Small droplets of water raced down the bus window aiming for the finish line that lingers where glass meets rubber. They were the accumulation of a great volume of condensation, each with a strong familial history whose stories were greatly intertwined with one another. As youth, they grew up as parallel to one another despite being raised so differently. These children of the glass knew the prophetic orations their elders foretold, and the weight it held in each of their lives. The Great Race! “You will race your most wicked rival and your most dearest ally! It spares no one! No-one!” Here on this destined battlefield, two intrepid warriors found themselves locked in a struggle for the present and a historical bout that will be immortalized in history. Descending down the track, each drop picks up globule after globule of water, adding to their mass and subsequently their speed. These drops were once peers, bystanders and even family. But it matters naught! All are food for the Race. Accelerating at great speeds now, the racers were neck and neck with one another, only mere inches away from a divine obliteration. Watching with anticipation, all breathes were held, when suddenly…the two veer into each other, merging as one! Eruption in the stands as their gladiators had stood together as one in the face of the trial. Emblematic in their final moments, the mass became an icon more empowering than the sum of all those who came before them. Whisper, whisper. Murmurs echoed around the perimeter of the glass, what did this mean for raindrop society? Are we all destined to become one? “But I don’t want to join them!” the egoists cried out. Before questions could evolve to answers, the warriors collided with the rubber line, shedding their newfound form like wild shrapnel; escaping far beyond their planar glass world. Children looked on through split fingers for the fantastical shattering of gore was too appealing to look away. Lights refracted through their nebulous remains, shining and reflecting a world not before seen… Soon…it all came to a close… The next generation of raindrops grew up under the same rhetoric those brave warriors had, still racing without a fair reason why. A vignette began to close around raindrop society, and all those that remained would have to live with a new feeling: continuing onward without being observed.

With little more entertainment to glean from this microbiome, Saya pulled her head away from the glass, finally recognizing her own reflection in the glass. She looked tired.

Saya tugged on her tangled tendrils of hair in a desperate bid to get them together, but all fledgling attempts could yield nothing but a greasier mop. The bags under her eyes were ringed circles only comparable to the most elder of redwoods. Her gazing pupils shook intensely as she pulled back each of her features individually with a single fingertip. Unsatisfied, she frowned and sighed. In fact, she sighed so deeply that one may suspect it of being an obvious ploy for attention. “Oh, would someone please come look at me! I’m so pitiful!” But her sigh did not desire an audience, she truly did feel so deeply about herself. Should a person look at her with an unreciprocated ogle or  glare, her chest would become concave. Naught as if this is a threat at present, no single person rode alongside her on this derelict journey to nowhere; other than the driver. The bus driver was more engaged in taking long drags of his cigarette at stop signs and blowing the smoke into the cabin than striking up a conversation with a bright blue fox at 11:30pm. The nicotine haze irritated Saya, even despite sitting in the furthest row. Wedging herself comfortably into the corner, a large knapsack occupying the seat adjacent, left a buffer should another late night rider come aboard. Cough. Cough. Saya wanted to ask if the bus driver could blow the smoke out the window, but she thought twice when seeing the bus driver’s unfriendly mug. He held the appearance of a burn or stroke victim. Shit, stroke victims work just like anyone else, they probably put him on the graveyard shift so riders wouldn’t have to look at him. Let him have his cigarette, probably the only good thing he’s got in his life, she thought. Saya began to blink irregularly. She quickly threw open the window, covering her snout underneath her frayed, yellow collar. The chemical aura crept beneath her sweater and into her skin. She couldn’t help but to itch. Her vulpine claws dug into her fur, reaching for any sort of satisfaction, but could only bat away that creeping irritation. Cold crept into the cabin through an open window, snaking through every cigarette burn in her garment, a chill began to run up her spine. All of it was too much. She began to spiral, “What a terrible night to be riding the bus. What a terrible night to be going nowhere. What a terrible night to be me. I get kicked out, and I’m going to look as fucking crazy to my new hosts as my last hosts probably described me!” As her mind raced and her body was caught between flame and frost, she stared out left towards the faintly illuminated suburbia she found herself in. Telephone poles lined the street with soft red LEDs that pulsed incessantly. Their low hum was just great enough to illuminate the tangled veins that kept the town connected. Transformers hummed so loudly Saya could hear the Doppler shift as she passed by. Thunder crashed in the distance of the ocean. Not a single streetlight was to be found lining these streets, just an occasional faint orange glow that seeped out from behind black-out curtains. This scenario was certainly not ideal, reading was next to impossible. Saya pushed her face as far forward as her snout would allow her. Cupping around her eyes, she whispered the numbers to herself, “1315… 1317… 1319? Shit! I’ve gone too far!” Her forearm exploded upwards and tugged on the wire, a faint ring and sudden stop followed. “E-Excuse me, driver!” The bus driver said nothing, he merely braked and sat idly, watching the rear view mirror as she hurriedly slung her bag over her shoulder. As her Doc Martins clopped to the exit, he only coughed with a disapproving glare as Saya avoided eye contact. “T-Thank you, have a n-nice night.” she said, clutching her bag’s strap, and just like that she disappeared into the fog. The bus waited a moment, and before its doors fully closed, the driver flicked his cigarette out onto the sidewalk.

