A/N:This is my first story,with help from someone I consider to be a master she's helping co-write and review not to make it too harsh
Name: Cynthia Burnside
Race: Mixed (Caucasian and Hispanic)
Age: 21
Secretary at a Law Firm; enjoys drinking and smoking.
She's more of a heavy drinker and mild smoker with just a side job and very few hobbies.
After keying in the password to her apartment complex, Cynthia shouldered open the gate and walked into the large open courtyard that surrounded the large building. While a few walls seemed to be on the crumbling side and a few windows might've possibly been smashed in, the place was still somewhat like home; or at least after the late-night shift, it was sure as hell better than the office. Grumbling as she took the rusting staircase to the second floor, she rubbed the back of her sore neck and tried to focus on something a bit more enlightening than the nine hour shift she would be working in just five hours. There was her comfy bed with a loose spring that stabbed into her spine, there was the malfunctioning dishwasher that overloaded on soap this morning, the toaster that caused a small-to-mild fire yesterday, and her shower that personally chose whether to have hot water or not.
Well, a sore back, soap feet, burn marks and cold shivers sure as hell beat doing more paperwork at her nice little corner office in the middle of the closet. Stretching, she listened to her sore muscles ease out of discomfort while her tired bones popped back into place. She searched for her room key as she walked along the second floor balcony; eventually digging the chain out of her jacket pocket as she rounded the corner. Her mild heeled shoes stopped clicking against the rough pathway as she looked up at the sound of water dripping. While she couldn't see the whole picture, what she could tell was that just a few feet in front of her a man was knelt down on the ground eating at something on the floor. An arm dangled over the edge of the balcony with blood pumping from ripped tendons and arteries; this, she assumed, was the source of the noise that she had labled as dripping water. She watched as the man sat up suddenly on his knees before slowly turning to her; blood bubbled over his lips as bits of flesh and intestines were stuck in his teeth. The body that convulsed in front of him had its stomach turned more into a cavity as everything had been scooped out and/or devoured.
"Oh man...I chose the wrong day to stop drinking."