Chapter Three

   I was on my side, eyelids heavy, staring at the clock. I had been in and out of my comatose state I fondly referred to as sleep ever since I laid down close to midnight. I so often used the coma metaphor, sue to the particular fact that I either woke up because my fellow trailer trash neighbors dropped a Spam can's plastic label onto the ground or I'd sleep through Manowar, a band that claimed they were the loudest ones ever, concert; when it came to sleep I was either an incredibly light sleeper, or incredibly heavy one.

   Must fall asleep... must fall asleep... I was left with two hours were it wasn't socially acceptable to do anything other than be a workaholic sealing some million dollar deal or fast asleep. Six am. Just fall asleep for two more hours, than you can start your day at six. I found it amusing that I planned when I was going to arise so closely, when I had no job or any obligations at all. Ever since the theys, thems, theirs, I couldn't let a minute go unaccounted for. One slip up, one minute that I decided to be chatty and something about the past crept through my lips, it would all be over for me. They would find me. Or maybe the thems or theirs would first, either way I couldn't risk it. I had to be precise.

   I let my eyelids shutter close, as I let out a final yawn. I felt my body growing heavier as my thoughts slowed. Two more hours, two more hours of this sleep and I would be good to go. I didn't think anymore, as I was transported into the world of dreams.

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   Guard telling me she was going to wait outside. Call if I needed anything. Okay. Mirror. Small bathroom. The forced, fake smile she flashed me as she exited. Alone in small bathroom. Irrational hatred for it, the place, the situation.

   She cut my hair. Left me without my mint green highlights. Barely chin length, defiantly not the old mid-waist length. Considering the revenue stream, you'd think they could afford to hire a desperate, wannabe stylist. Lady who cut was trained in hiding, self defense, and secret keeping. Not a real stylist. Real stylist security breach, though. Didn't care. Teenage girl thoughts.

   Had to get out. Fake smiles, losing who I am, lying. Can't do it. Two hours of it and I was done. Needed out of this place. How? Glanced around at the bathroom that doubled a a holding cell. Minimal decor. Nothing visually appealing, just functional. Lamp, trashcan, stool. Said she'd wait outside while I change into ratty shirt and jeans. They take my designer tunic and leggings. She wasn't there if I needed her. There to keep me from escaping. Pushed furniture against door, stepped onto toilet to loook out window covered in grate.

   Felt around the edge of the window, trying to find a latch. Was none. Not a big boned person, could not fit through the tiny holes that let me see a sliver of the outdoors. Picnic table, two fences. Could jump or climb over first, second electric.

 
   Not a bright idea, but only idea. Shifted my weight to other side of porcelain throne, taking a bobby pin out of my hair. Felt bad for all the other teenage girls who would have to go through this; if I thought this haircut and fashion was horrid imagine no bobby pins or supervision free time. Tried turning the screw in the upper left corner with the pin. Heard shuffling outside the room, lady began talking.

   Asked if I okay. Said yes. Asked when I'd be done. Said soon. Needed to stall. Needed excuse. Tried thinking of one as left screw fell to floor, making a clanging noise, began working on upper right one. Asked why I was taking said long. Umm.... Needed excuse. Looked around, quickly said there was no toilet paper. She said she'd find some. She left. Had a few minutes more.

   RIght screw fell to floor. Clutched onto the sides of the air duct, channeling my upper body strength. Did three whole chin ups in gym, could do this. I had to, I couldn't do what they asked. If I did, I practically gave him a life sentence and as soon as I was released from custody the others would go after me. I had no proof that their intentions, but I knew that I had to go out on my own to stay safe. One final lift, managed to heave myself into the duct, wiggling around like a maniac.

   Look ridiculous. Don't care. It was probably unwise to leave the duct open, showing them my exact escape entrance, but considering the size of the building I doubted they'd be able to find my exact exit. 

   My thoughts blurred together as I focused on my one objective: out. Through the vent... the light, to the light... I crawled like a toddler through the dusty cobwebs... opening, I pushed, falling head first, stinking...

   I was free.