Dark clouds swirled in the distance, rumbling and coalescing in a spiralling pattern. Saya’s eyes twitched and darted from light source to light source as her hands began to shake. The counting of street addresses quickly became a monotonous game at just how badly she had really missed her stop. Each consecutive number was a sour disappointment that she acknowledged before even seeing it. She tugged her hair hard enough that it would hurt but not hard enough to rip out. When the yanking grew irritable, she opted to press the tips of her claws upon her fur and into her skin. She pressed until she felt a small flow of liquid envelop her fingertips. Padding her skirt like a napkin was no problem, it was a purple-ish black color and had been known to hide blemishes well. Fog began rolling around her ankles like a low tide, goosebumps snuck up her legs. Saya’s posture fell into a curve, and her own arms wrapped around her shoulders like a blanket. Her exhales expanded out into large clouds. Every inhale felt as if she were being cut by icicles. Mouth-breathing became an inevitability as the frost began to ring her nostrils. She debated opening her bag to find something warmer to wear, but she knew it too would be a fool’s errand. If this weather kept up, she wouldn’t have enough time to “sort out her behavior,” she’d be a popsicle by the end of the week. “At least people like popsicles.” she thought to herself. “With this color…I kinda look like one right now.”

        A piercing blue and white light beckoned from behind the suburban two stories. Saya picked up her pace, hoping that her oasis was more than just the hallucination of a dying star. Approaching revealed to her the unmistakable form of a gas station. Terrible looking food was plastered all over the windows accompanied only by equally terrible prices. A horrid smell of petrol could be smelt from tens of meters away. Covering her snout, Saya’s eyes darted across the empty lot. A single gas pump was dislodged from his home, an unsupervised anaconda who would ensnare small prey that didn’t recognize its trap in time. From its maw it spewed a steady yet minimal river of gasoline. She frowned before slowly walking up to the pump, and grabbed it by the handle. Approaching the spill, her Docs suffered a minor splattage but since the color wouldn’t show, she didn’t care. Once upright, the pump stopped spewing petrol. Clicking it back into its spot, she flipped her palms to the light of the kiosk to reveal a light layer of black glaze. Her nose wrinkled. Grabbing at tufts of hair amassed in congealed oil amounted only in a gag to choke Saya. Squinting her eyes, she turned to identify a small sign that hung in the window reading: “Open til 12.” With a flick, Saya shook her hands of any remaining drip before marching towards the door.

A small bell rang above her as she shoved the door open with her shoulder. Saya’s arms remained locked in an idle position akin to a t-rex. Her fingers were outstretched in an uncomfortable fashion as if she were cradling an invisible orb. “Hello?” she called out, eyes darting around all corners of the store. The gas station appeared empty, but the sound of wrinkling plastic bags came from a nearby aisle. “Is anyone here? …I’m looking for a bathroom to clean my h-hands.”

