Blood of the Banished

𝙺𝚘𝚗𝚒’𝚜 𝙿𝙾𝚅 𝟷.

A place without hope is a wasteland full of lifeless zombies doing their routine to get the day over with. That’s precisely what I’m planning to become, right after this soul-taking test to determine my future. Forceful participation, as if standing in line on a Saturday morning wasn’t bad enough.

The vermillion sun blinds my unprotected eyes as I approach a lady in a large metal building, her judging eyes scan me.

“Name.” She says so quickly I barely realized she said anything.

“Konstance,” I smile sweetly trying to lighten the angry vibes that radiate off her. She started scribbling my name down and I had to stop and correct her from spelling my name with a C.

A look of disgust as a return of a response.

I rest my cheek on my palm as I peered up at her, “It’s not your fault, ya know.” She looked up confused with a tinge of a ‘caught off guard’ look.

“Pardon?” “It’s not your fault that you’re here,” I repeated. “you’re just playing another part of the system, wasting your life away for other people’s benefit.” She gave me a blank stare as I slid my hand from under the glass and took my number. “Nice chat,” I mumbled while looking back at the paper.

"Number 43!? Fuucccck" The next number was only 15.

I scanned my surroundings knowing damn well that I’ll be there for a while. I sat down on a nearby dirty bench, the wind rolling through my hair as the sun gently sets on my skin. Maybe it won’t be so bad to stay here for a while more, alone times nice anyway.

That is what I thought before my stomach made a sound like a volcano preparing to burst. I sprung up after waiting a couple of minutes to see if anyone heard the vile sound my stomach had made, what was it.. like my third time eating this morning?

Damn my metabolism.

Another line, great. All I wanted was a hotdog, is that so much to ask for?

A few moments later I caught myself eavesdropping on a conversation of the people behind me. One was a lady, a bit heavyset, clinging onto her tall bones of a husband. An ugly pink scaled purse nestled underneath her arm tucked away from the light of others, but still surely seen. The woman talked like she was performing an opera concert, boisterous and never taking a breath.

“I have a gigantic welt on my lower back and the medicine man said if he doesn’t remove it I’m gon’git cancer, can you believe that hun?!” The lady slapped her husband’s back, he looked as if he’d snap in half at any moment.

He trembled to regain his balance as he stuttered a ‘no’, shaking like a chihuahua. Between her side shines the flamingo purse. I was shocked they were saying these personal things so loud in public. I held my mouth shut from laughing, pretending I didn’t hear a thing.

“Uncle Rose died from a similar thing!” She pouts cradling her pale pink face. “He even made me squeeze it from both sides an-” “BAHAHAHA” My hysterical laugh made her head snap back and stop her conversation, thank god.

I stiffened and tightened my hand grip on my mouth, totally ignoring the lady waddling toward me with a grimace. The rocks crunch underneath her feet sound rippled from the impact of her few steps.

“HEY MOTHERHUGGER!” She screamed making my eardrum pulse, “You bein’ a peeping Tom, hm? Your mother gon-be ashamed!” I cringe at her comparison, “That’s a terrible analogy.. and grammar.” Then again, who am I to talk?

She swung her purse over her shoulder and launched it right above my head, missing me by a single hair. For a 4′11 woman, she can really throw. Two people were disgusted with me in one day. Gotta be a new record.

I bolted from her penguin waddles giving her a peace sign and taunting her with my tongue sticking out, practically skipping back towards the bench. Multiple disapproving head shakes on the way, and without looking I ran right into someone. Figures.

I groaned a “Watch where you’re going!” and shouted without thinking my actions through because I was the one that bumped into him... “Actually. I didn’t mea-” He looked down at his striped red button-down shirt, simultaneously noticing the huge coffee stain. Oh, shiiiit.

He looked up at me, eyes tired and clearly pissed. He exhaled for a long moment and flung the empty coffee cup over his shoulder.

Litterer.

“Look, I’m so-” He dips down and bows like someone in medieval times would, catching me off guard, and interrupting my apology again. “Sorry princess, I’ll make sure to watch out for people that like to plow into others and ruin their shirts.” Out of all the insults from the others, the smug way he said ‘princess’ got under my skin.

He fixed his shirt’s red collar and lifted his head high, nose practically sniffing the clouds. I looked at him and decide to ignore his remark, even though I really wanted to say something that would make him piss his pants.

His wired headphones hung off of his ears as he glares down at me standing there in silence, if I said anything it sure wouldn’t be nice. I’m sure he’s waiting for me to pull my pockets inside out and hand him my wallet, well I for one, am not sucking up to him for a rather ruined shirt. Instead, I walked over to his thrown coffee cup wanting to smack him in the head with it.

I gleam with impudence as I turn around, planning to do my evil deed, but instead seeing an outline of where he once was.

Oh well.