be able to get it all perfect in just a few short minutes? Clearly Nea was a much better artist than her first tag initially hinted at her being. Underneath the tag, Meg could make out some stylized letters.

MASHTYX

Meg looked over at the spunky young artist and saw something a little different on her face this time. It wasn't a showboating pride, or feigned arrogance in her piece like she had done for her last one. No, that was just a joke. This was serious, something Nea wanted her tag associated with. Something she wanted to associate with her because it was just that good. The subtle almost undetectable smile on her lips. The slight gleam in her narrow eyes. The way her chin was slightly pointed upwards as she looked at her piece. It was a look that Meg had seen a lot on the race track, but never quite in this context.

It was confidence.

Nea turned her eyes from her artwork to look over at her new vandal-in-arms who she just now realized was also staring at her with a look of unmistakable amazement in her eyes. This took Nea off guard for a second, but she quickly just laughed it off and gave Meg a quick wink.

"Well, what do you think? Not bad, huh?"

To be continued...