shameful {dars}

"How can I find you again?" Pheonix's face remains turned away as clothing crawls back onto his exposed exterior. "Same spot, I'm always there." Fingers from within the bed begin to trace the curves of the eighteen year old's body. He takes several steps further from the sweat stained sheets and the eyes burning into his back as though the beast had not just been fed. "Or ask around. People know where to find me." Pheonix's hands heave the final piece of external protection onto his skin safely shielding him from the predator's stare. Fresh and clean dollars crinkle as they are shoved into the sides of Pheonix's jeans, payment for another job done. 

Outside soft showers sprinkle down from a spotted sky. A hood of red rolls over Pheonix's head as his steps splash along the sidewalk. Shadows stare from within the frames of shuttered windows shaming him as he exits from a house they know not to be his own. The daggers do not drive into his skin or seep into his soul, they bounce off and bury themselves in the soaking street. Shame is not an emotion which lives within the complex center of Pheonix's heart or head. Work is work, and the money which now sits waiting to be spent in his pockets is enough to weaken the disapproving viewers. 

Cracked concert and over flowing sewer systems welcome Pheonix back into his home in the District. Bodies like rats scurry through side alleys and the people pick fights over scraps of forgotten food. Even in the light dripping of drops from the sky, most members of this society move through these late hours of the night. Some shouts spur recognition of Pheonix and a nod is needed in return. It's rare the boy once best at surviving in this sweltering shit returns to the streets his parents threw him on. But every so often he does venture back down through the same shocking squalor. 

Down a quiet alley Pheonix steps as silent as possible through the camps of people still living with nothing. Movement suddenly spurs from the shadows as hands hellish with horrible intent heave for Pheonix's neck. His face barely stirs as he handles the mess with a few fast punches and a kick to the assailants gut. Pain perfectly mixed with confusion cripple the younger boy's eyes as Pheonix stares now standing over him. He turns away and leaves the boy to pull himself from cruel cold of the wet the ground, Ripred knows how many times it was the other way around. 

Soon figures of familiarity begin to form from the shadows of the streets and the alleys. Pheonix's steps shorten and eventually stop before a man huddled for heat beneath a blanket. Cleverly the man has found some shelter in the crawl space beneath several stairs leading into an abandoned apartment building. A single kick is all it takes to steal the man form the discomfort of his sleep and into muggy wakefulness. His eyes heavily peer from within the confines of his space until vague recognition ripples through his ill irises. 

"Pheonix." His voice is gnarled and twisted followed by a sequence of short body-shaking coughs. Pheonix's fingers fiddle through the chaotic contents of his bag before bringing a packet of pills out from within. He softly sends the pills into the man's chest with an underarm throw. For the first time since awaking the man's eyes ignite with excitement and joy. Pheonix closes his bag and looks across the sodden street to a girl watching from behind a broken fence. "Bye Dad." He says to the man before heading away from the stairs of his past. 

Across the street Pheonix stops beside the fence for only a moment to hear what he always does. "I'll keep an eye on him." He nods and walks with swift steps quickly from the scenes he no longer wishes to remember. 

Two soon stands as the time Pheonix finally reaches the door of his apartment. Keys click the lock into release and matches soon ignite the ends of several sets of candles. But just as soon as he enters his home Pheonix leaves grabbing a pack of cigarettes and bringing his matches. Only on the main steps of the building beneath the slight shelter of an overhang does he breathe in the sweet smoke of a cigarette. This time of night is almost natural to Pheonix now given his ways of working. 

Down the street the sounds of some party trickle through the air like the falling rain. Several ideas of whether to wander down in that direction pull at Pheonix's thoughts, but they never win. Tonight he simply stays smoking while watching the rain lightly patter over the cold cracked concrete. 

[dars]