“Hello! Welcome in!” a high-pitched voice chimed up. Shocked, Saya stood on her tippie-toes, looking around for the source of the voice. “Sir? Ma’am? Do you have a bathroom?” she waltzed around, looking to the ceiling for any gendered indicator that might suggest a lavatory. Her focus narrowed as it scanned the north wall, then the east, then the west, no sign of a bathroom. As she turned around to the south to continue her search, she felt something distinctly like fabric pushing against her thighs. “Auughhhh!!!!” she jumped back in terror, to reveal a small boy no older than twelve wearing a bright orange hat. “Who the fuck are you?!”

“Sorry I scared you, Ma’am.” he said sadly with slumped shoulders. He held a single strip of paper with numerals. “I just wanted to bring you the bathroom code.”

“Well, you could talk, for one! No need to be all quiet and creepy and shit!”

“I’m creepy…?” the boy frowned, small tears forming in his abnormally large eyes. Saya’s breathing calmed as she took in a long sigh. “Sorry.”

“No. You’re not creepy, I…didn’t mean it like that. But you really should not be sneaking up on a girl at night like that. It doesn’t look good for you.”

“I didn’t mean to, promise.” His hand kept the strip of paper held high. “But you needed to use the bathroom, right?”  

“...yeah.” Saya rocked her head back and forth, “Where did you say it was?”

“I haven’t said where it is.”

“Okay, then where is the bathroom? A girl has dirty hands, and needs to clean them.” She flashed her palms to the boy.

“Yuck. It’s outside, around the corner.”

“It’s around the corner?”
        “Yeah.” There was an awkward pause as the boy continued to hold up the piece of paper, his eyes glued to the floor. “But there’s a keypad so you need the code in order to get in.”
        “Obviously…” Saya snatched the paper, “Two, one, one, two, one, two…You should really get a better code. This isn’t going to keep anyone out.”
        “We’re supposed to keep people out of the bathroom? Plus, I like the code!” The boy turned his head upwards, meeting Saya’s cold gaze. He was wearing a large orange bucket hat with the word “Ball” written on it with a permanent marker.

Saya snickered, a small, not insignificant smirk forming on her face. “You like the code? The code to the bathroom?”

“Yeah! I like the code. It’s my name!”

“Your name is 211212? That’s ridiculous and whoever named you should be arrested for child cruelty.”

“No, my name is Ball! See? Ball!” pointing to the large name inscribed on his hat. “I wrote

this myself!”

        “I can see that…but how is this code your name, you still haven’t explained that, much less how someone can ‘enjoy’ a bathroom code.”

Ball laid a single finger on his chin as his pupils looked elsewhere, searching for the answer. “Well…my name is Ball! First letter B which is the second letter of the alphabet! The second letter is A, the first letter of the alphabet…” Saya looked on as the boy began counting on his fingers, of which he had no more than six. “And then L! Which is the twelfth letter of the alphabet. Then another L, which is the twelfth letter of the alphabet. So in total the code is two, one, twelve, twelve! Ball!” The boy shot his hands out as if he were to break out into jazz hands. Saya couldn’t find a response quickly enough, Ball’s mouth began firing once more. “So what’s your name?”

Saya was caught off guard by the question, and the kindness in his voice as he asked. “I’ll tell you once I go to the bathroom…okay? Big girl’s gotta take care of business.”

His eyes widened. “Is it number two?”

Saya let out an awkward laugh. “A-hahaha…no…I’ve got some shit on my hands.” she relented, showing her soot black palms to him.

“Oh yeah, you already said. What happened to them?” Ball asked, somewhat reoccupied with pulling out his pockets.

“Oh. Uhm, one of the pumps outside was spewing gasoline on the ground. I picked it up off the floor and rehooked it to the kiosk, thing.”
        “The pump.”

“Yeah, the pump.”

“Thank you for doing that, Ma’am, I really appreciate you! If you hadn’t come along, Clyde would’ve killed me!”

“Clyde?” Saya was intrigued, the name sounded familiar.

