Routine Malaise
Posted: Mon Nov 26, 2018 1:26 am
[[Miles Strickland Continued From: Affluenza.]]
"My god, you can smell the poor."
Miles muttered the words in clear displeasure as he stepped in through the first door of an apartment complex. It wasn't an exaggeration either. The whole place reeked, much like everywhere else in this trashy ghetto neighborhood he found himself in this morning. He was only here, for convenience of shelter, and because it was an upgrade, after spending the night wandering around and shivering on this dangerous island alone.
It was quite possibly the most inane decision to go running off on his own, or rather - hobbling off, in his own case, he soon found out.
First off he could not believe he had traded the Gated Community, for this place.
Second there was that feeling of familiar isolation back with him again from day one, before Chuck and Kat stumbled onto his hiding place at the western beach-side lagoon. Both of whom were now deceased thanks at least partially, to Miles. He couldn't take all the responsibility of course. Stacy was mostly to blame for all of that. However, he wasn't mad at her, not anymore.
After several lonesome hours of calm down time, Miles had time to think and realize that he too had over-reacted back there when Rachael pushed him over the edge by saying what she did right after he was already feeling sick from hearing the shocking news on the morning announcement. It was unbecoming for him to act that way in front of ladies, especially friends.
Stacy had protected and may have even saved his life a few times, despite her stupidity. Same could be said for Rachael, actually. Stacy in particular was a useful ally, who supported him along through his injury and helped keep him safe. She was well-armed and carried a big gun, no less.
To leave that support and go off into the hazardous world around him was just not good thinking.
Miles could already see the image of his father, with arms crossed, shaking his head in disappointment at Miles' unwise decisions, mentioning something about how his cousin would never do something so careless and it was true, she wouldn't, he wouldn't normally either in fact, but the damn place changed things, people were killing other people now for goodness sake. So buzz off dad.
Truth is, Miles was plain scared. An attempt to find others failed simply because of that fact.
It was always the sound of bullets or screams of agony, everywhere he'd go. Either that or it was the sight of another corpse for him to clear from. Hopefully turning away from them would mean he wouldn't have to see another non-living body of someone he was at all close with, like when he found Francis, dead, at the abandoned school. Hell, Miles had even tossed aside his dignity to stay here.
Several times Miles had considered turning around and heading back to the house with Stacy and Rachael, but didn't because the one thing he still had was his pride, some of which he had lost after that pitiful encounter with Joe. However, Miles had convinced himself that the girls would be long gone from that place anyway, so even if he did the act would be pointless.
Another announcement had come and gone earlier that morning, which led him here. They were still alive at least. He was still alive. Alive was good.
The only plan he had at that moment was to find an adequate room to rest within this musty and decrepit, old apartment. So far, no luck.
Fortunately his nose was starting to get stuffy, probably due to the allergies he had started to develop here. Maybe that was a blessing for him to avoid the poor people smell, because the place was starting to reek, more and more.
At one point, Miles thought he heard footsteps and looked behind him every now and then only to discover there was nothing there each time. It made him uneasy at first, but realized that it just may have been him; he was still a bit unwell, physically, so it was probably best to focus his attention on finding that comfortable enough room to recover and sleep, and put this Hunga Munga down, A.S.A.P.
There was another door at the end of a hallway, probably leading to yet another hallway, lined with apartment rooms on each side. He turned the knob and walked in. He kept on walking down the hall until he thought he saw something nearby. It was now a foot from his foot.
That was when Miles realized what it was. He stumbled backward immediately; rear-end landing on and touching the floor.
His shout echoed throughout the apartment.
"My god, you can smell the poor."
Miles muttered the words in clear displeasure as he stepped in through the first door of an apartment complex. It wasn't an exaggeration either. The whole place reeked, much like everywhere else in this trashy ghetto neighborhood he found himself in this morning. He was only here, for convenience of shelter, and because it was an upgrade, after spending the night wandering around and shivering on this dangerous island alone.
It was quite possibly the most inane decision to go running off on his own, or rather - hobbling off, in his own case, he soon found out.
First off he could not believe he had traded the Gated Community, for this place.
Second there was that feeling of familiar isolation back with him again from day one, before Chuck and Kat stumbled onto his hiding place at the western beach-side lagoon. Both of whom were now deceased thanks at least partially, to Miles. He couldn't take all the responsibility of course. Stacy was mostly to blame for all of that. However, he wasn't mad at her, not anymore.
After several lonesome hours of calm down time, Miles had time to think and realize that he too had over-reacted back there when Rachael pushed him over the edge by saying what she did right after he was already feeling sick from hearing the shocking news on the morning announcement. It was unbecoming for him to act that way in front of ladies, especially friends.
Stacy had protected and may have even saved his life a few times, despite her stupidity. Same could be said for Rachael, actually. Stacy in particular was a useful ally, who supported him along through his injury and helped keep him safe. She was well-armed and carried a big gun, no less.
To leave that support and go off into the hazardous world around him was just not good thinking.
Miles could already see the image of his father, with arms crossed, shaking his head in disappointment at Miles' unwise decisions, mentioning something about how his cousin would never do something so careless and it was true, she wouldn't, he wouldn't normally either in fact, but the damn place changed things, people were killing other people now for goodness sake. So buzz off dad.
Truth is, Miles was plain scared. An attempt to find others failed simply because of that fact.
It was always the sound of bullets or screams of agony, everywhere he'd go. Either that or it was the sight of another corpse for him to clear from. Hopefully turning away from them would mean he wouldn't have to see another non-living body of someone he was at all close with, like when he found Francis, dead, at the abandoned school. Hell, Miles had even tossed aside his dignity to stay here.
Several times Miles had considered turning around and heading back to the house with Stacy and Rachael, but didn't because the one thing he still had was his pride, some of which he had lost after that pitiful encounter with Joe. However, Miles had convinced himself that the girls would be long gone from that place anyway, so even if he did the act would be pointless.
Another announcement had come and gone earlier that morning, which led him here. They were still alive at least. He was still alive. Alive was good.
The only plan he had at that moment was to find an adequate room to rest within this musty and decrepit, old apartment. So far, no luck.
Fortunately his nose was starting to get stuffy, probably due to the allergies he had started to develop here. Maybe that was a blessing for him to avoid the poor people smell, because the place was starting to reek, more and more.
At one point, Miles thought he heard footsteps and looked behind him every now and then only to discover there was nothing there each time. It made him uneasy at first, but realized that it just may have been him; he was still a bit unwell, physically, so it was probably best to focus his attention on finding that comfortable enough room to recover and sleep, and put this Hunga Munga down, A.S.A.P.
There was another door at the end of a hallway, probably leading to yet another hallway, lined with apartment rooms on each side. He turned the knob and walked in. He kept on walking down the hall until he thought he saw something nearby. It was now a foot from his foot.
That was when Miles realized what it was. He stumbled backward immediately; rear-end landing on and touching the floor.
His shout echoed throughout the apartment.