Nea's Night Out

Nea's Night Out

	Nea grew up in a less than wealthy neighborhood; the streets were as full of holes as the victims of the weekly drive-by. Studying for school was considered a reason to beat someone, and drugs were sold on street corners like lemonade from a stand. Life was dangerous, with poverty and death weaving itself into the fabric of everyday life. Everyone carried protection; for Nea, that meant a tough attitude.

	She had to keep a front up, something to stop her mind from thinking too far into the future. Most kids never left the neighborhood, and dwelling on it wouldn’t make it any better. The truth is, Nea was far softer than the people she was surrounded by. She believed everyone should have a future, and that all the shit that was ruining the neighborhood could end if everyone just tried. It’s why she devoted herself to “art” instead of peddling drugs, spray painting the walls with fantastic illustrations of faces and feelings. Inside, she liked to pretend she was a folk hero, liberating pieces of a city with her spray can.

	Of course, she was doing no such thing. Though not as hard as the place she was raised, she was a punk by anyone’s standards. Her graffiti dirtied the city, her vandalism made other criminals feel at home, and her behavior made relationships with other people sour and fade. Her actions were dictated by her environment but her ideals were her own; they were two ends of a spectrum but the bad side was winning. She was too tough for the good world, and too soft for a bad one. If she had been born somewhere else, maybe she would’ve turned out different.

	As it stood, she lived in the moment. But the moment she was in now was the worst situation a person could be in. Time and time again, she and her friend had escaped the grasp of their pursuer, slipping away only to do it all again the next night. He were just as stubborn as they were; they were yet to be caught but the asshole chasing her just wouldn’t give up. Her friend, though she would never admit it, was her rock in these expeditions. It gave her a sick sense of safety to know that there was a coin flip of a chance that if anyone is caught it might not be her. Each time they thought they were safe, another chase would start.

	Her foot transitioned from concrete floor to dirt, leaving heavy footprints in the ground as she fled once more. She could hear her partner’s breaths between her own, life entering and leaving them in panicked bursts. She spotted a maze of trash heaped in the path ahead and made a split second decision to hide behind some rusted old oil drums. Her friend, however, hesitated, and Nea’s heart sank as their stalker came crashing into her. He was upon her, pinning her with one arm as she thrashed and screamed and cried, struggling with all her might, but it was in vain. Nea was filled with a silent rage as her accomplice’s arms slowly stopped wailing. She could now longer hold herself, and let out a fury filled growl, every doubt and dead dream escaping her throat like an animal. Her anger died her as their hunter left her companion lying on the ground and came for her next. She did not get away.

	The police officer cuffed them both, leading them towards the patrol car that would take them to jail. This was one of the few times she would ever be caught prettying the walls around her neighborhood. Tonight was not the night she would be doomed to purgatory; that would come later. For now, she wallowed in the life she created for herself.