I used to live with a crazy lady. I mean, I'm not sure if she was certifiably crazy, but she was quite the recluse. Lived alone in a relatively large house but took in a bunch of renters. I was one of the residents, but it never really felt like "home".
I was young then, so it was an okay life. At least there were always others around to do stuff with or just sit and talk. There were boys too. We were all too young then for me to think of them as men, but we were old enough for me to be interested in them as boys. There was one sandy-haired boy I liked in particular, and he liked me too. I thought it might be nice to settle down with him, maybe have a family together, but then I found out he was sleeping with some of the other girls in the house. Broke my heart.
Maybe that's what made me decide to leave. Or maybe it was just the lack of privacy. I'm not a recluse like the crazy lady, but I really need my space and I didn't have it there.
I didn't even really have a plan, it was more like a sixth sense that directed me. I knew there were good people in the world, and I trusted in the universe to help me find them. I was still so young.
One day, these people I was staying with took me to a strange place. I think it was their church. There was some ritual going on and I started to feel very lightheaded. The next thing I remember, I woke up in a dark place and I felt like crap - worst hangover of my life. After a few days, I was well enough to escape that place. But I was different. Something was different.
Ever since that experience, I'm not so trusting of others. I eventually found a nice secluded place to figure out what to do with my life. There was a woman nearby who would check on me occassionally, but otherwise left me alone. There were boys and men there too, but none of them really interested me in anything other than friendship. I don't know. I was different. Something had changed in me, and I no longer thought about finding a man and settling down. In fact, I couldn't even remember why I'd ever considered it in the first place.
One day, something was going down. I thought it was the end of the world. The sky was gone, everything had turned a sick red-orange, and it was difficult to breathe. The woman who sometimes brought me food was calling for me, or was it an angel of death in disguise? Was I dying and going to hell?
Too curious for my own good, I peeked my head out just a little. A large figure in red grabbed me before I could get away.
Next thing I knew, I was in some sort of transport vehicle. There were others in there with the red devil. I was frozen with fear, but I managed to catch a glimpse of the outside world. I saw fire and mayhem. Yes, this was definitely hell. What had I done to deserve this?
I was put in a cell, but it wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Strangely enough, I began to feel comfort in the presence of the demons.
They took me to their church shortly after that, and I was once again swept up in a dark ritual. I awoke, remembering nothing but feeling quite impaired. I was returned to my cell where I drifted off.
I awoke a short while later, still in pain but coherent. One of the resident evils stroked me and talked to me. I felt like maybe I could trust her. She said she had something that would help me feel better, and without thinking, I took all that she had to offer.
Immediately, I felt better and was in a happy place. The next day though, not so much. She returned with another stash of contraband for me and washed away the pain.
I used to live with a crazy lady. Now... I think I live in a crack house.
Story of Kat, at the suggestion of ShadowRun300.