Chapter One
The embers seemed exceptionally orange as they splattered against the slate stone pavement with the flicking of the dead cigarette. The breeze whisked the tiny flecks of light to the four winds, leaving only a blackened filter on the ground. The girl looked at it for a moment, shoving her hands into the deep pockets of her peacoat, firstly to shield them from the biting air, but on second thought, pulled the pack of Newports and well-used Bic from them.
As she placed the cigarette between her lips, an apparently homeless vagabond asked if she had another she could spare. She ignored him, lighting up and walking away behind a puff of translucent smoke. She stopped again a few paces down from where she'd been standing before, resting her back against the building. The sky was clearer than it had been for days, and she stared up at it in awe the way that she always did when she could see stars. Stars, in this neighborhood, where half of the people one met on the street would swear up and down that the only kind of star they'd ever seen with their own two eyes were of the movie or sports variety. No one around here ever bothered to look up, but who could blame them?
The moon was at half illumination, and the storm moon would be in its full brilliance within the week. She glanced from the moon to the glowing tip of her cigarette, finding subtle similarities, a pattern of sorts. If she squinted her eyes at just the right angle, for example, she could see a face in both. The man in the moon, what a cliche image. What about the man in the cigarette burn? It wasn't long before the cigarette was through. She flicked it aside and walked on, not bothering to take a second glance at it.
The building was ugly. So ugly, in fact, that it was renowned throughout the city for its sheer ugliness. It had been compared to all sorts of vile things, prisons, concentration camps, dystopian barracks. It was angular, but not in a way that seemed sleek or sexy or well-thought-out. From an aerial view, a rendering of which was present at each entrance of the building, it looked a lot like an accordion, sprawled over several blocks, making an ass out of a lovely and historical neighborhood.
She entered the building through the "entrance" doors, clearly marked with obnoxious white lettering against their glass panes. A disinterested guard sat at the kiosk behind the second set of double doors, but he didn't acknowledge her. She was glad of it, for speaking to someone in uniform was the last thing she wanted to do.
The embers seemed exceptionally orange as they splattered against the slate stone pavement with the flicking of the dead cigarette. The breeze whisked the tiny flecks of light to the four winds, leaving only a blackened filter on the ground. The girl looked at it for a moment, shoving her hands into the deep pockets of her peacoat, firstly to shield them from the biting air, but on second thought, pulled the pack of Newports and well-used Bic from them.
As she placed the cigarette between her lips, an apparently homeless vagabond asked if she had another she could spare. She ignored him, lighting up and walking away behind a puff of translucent smoke. She stopped again a few paces down from where she'd been standing before, resting her back against the building. The sky was clearer than it had been for days, and she stared up at it in awe the way that she always did when she could see stars. Stars, in this neighborhood, where half of the people one met on the street would swear up and down that the only kind of star they'd ever seen with their own two eyes were of the movie or sports variety. No one around here ever bothered to look up, but who could blame them?
The moon was at half illumination, and the storm moon would be in its full brilliance within the week. She glanced from the moon to the glowing tip of her cigarette, finding subtle similarities, a pattern of sorts. If she squinted her eyes at just the right angle, for example, she could see a face in both. The man in the moon, what a cliche image. What about the man in the cigarette burn? It wasn't long before the cigarette was through. She flicked it aside and walked on, not bothering to take a second glance at it.
The building was ugly. So ugly, in fact, that it was renowned throughout the city for its sheer ugliness. It had been compared to all sorts of vile things, prisons, concentration camps, dystopian barracks. It was angular, but not in a way that seemed sleek or sexy or well-thought-out. From an aerial view, a rendering of which was present at each entrance of the building, it looked a lot like an accordion, sprawled over several blocks, making an ass out of a lovely and historical neighborhood.
She entered the building through the "entrance" doors, clearly marked with obnoxious white lettering against their glass panes. A disinterested guard sat at the kiosk behind the second set of double doors, but he didn't acknowledge her. She was glad of it, for speaking to someone in uniform was the last thing she wanted to do.
