(Backdated December 27th, 2014)
(Word Count = 57 cool
The first thing that stuck out about the apartment, aside from the price tag, had to be the smell. It was musty, the kind of subtle stench that clung to the inside of his nostrils like a persistent itch. Not the smell of age that came from a respectable place like a library or something, but from a place that had been allowed to sit in the damp air for far too long. Hitch wrinkled his nose in protest as he shut the door behind him, and with that, the whole ordeal felt like reality for the first time. His home was gone. This musty a** place was his now, with boxes of treasures that weren’t worth a damn thing in the real world piled in every corner.
Hitch knew he’d get used to the smell. But he didn’t know if that was better or worse. Just because he didn’t smell it anymore didn’t mean no one else would. It was going to permeate everything, taint all his things and his clothes and his being so that world at large would inhale and go, ‘Here comes Hitch, the musty guy.’
“I know I’m being stupid, “ he said out loud, wiping sweat from his brow as he made sure to go lock the door behind him. He hadn’t heard much, but he’d heard this city was trouble. He wasn’t looking for any of that if he could help it. “I just… it’s rough, you know?”
He looked down and laughed, a short, soft sound that felt unfamiliar on his tongue nowadays. “Of course you know.” She always did know; no one else could ever read him like she could. “But I promise I’ll do my best.” It sounded lame, half-hearted at best. But he was tired. The move had been harder than he’d expected, and he sure hadn’t expected a damn picnic. She would forgive him for being a little lackluster today. “Tomorrow will be better, “ was he still talking to her, or trying to reassure himself now? Who was he kidding, it was both. “The deli gig starts tomorrow… 6am sharp for my training. Like I don’t know what I’m doing, ” and for that, he sounded a little more confident. He did know what he was doing behind a deli counter, it just depended on all the other factors. The deli itself, the coworkers, the customers…
The place was furnished at least, even if it was all tacky red velvet material and laminates. He grabbed a box labeled “MOM” in sprawling capital letters; there were a few, but this one was smaller than most, marked special over the rest. A wave of must washed over him as he sank down onto the couch, making a face before he plopped the box into his lap and tugged it open. Photo albums, five to be exact, with a few frames pictures of her sitting on the top. He grabbed one and pulled it out, looking at the snapshot of his mother before she’d even been burdened with him. He sighed heavily, sliding his fingers along the cool glass as he murmured, “Anyway, so this is it for now. Hope you don’t mind. I did my best, you know.” His cheeks flared red out of embarrassment, and maybe just a little frustration made it to the mix. This was the best he’d be able to do for a long, long time.
“But anyway - I guess we’re home, for now.”
(Word Count = 57 cool
The first thing that stuck out about the apartment, aside from the price tag, had to be the smell. It was musty, the kind of subtle stench that clung to the inside of his nostrils like a persistent itch. Not the smell of age that came from a respectable place like a library or something, but from a place that had been allowed to sit in the damp air for far too long. Hitch wrinkled his nose in protest as he shut the door behind him, and with that, the whole ordeal felt like reality for the first time. His home was gone. This musty a** place was his now, with boxes of treasures that weren’t worth a damn thing in the real world piled in every corner.
Hitch knew he’d get used to the smell. But he didn’t know if that was better or worse. Just because he didn’t smell it anymore didn’t mean no one else would. It was going to permeate everything, taint all his things and his clothes and his being so that world at large would inhale and go, ‘Here comes Hitch, the musty guy.’
“I know I’m being stupid, “ he said out loud, wiping sweat from his brow as he made sure to go lock the door behind him. He hadn’t heard much, but he’d heard this city was trouble. He wasn’t looking for any of that if he could help it. “I just… it’s rough, you know?”
He looked down and laughed, a short, soft sound that felt unfamiliar on his tongue nowadays. “Of course you know.” She always did know; no one else could ever read him like she could. “But I promise I’ll do my best.” It sounded lame, half-hearted at best. But he was tired. The move had been harder than he’d expected, and he sure hadn’t expected a damn picnic. She would forgive him for being a little lackluster today. “Tomorrow will be better, “ was he still talking to her, or trying to reassure himself now? Who was he kidding, it was both. “The deli gig starts tomorrow… 6am sharp for my training. Like I don’t know what I’m doing, ” and for that, he sounded a little more confident. He did know what he was doing behind a deli counter, it just depended on all the other factors. The deli itself, the coworkers, the customers…
The place was furnished at least, even if it was all tacky red velvet material and laminates. He grabbed a box labeled “MOM” in sprawling capital letters; there were a few, but this one was smaller than most, marked special over the rest. A wave of must washed over him as he sank down onto the couch, making a face before he plopped the box into his lap and tugged it open. Photo albums, five to be exact, with a few frames pictures of her sitting on the top. He grabbed one and pulled it out, looking at the snapshot of his mother before she’d even been burdened with him. He sighed heavily, sliding his fingers along the cool glass as he murmured, “Anyway, so this is it for now. Hope you don’t mind. I did my best, you know.” His cheeks flared red out of embarrassment, and maybe just a little frustration made it to the mix. This was the best he’d be able to do for a long, long time.
“But anyway - I guess we’re home, for now.”
