Page 27 of The Ecstasy of Sin
Wren
MyfeetacheasI weave through thick clusters of people clogging the sidewalk, winding through the mess of city traffic in the direction of Good Shepherd Respite.
On the bright side, I haven’t had a migraine in three days, which has made it easier for me to devote all of my time to job hunting.
Despite my best efforts, I haven’t had any luck. My dire circumstances are hanging over me like the storm clouds, looming above in the slate-colored sky. The threat of rain presses down on the city, and the incoming gloom has already settled into my bones.
I had every intention to fill out myMedical Assistance in Dyingapplication, but Dominic’s kindness sort of changed things. With all of my medications refilled, it feels just a little bit easier to try and get back on my feet.
The setting sun cuts through the haze of metropolitan smog, casting fractured rays of orange and pink across the skyline. The warm, vibrant hues bleed through the dark clouds as they roll in, and the sight is so gorgeous I find my eyes lingering in the skies while I walk.
The early September wind bites through my thin jacket, a promise of the cold night to come. I zip it tighter and pick up mypace, hoping to make it to the meal center before the rain starts pouring.
I’ll need to secure a winter jacket sooner rather than later, because donations become more scarce once the snow actually arrives. People usually go through their wardrobe in the fall months, so they can purchase new jackets before it gets cold. That means donations come in before winter even arrives.
Someone walking the opposite direction slams their shoulder into mine, so hard that the jolt knocks me a step sideways and sends a sharp flare of pain through my arm.
The guy must be in a foul mood, because he really had to put some effort into hitting me as hard as he did. I don’t think I did anything to deserve that, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone targeted me unfairly because of my status in society.
When I turn to glare at the jerk that slammed into me, I swear I see a familiar face in the dense crowd of people. I caught a glimpse of striking green eyes, but they were gone in an instant.
Disoriented, I spin around in a circle, searching for the eyes that have haunted my dreams for the last three days. My attempt to locate him is fruitless, and I just end up jostled by a group of young boys as they come up behind me.
I stumble sideways, pressing my back against the cold stone wall of the nearest storefront. My eyes sweep the chaotic rush-hour crowd, scanning for the flash of green I thought belonged to Dominic.
If he used that clinic so late at night, he must be local. It wasn’t crazy to think I could run into him again.
I stand there for several minutes, watching and waiting, but I don’t find him. And he doesn’t find me. With a heavy sigh, I push off the wall and keep walking towards Good Shepherd Respite.
I must’ve imagined him. It wouldn’t be the first time a hallucination had me questioning reality. Years of chronic migraines and spending most of my teenage life bedridden gave me a bad case of maladaptive daydreaming—vivid fantasies that sometimes bled too far into reality.
My stomach grumbles as I reach my destination, and I do the mental math to figure out how long I’ll be stuck in line.
Thankfully, the line is moving fast tonight. Despite it being dinner rush, I find myself shuffling forward quickly, the weight of hunger growing sharper with each step. They must have extra volunteers tonight, which helps get meals out quicker than usual.
The familiar scent of chili is heavy in the air as I cross the threshold, and my empty stomach rumbles. I inhale deeply, letting the spiced aroma chase some of the chill from my soul.
What little money I had left after losing my job went to making sure I got breakfast before each long day of job hunting. I printed résumés, bought two new outfits from the thrift store for interviews, and replenished the bottle of over the counter pain medication I always have on hand.
I may not be living with starvation right now, but two meals still isn’t enough when I’ve been walking all day long, all over the massive city, dropping off résumés anywhere that would consider hiring me.
The bright-eyed, smiling volunteer holds out a tray as I approach the table, and my stomach says thank you with another embarrassingly loud rumble before I even get a chance to say a word.
I offer her an awkward smile as I take it from her hands, thank her, and head over to the overcrowded rows of tables. It’s a sea of solemn faces, a few familiar, but mostly strangers with sad stories.
I’m searching for a safe place to sit, when I spot a friendly face. Ronald, an older gentlemen with a kind heart and a love of epic fantasy novels, lifts his warm brown eyes and offers me a welcoming smile. He waves me over, and I return his smile with one of my own as I make my way through the crowd to the open seat next to him.
“Hey, Ronald.” I gently bump his shoulder in greeting as I sit next to him. My smile widens when I see the big, weathered fantasy novel next to his tray. It’s his favourite, I remember from our past conversations—an old, dog-eared book with worn, yellowed pages.
“Ah, little bird! So good to see you again, my dear.” His voice is enthusiastic as he greets me, leaning over to bump his shoulder against mine in return. “You made it before the rain, yes?”
I set my tray down and tuck my backpack between my legs. “Yes, but it’s definitely going to start soon. The sky is so dark.”
He nods, launching into a story about his day while I dig in.
The chili is hot, a little spicy, but surprisingly flavorful and aromatic. It masks the stale texture and slightly odd flavour of thebread they paired with it, not that I’d ever complain about free food. I’m so grateful for every meal I get.
I’ve got a small cup of mixed steamed vegetables on the side, a ripe banana, a chocolate pudding cup, and a bottle of water.
