Tara — an unfortunate woman. She lay slightly curled on her side. The street carried on without her, footsteps passing, car horns beeping and cyclists being yelled at, distant voices rising and fading.
Tucked into a shallow doorway, she covered herself from view. The doorframe was splintered and poorly constructed. Around her was an old blanket, mud-stained and clumsily stitched in the oddest places, thread hanging loosely. It hung unevenly over her shoulders.
Her hair was unbrushed and wind-tangled. One hand rested near her face, fingers loosely curled. The city air pressed cold against the exposed edges of her skin. Her lips dry, almost flaky.
She did not look dramatic. She did not look heroic or powerful nor did she look beautiful, someone fitting of a main role. She looked tired.
She didn't feel like a person, she felt like a third-world narrator, just watching everyone pass by and move on, while she was still stuck in the same place as a year ago. Wondering when she'll achieve something great, if she ever will.
She lifted her head just enough to look. Across the street, a cheerful family passed by, hands linked, holding bags of souvenirs and sweets. their laughter bright and careless in the afternoon air. The children skipped to keep pace, swinging their arms between their parents.
Her first thought was simple and aching: "That used to be me." The feeling of walking without fear of where the day would end, if she'd even make it.
Her fingers tightened slightly in the blanket's worn edge. She could stand, step forward and say something. Ask for money, help her get through the day, but how would she do it?
Say something urgent, desperate. A story about hard times. A plea edged with guilt. But even thinking it made her stomach twist. To force sadness into someone else's day felt like stepping outside herself. It wasn't her way to grab at sleeves or block a path. It wasn't her way to demand.
And even more than that, it was embarrassing, a homeless 20 year old begging for change outside of a posh hotel and gift shop, what was she even doing here?
Tara's eyes flicked upward, noticing a dsubtle shift in the street above her. At first, it was almost imperceptible, a dimmingfrom the lamps that limed the pavementfrom. Then, the familiar hum of the city's lights vanished entirely. Darkness pressed thick and sudden, swallowing the street, the buildings, even the sound of passing cars. Shadows pooled in corners, twisting into shapes that didn't belong.
She blinked, heart hammering. At the edges of her vision was a glow, faint but growing, from just beyond the street. She turned her head slightly, eyes squinting, and she saw it: the lab up the hill. Its windows burned with white, sterile light so intense it stung her eyes. It spilled down the hillside, slicing through the darkness.
Suddenlt the darkness lifted, the streetlights flickered back to life, and the city's normal hum returned, as if nothing had happened.