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   I slowly opened my eyes, relieved to awaken from one of the dreams that had replayed night after night in my head- luckily it wasn't a bloody gory one. I popped my knuckles and stretched, rolling over onto my back. I had managed to fall asleep for not one, not two, but three whole hours. It was seven am and I needed stop pondering what I was going to do with my life and actually do it. I had been fired a week ago and ever since my life had been spent curled up in bed napping, ignoring the dirty dishes and old clothes that were piling up, and skimming the newspaper for local gossip. I needed to clean up myself and the trailer, stop pitying myself, and find a job, or otherwise I'd not be able pay the bills and homelessness didn't sound appealing.

   I quickly rolled out of bed, adjusted the comforter, and stood up, walking out of the bedroom, across the living room, dining area, kitchen, and laundry area that were all cramped together into the main portion of my trailer into the bathroom. I sorted through the medical cabinet, picked up a tube of minty fresh toothpaste and my brush and conservatively put a white dot onto the bristles.

   A, B, C, D, E, F... are you suppose to sing the alphabet to yourself while brushing your teeth, or when you wash your hands? Is it happy birthday? I knew mum had told my which one, but I was five and naturally hadn't listened. I glanced around the room as if I expected a sign to be posted. The dirty laundry piled in front of the shower, sitting there, begging for me to wash it caught my eye. I couldn't blame it, my wardrobe was rather minimal with about ten or so basic t-shirts and blouses, along with a pair of heals, flip-flops, sneakers, a jean skirt, sweats, workout shorts, one pair of jeans, denim shorts, and a jacket for summer and winter.

   I spit, rinsed, and placed the brush next to the soap. Stop procrastinating. I'll do the laundry soon. Stop right now. Okay, stop procrastinating by telling yourself to stop procrastinating and stop having conversations in your head. Please. People are going to think that is is peculiar. Isn't it human nature to procrastinate, though? And don't we all have little conversation with our conscious? And isn't it odd that when we do something odd we see if someone else also does that odd thing, because if they do then it is okay?

   I bent down, gathered the laundry up, and shoved it in a stretchy purple nylon bag. Step one complete, next objective is to put the laundry into the washer. Objective? Was I playing Marion. I chuckled, I hadn't played a video game since before this mess began. Now I was much too poor to afford a gaming system.

   I walked out of the bathroom and opened the lid of the washer, setting the dial. I dumped the clothes into machine, shut it, and pressed start. It always sounded like a bomb or elderly computer when it began- one day I swore it was going to explode. What can I say, though? It was cheaper to have a washing machine on hand then spend money on a laundromat.

   The washing machine was rumbling away, so I decided to check outside to see if the paperboy had come by yet. I opened my red front door, looking around. I didn't see the white paper sitting on my front porch like it was suppose to, but honestly I didn't suspect that children were fond of what they were suppose to do. I took a few seconds to look around, until I finally spotted it hiding beneath some weeds. I walked over to pick it up, hoping maybe some decent coupons or wanted ads would be there.

   I sat at the table, the paper spread out wide in front of me. A high school athletic team won a game, breaking a losing streak that had gone so strongly for thirteen years. The PTA was hosting a bake sale and all profits were going to be donated to the parks and recreation department, to support the maintenance of the local parks. Ironic, diabetes supported fitness. Wanted ads, wanted ads. Hm... Oh here they are. 

 
   Firefighter, must be athletic and brave. Was I athletic? Well, I walked to lots of places, but I hated exercise so probably not. Also, I had the tendency to run away from stuff I didn't want to do or controversy, so bravery was probably not my number one quality. Female live in comforter, preferably attractive. Female live in comforter?  How lonely do you have to be to put an ad in the paper for that? Next one, receptionist at a spa, good people skills, healthy. I was healthy. I was okay with people. The instructions said to call and schedule an in person interview and they wanted someone ASAP. These were all things I could do; maybe, just maybe I had found myself a job.

NOTE: In this chapter black and white photos + italics + --- meant dream, but really they just signify a flashback. So if you ever read another chapter of this story with black and white photos, it means she is having a flashback, not dreaming. Also, I'm sorry this was boring I'm trying to get into the flow of writing from her POV. Okay? Okay. 

