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Topics - KELLY SPARTA

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Northstar District / stars are magic, life is tragic || open, joining...
« on: August 20, 2018, 11:34:14 PM »

Sleep was never comfortable anymore. Hallucinations plagued him, melting into nightmares melting into paralysis and panic upon wakening. He didn't sleep until his body gave out, but these days, it wasn't long before that collapse came, often with only enough warning for his drug-numbed senses to let him drop safely to his knees and find a corner. The city had been empty for months, now, and even before then, it only had been the occasional traveler, scavenger, or whatever. No, he'd met more wild dogs--and run from them--than humans.

So when the scrawny vagabond woke, from the alley he felt most comfortable--houses themselves made him fear intruders and the open streets made him fear wanderers--to hear voices, footsteps, and all manner of human life, he didn't believe it was real, not at first. It wasn't the first time he'd heard voices, and worried for nothing. But it was when he peeked, hiding himself behind a thick drain pipe and blearily rubbing his bloodshot eyes--seeing...people, adults, talking, moving about...clear as day..that his confusion turned to dread, a shiver running through him as he backed into the shadows, breathing fast.
There's no one here. You're a crazy fucker.

But you've never seen people before. Just spiders. Heard things, sure. But those are real fucking people and you know it.


"I do not." He muttered petulantly, rubbing his nose and stuffing his hands in his pockets, trying to think as he glanced back to the small pile of blankets and pillows he'd been sleeping on. His knife was in there. He could--what? He couldn't take on one of these invaders, let alone everyone.

God, he just wanted to be left alone. Maybe he could hide. Maybe no one would notice him.

You know that's not true, piss-pants.

Fine. So he'd--what? Run? Fuck that noise. He was--this was his place. He needed to be here, if only because he'd die before he managed to get anywhere else.



The sandy-haired, dingy and half-starved looking figure looked a sight; dirty, ragged, and brandishing a knife in shaking hands, he'd darted from his alley, seeking out the first person who didn't look like they could kill him with one smack, and grabbed at their arm. "All right, fucking bitch, you're gonna tell me what the fuck you creeps are doing here--this is--this is my place, shit-bags, and--and you can't just--take it, got that?" He waved the knife for good measure--and hey.

You sure have the desperate homeless man down pat.

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