Reeeallly short update!  I have an exam to study for and I felt like writing a little...  Enjoy!

The two strangers stood under the bus stop shelter during the cold rain, looking off into the foggy distance where the cityscape was usually visible.

“So,” The man started. “Going home?”  He cleared his raspy, deep voice.

“Prison, actually.” The girl replied, holding up a bouquet of flowers with the rosary draped around it.

“For an inmate friend of yours?”  He asked, pointing at the flowers and drawing his fingers to the rim of his hat, pulling on the tip.  Only his nose and lips were visible.

“An old bully.”

“My mom was a big bully.  She always told me, ‘If they don’t listen right, smack ‘em left.’  And you can guess that she probably hit me quite a bit.”  He coughed and breathed warm air into his palms, which he rubbed together in front of his lips.

“Funny.  My grandma always said that.”

“What was your mom like?”  His voice cleared up slightly.

“My mom used to wait for me here after school.  She would sit here on the bench and wait with my little stuffed rabbit, even if it was raining – the bus shelter hadn’t been built yet – and the other kids would laugh at me.  But she said that they were jealous because they didn’t have a rabbit as good as mine.”  She chuckled as she looked down at her worn sneakers and pursed her lips together.  “She always told me not to listen to people if all they said were bad things.  She said that listening to bad things would make me do bad things.”

“Was she right, do you think?”

“Yeah.  Mom was always right.  She always knew best.”

“So you listened, then?”

“No.  I think all of us find some way to make someone mad on purpose at least once in our lives.  Whenever I did something my dad didn’t like, he went ahead and hit me.  Whenever I did something that my mom didn’t like, she would cry and ask me not to do it again.  It’s funny.  I felt so much more broken when I saw her cry than when my dad would throw me against doors and counters.  It was so much easier to rebel against my dad.  He found out that I would listen to my mom more than him so he started demanding her to help him set me straight.  They started yelling at each other and my dad was accusing her for me being a bad kid.  One day, she hit me.  She never said why or what made her do it.  She just did it.  And I thought that my dad made her hate me.  She just apologized right after and cried.  Then my dad came in and slapped her so hard that it broke her cheekbone.”

“And then what?”

“I ran away.  I thought that if I left, my dad wouldn’t be so mad and that he would leave my mom alone.”

“So you lived by yourself from then on?”

“I stopped talking to her after a while.  I got angry phone calls from my dad sometimes.  He tried tracking me down but I kept running away.  I didn’t go home, ever.  I slept on the streets if I had to.  I went home once, ten years ago.  I left after a minute from the moment I set foot inside.  My mom looked so tired.  She looked so much older than what she was.  She had scars all over her hands and face.  Her bones seemed thicker.  She just looked rougher, overall and I knew that my dad had something to do with it.  She pushed me away from the door and stuffed her wedding ring into my hands.”  The girl held up her free hand and wiggled her fingers, showing the dull ring that only shimmered slightly under the light of the shelter.  “She didn’t say anything to me except ‘leave and never come back’.”

“And you listened?”

“Yeah.  I’m usually glad when I listen to her.  It often makes problems easier to fix or just lets me avoid them altogether.  But I wish I didn’t listen to her, then.”

“Why?”

“I went to my friend’s house about a week later and I was thinking about going home.  But he stopped me and told me to read the newspaper from the day after I visited home.  There was an article that was about my dad.  His arms and face in the picture were all cut up and scratched.  He had been arrested for murder.  I thought to myself, ‘Great.  Mom is safe, and that’s good.’”

“And you still didn’t go home?”

“No.”

“You don’t see her anymore, do you?”

“My uncle told me she died from an undiagnosed illness shortly after.  I never bothered going home.  But I still see her, I guess.”

She smiled and pulled a rabbit out of her backpack and set it down on the bench, leaning it against the backrest.

“Sometimes I see a rabbit in the clouds.” She said as she boarded the bus that had just pulled in.

The man sat a few rows behind her, looking down at his scar-covered hands where a wedding ring used to rest on his finger.

____

Jessica opened her eyes.  The sun was beginning its rise for the day and working its warmth towards the earth.  Jessica buried her face into her palms and sighed.  She felt the gold ring pressing against the bridge of her nose and blinked away the tears.  She sat up and looked around, counting the tired, unconscious bodies of her friends.  She watched their chests rise and fall without any signs of sleep disturbance.  Still feeling exhausted, she laid herself back down and closed her eyes again.

Just a small update before chapter 8.  Jessica was kind of casually slammed into the story so I figured I'd give her the right backstory.

Yes, the familiar hero with a dark past.  Yes yes yes yes. It's everywhere.  Hahaha.

New style of writing? Yes, that too.  I did some exploration with how I write and I've finally started liking my style again.  I hope you guys will too.

Does anyone still read this story?  I dunno...

But things are gonna happen soon.  Lots of things about Taeyeon's past and her life as it is.

Preview for the rest of the entire story:  technology warfare, violence, loss, love's ability to ruin your judgement, sheltering from real world events... you name it

No it's not an apocalypse (yet...)

Huge spoiler/cliffhanger:

Not everyone makes it out alive.

Anyways,

Happy reading! ♥

- UnknownSONE

PS: Along with the completion of this fic and the other major one I'm working on, a new one will be up soon.  Also, working on original content.

WOO.