UNRELATED RAMBLE #1: And yes, I had to do that because I went to see TFiOS last Saturday with a few friends and thought it was absolutely, positively, one of the most mediocre movies I'd ever seen. It was alright, I went to see a matinee so I saved a bit on my ticket, but I also didn't understand the hype about the book, since I thought it was only okay- it didn't have some of the deep thoughts from other books that I'd loved and seemed a bit pretentious and like it was written to be adapted to the screen. Due to the subject matter it is difficult to bash, personally a friend of mine has had three people die of cancer in the past few years and found it very painful to read, so I avoid talking about my problems with it because i don't want to appear to be a "cancer basher" when I'm not. Some parts of the book were funny, some parts I teared up, some I thought that it was written for the fangirls and the movie people. If you need something to do, I suggest finding a copy at your library or buying one from a book resale price, since this book doesn't leave you with the overall sense of "Wow" but is nice when you want something lighter to read. ...Crud this turned into one of my rambling book club speeches from my book club. I didn't even get to my apologies for being late and everything. Oh well, I'll write them next chapter, because honestly if you've suffered through all of my now noted insanity so far you deserve a break. DFTBA.

UNRELATED RAMBLE #2: Oh my gummy bears this took me forever to write because I kept wanting to change styles and Blogger glitched and I need a ramble part for this blog. Like, a daily ramble because this is the internet and any idiot, including me, can get a blog to ramble on.

Chapter Two

   The building loomed above me, as I turned to face it. I exhaled, dreading the entry of my place of employment. It wasn't that I dreaded what I had to do- often it was mildly entertaining or even enjoyable- it was just the simple  fact that my boss was the bitchy spawn of a demonic, chaotic deity. I suspected either Hades, Satan, or Beshaba, but who knows; she could be the daughter of some new form of evil created by corporate America.

   Go ahead. Knock. What will she do to you for being late? Bite your head off? I coaxed myself to walk up the steps to their front door, that was freshly painted, and knock.

   "Who the hell is it?" I heard her high pitched voice shout.

   "Um, your nanny." I said, unsure of what the proper way to answer. She was clearly angry and one wrong phrase could send her into a complete rage. "I mean, your daughter's nanny. Not your nanny. You probably-" I began nervously blubbering on about what I actually meant.

   "Look, I don't know if you own a clock, but it's fraking early." The door flung open, to reveal a woman who had just dyed her hair and was in what I assumed was tribal themed lingerie that probably wasn't something I would open the door in and also cost more than what I was paid in a month.

   "Your hair looks nice." I said politely; the last time I'd seen her, Friday afternoon, she was a fiery redhead. Red matched her personality better, but platinum blonde did make the slutty gold digger message more prominent. "Did you go to the salon over the weekend?"

   "Of course." She snapped. "Boxed crap is classless."

   "Ah. I see." And corsets and garters are totally classy. "Is Scarlatina awake yet?" I felt sorry for the poor toddler; apparently neither of her parents were intelligent to realize that Scarlatina wasn't just a smashup of the names Scarlet and Tina, it was what scarlet fever used to be referred to as.

   "No, you weren't here to wake her up... hey. You're late."

   "My apologies, ma'am. My alarm-"

   "Excuses are not proper. I have a session with my personal trainer at nine and it's eight thirty. You're suppose to be here at eight."

   "I'm sorry. I ran here as quickly as I could."

   "You ran? No wonder you're sweaty. I'm afraid we need to have a bit of a chat darling."

   "Of course. Of course."

   "You lack the air of professional class I want the person raising my daughter to have."

   "I know. I'm trying to improve everything; the sitting up straight, not leaving the G's off of words that end with ing."

   "You have indeed improved ever so slightly."

   "Thank you. I am working on it, even if you can't tell."

   "Did I not just say I could? This what I was referring to. I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go."

   "What? Let me- you mean fire me?" I felt the desperation overcome me, as I began begging the bitch for my job back. While I hated her, I liked watching her daughter and trying to make sure she didn't grow up to be like her mother. "Please, I need this job. I have bills due, please. Please."

   "Begging is unbecoming, darling." She sighed, glancing out of boredom and vanity at her manicured nails.