“Yeah, Clyde! He’s like my dad, but not really my dad. He’s also my boss, but not really my boss. We have a great relationship, he and I.”

“Is he more of a boss or a father figure?” Saya’s gaze narrowed and grew judgemental, but she suspected that the boy would take notice.  

“Dad!”

“Riiiiight…Well, I should be going to the bathroom.”

“Okay! I should be cleaning up, I’m closing very soon!”

“Shiiit, is it really that late already? Must’ve lost track of time somehow…Speaking of, what is a child like you doing out this late-”  

“Go to the bathroom already, Ma’am!” Ball interrupted. “You gotta scrub real hard to get that gunk off your fingers! This I know from experience.”

“What are you doing working this late? Aren’t you a bit young to be working?”

Ball ignored her once more. “And make it quick, I want to learn your name when you get back!” Ball turned his back to her, walking off into the store and taking hold of a comically large mop, humming a jingle only a corporate team of writers could come up with. Saya could only stare in comedic disbelief. God that thing is too fucking big for him, his “boss” must fucking hate the lil guy. Saya walked towards the door, her eyes trying to find the glint of the light in the floor to avoid stepping on the wet floor. Tip-toeing outside, she was immediately confronted with a chilling breeze. Jogging around the corner, she sloppily put in the pin number. Two, one, one, two, one, two, and with a beep, the numbers flashed green. Turning the handle and shutting herself in, Saya was met with a bit of a surprise: a clean bathroom. Despite the mop being so ridiculously oversized, the boy could clearly perform miracles. Come to think of it, the inside of the gas station was pretty clean, too. The floor was sharp and without a drop of stickiness. The walls were a bold, onyx black tile with a beautiful white grout. The glossy tile shone with an immaculate low roughness. Saya saw an amorphous blue and yellow mass moving in the reflection. Good god, everything just sparkled. Even the sink and toilet were clean. Not a mote of dust on the surface. A large potted pothos hung from the ceiling in the corner above the sink. Its leaves are healthily green, which Saya attributed to the slim, horizontal window that led outside. She tore away from the bathroom’s strange, almost uncanny beauty, and settled neatly within the frame of the mirror. Enough looking at materials. It’s still a gas station bathroom. Saya wet her paws and dispensed a small glob of pink into her palm before she began scrubbing. The sound of the water was so very calming to her, perhaps it was the only calming thing that has happened today. Well, if you exclude the conversation with the boy, “Ball.” He scared the shit out of me at first, but he seemed sweet enough. And he does know how to keep a bathroom clean. The ambience of rushing water took Saya away, her mind conjuring calm imagery like a waterfall that is all for her. She sits on a rock, alone at the base of the falls. Water pours over her body gently, the crashing water tickles her submerged legs as the current and ambient noise lures her to sleep. Her head fell forward slowly as her arms - grounded in the stone - held her upright, sitting stationary at her sides. In this dream, the forest and all its flora and fauna could do her no harm. The birds were her watchful guardians and the trees were her friends that figuratively and literally blotted out the rest of the world. The green was enrapturing. The stones were so smooth you could just lay there endlessly until their captured warmth and sunset hues had fled. Nothing could ruin such a day out - almost nothing - but this was Saya’s special place, where no one else was allowed to enter. A high-pitched scream and a thwack awoke Saya from her daydream. A sharp shock ran its way through her body as she found herself laying idle, forehead against the mirror. Heart racing, she pressed a hand over her heart and looked to the door. It was locked. Her eyes darted to the window and no one was creeping on her. Breathing a sigh of relief, she reached out to turn the faucet off. A black smear emerged on the otherwise spotless knob. Lo and behold, she looked down to see a large black paw print staining her favorite yellow sweater. “God fucking damn it.” she muttered, turning the faucet back on.