   "You're right. I mean, I know. I just... I need money to pay the bills."

   "I'm aware of the need to have money. I'm sure you could sign up for those, oh, what do you call them? I'm afraid the name has slipped my mind. Those government programs for lazy people who sit on their asses, doing drugs and becoming obese."

   "Some people actually need help." I said, disgusted with her description of government assistant programs. "You know, if you're making minimum wage, your yearly salary would be less then fifteen thousand dollars. It's employer's fault for being selfish and not paying people a decent wage, not people who are so desperate for work they'll accept anything."

   "Excuse me?! Did you can me selfish?"

   "No, no! I just-" I tried to back peddle and ended up failing miserably. Ever since this mess began; since I lost everything... Did you lose it or leave it? You did have to go away. Go away to protect yourself and what you love.

   Ever since I came to this town, started living in the trailer, and began working for pennies I became aware of how difficult life really was for the bottom percentage of America. I was in the bottom percentage. I was looking for a second job, but it wasn't exactly like jobs were being handed out. It wasn't like people wanted to hire someone who just had a high school diploma and couldn't afford college.

   "I frankly don't give a damn. Go away, now. Leave and why don't you go apply for those aid programs you seem to be in love with?"

   "I'm not in love with them." I tried to defend myself, as her toddler began wailing. I couldn't apply for programs. They require personal info. Information I can't give, because they might find me. The thems, theirs, and theys had ways of finding things even I wasn't aware existed.

   "Darling, get the hell away from my home or I'm going to contact the police." Her voice had a venom in it, unique to only the most poisonous of snakes. Maybe she was the offspring of one...

   "Oh course." I said, turning and running away from her porch. I was unemployed now.

   The job I'd received a year ago, only days after I first moved here, was gone. The job I had faithfully shown up to, never late, excluding today, for countless weeks. The job I showed up to on the Fourth of July, New Year's, and even Thanksgiving, not asking for a bonus or health insurance or any type of benefits, was gone, all because of half an hour. Half a fraking hour. Thirty minutes. I glanced back at their home, as I heard the door slam shut, while she shouted some profanities at her daughter. Stupid hypocrite.

   I didn't have anyone to use as a reference other than her and now we weren't on good terms. How the hell was I suppose to find work? I looked up at the sky, as a rumble of thunder crept into my ears. Wasn't this lovely? I rarely was driven to my trailer, but now I couldn't even try to convince my employer to let me ride in one of her cars, allowing the taking gas money out of my paycheck; I'm going to become soaking wet.

Read chapter three HERE

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Hiya! I currently have the song "Ain't It Fun" and "I Love Science" stuck in my head, so if there's any grammar mistakes I apologize because: 

1. I was humming a mix of Paramore's and Hank Green's lyrics while I was typing this.

2. I'm not that fabulous at grammar rules. I'm not horrible, just not English teacher good.

Is anyone else bugged about the exclamation point thing? I am, but I fraking love like this font. Oh and I've decide, because I'm not going to type the F word in case anyone of family members is reading this over my shoulder, I will use frak. Anyone else get the reference? I'm also going to type chit chatty notes at the end of each chapter because why not. So yeah. Chapter three will be out soon.

Chapter One

 

   BRRING! BRRING! The ancient alarm clock began ringing, saving me from the restless coma I referred to as sleep. The haunting nightmares that hadn't visited for a week- eight exact,  if I was feeling painstakingly, aggravatingly precious- were back. I suppose after everything it shouldn't surprise ne, what I saw at night. It still did, though. Every morning I'd look at the small pad of paper and brown mug of pens and think perhaps I should document the nightmares. I never did. The dreams were too commonplace to waste a sheet from the fifty cent notebook.

   I couldn't leave a trace... if they broke in, found something... I couldn't let my mind think of what would happen. The paranoia was lingering, not often, just there. Caution. You were never too cautious, according to them. They don't know I'm here, they don't. If I remembered their rules, I'll be alright. All the thems, theirs, and theys become confusing after too much thought. Luckily, there's no one to tell; no one to spill my thoughts to and confuse.