The bathroom door opened with a creak. A small set of (clean) paws clutched the door followed by a pair of shifty eyes watching for anything that might jump out at her. Every second felt heavy as the shadows coalesced as murderers and kidnappers alike. Just go, she nagged to herself, before jogging back into the light of the gas station. A red ‘92 Civic sat in the lot, its headlights off with the gas pump sitting in the tank. Guess that meant the gas station was still open. Saya tugged on the doors, opening them to Ball sitting behind the cash register, handing a tall, nerdy fellow some change. “Here you go, sir! Have a safe and wonderful drive!”

        “Thank you, young man. And thank you for staying open an extra few minutes for me. It would’ve entirely ruined my preconceived plans had you not given me this kindness.” The man turned to reveal circular glasses and a cleanly combed brown hairdo that parted in the center. Two energy drinks sat atop one another were clenched in shaky hands. Upon seeing Saya, the man gave her a small bow with his head. “Good evening. Get what you need quickly! This young boy must be wrapping up his shift, the store was already set to close.”

        “Oh, I know, I was just r-returning the bathroom code to the cashier.”

        “Splendid! Have a wonderful evening you two! And please, be careful getting home at this time of night. You’re aware of the happenings.” The nerd sauntered off to his car, breaking eye contact as soon as formalities had concluded. Pushing the door open with his shoulder, he shook the cans in synchronicity with the whispering words that trailed out of his mouth. The cash till shut closed with a clap, breaking the silence. Ball pushed off of whatever stool he was sitting (or standing?) on, disappearing behind the counter. The noise of shuffling plastic bags was the only proof that he truly existed behind that counter. When he revealed himself, he held a bag full of potato chips - the plain flavor - and a six pack of beer. Quirked by the sight of alcohol, Saya asked the necessary question, “Are you allowed to be drinking?”

        “No. It’s for Clyde.”

        “Riiiiight.”

        “I’m being honest, Ma’am. It’s been a tough week for him.” Ball responded with a dip in the corner of his mouth. “And I don’t like the taste. I like chips. Chips are very tasty.” Saya didn’t bother to fight him on the alcohol. His wide eyes did not lie. “So you’re back from the bathroom!”

        “Oh. Yeah. I am, my hands are all clean now.” Saya showed her palms to the boy briefly before pulling them quickly back to her sides.

        “You gotta fill your end of the bargain, Ma’am.”

        “What?”
        “Your name!” he knelt down, pulling out a bag of chips and ripping open the top. His speech soon became slurred by a deluge of salty carbs. “Yyeah yyou don have a hat wit yyour name onnit.”

        “Right. Uhm. My n-name is S-Saya.” she muttered, awkwardness gripping her intensely.

        “Shaiya.” Crunch. “Thas a nich name! I know a Shaiya.”

“Oh you do? I thought it was an uncommon name.”

“Well, I donnt know her yet. Shees a girl weer shupposhed to take in….” Crunch. “But shee hashnt shown up yurt.”

Saya’s face lit up as she bent her knees and leaned in. “Ball, you don’t happen to live on 715 East Bile Drive do you?”

The boy’s eyes grew wide and he dropped his bag of chips on the floor before embracing Saya in a hug. “Oh my gosh! You finally made it!” crumbs spewed from his mouth and onto her black tights. Taken aback, Saya’s arms arced in the air, unable to hug the boy. They were, however, able to push him and wipe the crumbs off her. Ball looked up with stars glittering in his eyes. “We are a family! Yay!”

“Yayyy...” she droned. “Sorry. That sounded rude. I’ve just had a long day…where is your house?”

“It's just across the way!” Ball pointed just across the street to a small, dingy two-story with a flickering light coming from inside. The light of the gas station barely illuminating it, only granting Saya the silhouette of her future abode. It was square and insignificant with an equally square cobble wall separating it from the neighborhood at large. The plants that she could see seemed meager in scale. “You live just across the way from your work?”

“I live across from only one of my workplaces!” he stated proudly.

Saya’s eyes widened once more. “You work two jobs?”  

“Yeah!”

“But wh-” Saya sucked in her teeth, feeling the delirium of night intruding upon her body. Every small comment this irritable mass made seemed to irk her. Though it wasn’t his fault he was like this. “...Can we, just, go home? Please, Ball?”

“Okay! Follow me. I have the keys.”

“I’d hope so.”

Crossing the empty lot under that starless, godless sky choked her. The wonder of all things that seemed to be was coming to a climactic close. She would now be resigned to a terrible suburban life, where she would be schooled alongside other insignificant people to be raised for insignificant work. The image of the house irked her the most, especially as they neared and its details became more visible. DIY white paint was cursed with a terribly ugly popcorn texture. Spots of the original color - whatever it may have been - could be seen through small chips and punctures. The sad state of the garden was no trick of the light either, it was as unimportant as it had initially appeared to her in the darkness. Saya trampled over colonies of weeds and clover with no hesitation for they were certainly unplanned undesirables that an undetermined person would leave lacking. The cobble wall was the only thing Saya enjoyed about the outside. She ran her paw over its surface and was pleasantly surprised at how smooth it was. The fog had left a subtle layer of moisture that was pleasant. It reminded her of the forest and the sensation of river rocks. Saya watched the back of Ball’s head as it galloped happily through the garden. Does he care about the house and the way it looks? Does he care for the house? Perhaps not often with two jobs. Ball fiddled with a massive ring of keys, eventually finding the house key. Click. No matter what Saya felt about the outside of the house, nothing could prepare her for the inside.

        Ball pushed open the door to reveal the main atrium of the house. Cardboard boxes were filled with junk and piled to the ceiling; so far that the ceiling fan’s blades could rotate no further. A stale aura of filth remained at ankle height, no different than the piercing fog outside. Cans were stacked in geometrical arrangements about the carpet. Pyramids, rectangles and squares were all formed with a single material, silver beer cans stacked atop one another. Flies buzzed about the city of stained take-out bags that littered the carpeted floor. Stains appeared so frequently in the carpet that it almost tricked Saya into thinking it was intentional patternwork by the artist. Sat in the center of the room on a ratty, puke green couch was a large old man wearing a stained wifebeater and dark tinted sunglasses; because of course he was. He was staring intensely into the television with his muscular arms crossed. VHS tapes surrounded the television set like inlaid brick. Each tape had a handmade label made from packing tape and a thick tipped pen. Every title was nothing but a string of numbers and randomly spaced hyphens. Ball shut the door. Thump. “Boy!” the old man immediately cried out, his face untorn from the TV. “Your papers are here…did you bring me beer?”

        “Yes Clyde!” Ball ran over to Clyde through a rehearsed path of parted garbage, handing him the six pack of silver cans.

“A six pack? I’m not paying you enough for all six.”

“Yeah I know! But you’ve had it hard recently, so I decided to get more. Watching the news again?”

“That’s so nice of you, boy.” Clyde took Ball into the nook of his elbow and noogied him. Ball chuckled playfully, flailing his arms wildly in all directions. From where Saya was standing, the garbage framed the two almost perfectly like a painting. “I’m watching old tapes.”

“Same news story?”

“Yup.” Clyde stated coldly, taking a swig of an audibly empty can. The ambient of local news and anchorman chatter filled the room. Saya saw a scene of pixelated remains laden with police tape. A woman with a microphone spoke of grotesque happenings and disappearances. Plural.

“Oh, Clyde, look! Saya is here!” Ball cut in.

Clyde whipped his head around and set a forearm casually across the top of the couch, still holding that empty can of beer. “Welcome, Saya. Finally decided to show up, did you?”

“I thought you were supposed to pick me up from the train station.” Saya responded meekly, her feet turned inwards towards each other.

“Well you thought wrong, young lady.” he retorted quickly. Saya could see own amorphous shape reflected in his sunglasses. She hoped that it wasn’t how he truly saw her. “We’re doing you a great favor by opening our home to you, but we’ve fallen on hard times too.”

“I-I can see that.”

“Is that sass? Have you no empathy?”

Clyde’s tone reverberated through her body. “N-no, s-sir.”

“I’m not trying to be a dick, Saya. I’m not a dick. I’m merely mentioning that you should have thought of how you were going to get here before you went and acted a fool.”

“Yes, C-Clyde.”