 

   I sat up in my bed, the springs poking out through the top of the old, stained mattress. I didn't know who it use to belong to, nor where it came from. It was here when I moved into the trailer. All the furniture was. If it wasn't for my ratty t-shirt I used instead of a real pajama shirt and the sheet, the cold metal spring would be directly touching my back. Not that two layers of thin fabric made it comfortable, just slightly more bearable. Slightly.

   I glanced at the only window in my bedroom and, through a thin layer of dust and pointless shades, saw the thin rays of sunlight that only came from a sun that was present on a clear, cloudless day. Most would be rather joyful that the weather was picture perfect, but after months of sun, I was eager for a storm; a refreshing rainstorm with thunder and lightening that shook City Hall. Was that unreasonable to wish for? I groaned, knowing I'd have to stand up a moment from now, eat breakfast, change into horrid, itchy clothes and stumble off to be a productive member of society.

 

   I wonder if the roof would leak if it rained. Rain would still be nice though. Maybe the yellowed grass would look nicer... maybe it would look alive. BRRING! I stood up, my feet hitting the carpet. The whole trailer was hideous and dirty and I didn't have the time or money to clean it. They do say time is money. I thought to myself. Haha, guess it's true, because I have neither.

   I began dragging my feet to the kitchen, opening the cabinet and pulling out a box of generic Mini Wheats. No wasting an extra dollar and thirty-four cents plus tax on a name and cereal that didn't taste like cardboard that had been coated in a mixture of high fructose corn syrup and powdered milk.   

   What would I do for a real breakfast, from Starbucks? Probably murder someone. A sconce, vanilla or blueberry, and grande hazelnut frappuccino with extra whip blended in and two shots of caramel syrup and java chips was what I wanted. Back before this, before the theys and thems and theirs, the local baristas knew my order by heart... then it happened and I was suddenly away from the place I'd grown up in, the only place I'd ever known, slipped away. I was stuck in this town now. The town that was so small it didn't even have a Starbucks.

   I sat at the table, on the creaky chair that had one leg shorter then the other,and quickly spooned spoonful after spoonful of mush into my mouth. I glanced at the stove's clock, suddenly noticing that it was ahead by seventeen minutes. Or was my alarm ahead? I pulled out my cheap, pay as you go flip phone my employer said I had to have, and saw that it agreed with the oven. Crud. I'm late for work! 

   I tossed my bowl into the sink, as the small amount of milk and cereal that hadn't splashed all over the counter dripped down the drain. I suppose I'll have to deal with a clogged sink later. I rushed to my bedroom, threw on a striped blouse that my employer deemed acceptable and a horrible khaki skirt.

   I worked for a lady who, despite being barely thirty and dressed like a whore, was rather strict about my attire and called pants unladylike. I didn't think her mini skirts and tank tops were exactly what people who used the word unladylike- they were all probably from the nineteenth century- thought was proper.

   I began my trek to work, once I slammed the front door shut and locked it. Why bother locking it? The most valuable thing I own is a pair of twenty dollar heels you got as a holiday bonus and a washing machine. Better safe then sorry, I suppose. It  isn't like I have any money to replace anything if it was damaged or stolen. I didn't own a car; I never had. I would say I was saving my money for one, but the truth was I had no savings. I was living paycheck to paycheck.

   The sun beat down on my face, as I wished for rain. If I arrived to work soaking or with a tan, I would receive a lecture about looking trashy or cheap. I desperately wanted to inform her that she was probably the trashiest out of the two of us, but I needed money. Hopefully she wouldn't be too pissed that I was late.

Read chapter two HERE

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Thank you for reading the first chapter of Tracked (and hopefully, maybe commenting)! ☺ I didn't mean for this chapter to be so long, but I got bored and began writing a little in my notebook and ended up with two full pages of story, therefore, I am going to put the part where she goes to work in chapter numero duos instead of chapter one like I planned, so stay tuned for that. P.S. In case you couldn't tell, the italic words are what she is thinking to herself. Also, I like this font, but it doesn't have exclamation marks, so whenever you see a ! looking thing at the end of a sentence, it's suppose to be an exclamation point.