He sighed. “Have you eaten?”

“No, sir.”

“Would you like a beer?” Noticing he had been carrying a dud, Clyde chucked the empty can across the living room, knocking into one of the stacks. Clyde’s pyramidic arrangement fell with a pathetic crash. Clyde pulled one of the six cans off the pack and held it out generously in her direction; still unmoved from the couch.

“Uh. N-no, sir.”

“Whatever.” He turned back to the television and opened the beer. Without eye contact, he talked with only a dismissive hand wave. “Ball, could you help Saya out with the kitchen and uhm…help get her fed? I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing she’d be off to bed without dinner.”

“Okay!” Ball chimed, before taking Saya by the hand. “Come on Saya. I’ll show you our room.”

“I want lights off in thirty minutes! Okay Ball? No staying up late again, studying or whatever you do at night!” Clyde roared. “Oh and Saya, if you’ll be staying here, you’ll be needing to find a job to support yourself! I can’t provide you with everything.” His yelling was smothered by the trash that surrounded him.

“Yes Clyde! And t-thank you for letting me stay in your h-house.” Saya piped up. But Clyde made no sign of recognition; the news had already grabbed his attention once more. As Ball led Saya up the stairs, a blurred video of a red mass flashed on the television. Clyde passionately leaned in. Her skin crawled.

The second floor of the house had an unnerving aura to it, one much different from the oppressive filth of the first. All the walls were shadowed in a dark blue, and she could only see the white door frames and light-switches. Eclipsed in darkness, she expected Ball to turn on the lights, but he never did. He navigated immediately to the right wall once they had topped the stairs. Saya turned her head behind her to see a haunting white door standing alone in the center of the lone hallway. The moonlight made it and the surrounding carpet glow. The texture of the carpet seemed petrified; a hostile spill left to fester and crystalize.

        “Ball.” Saya whispered. “What’s that door?”

        “That’s Clyde’s room.” He said without turning his head. He felt around on the wall, reaching for something. “We’re not supposed to go in it.”

        “Why?”

        “We’re just not.”

Ball opened the door at the hallway opposite of Clyde’s room, and finally, turned on the lights. The small circular desk lamp cast cinematic shadows across the room, touching just enough of the cramped configuration for Saya to comprehend it. Angled upwards, the desk light revealed that there was no lightbulb to be seen hanging from the ceiling. Just an empty socket laid between a ceiling fan with no blades. The rest of the room was incredibly sparse - minimalistic, to be kind - lacking all the furniture but the essentials: a bed, a desk and a single chair. The bunk seemed to be the newest, its wood somewhat aged given the quantity of stains the frame was caked in. Two mediocre mattresses without bedsheets slept sadly alone without a pillow to call their mate. The mattresses were separated, but parallel beings. Saya wondered if they ever thought of each other; yearned for a time where they could be together as not two twins but one king. The desk that held up the lamp was messy but neatly compartmentalized, treading the ground between chaos and order. Newspapers were stacked tall on and around the desk, each wrapped up in a square with a perfectly fitting rubber band. Beneath the desk was a simple single color waste basket and a pushed in chair. The wastebasket was filled with wrappers of chip bags, assorted papers and pencil shavings. It had a saline scent to it that was somehow different from “garbage.” Ball’s desk chair seemed a little too pedestrian for an office space. The cushion and wooden, high arched frame screamed “kitchen” more than anything else. Kitchen. Saya’s stomach began to growl. She tapped the boy on his shoulder, clutching the pang with a paw. “Ball.” The boy was preoccupied with yanking two blankets from underneath the bunk.

        “Saya, which of these two do you want to sleep with?” He held the two blankets up to the light, rotating them slowly so that she could see each of their patterns. “Do you want the horses or the fish?” Saya held out a hand, touching each blanket and looking at the prints. They seemed small, cheap and made of a shitty polyester material.

        “Does it really matter?” her hand glossing across the surface of the blankets.

        “Yeah, it matters because they’re different blankets.”

        “How? They feel the same to me.” she questioned.

        “Uhm. Yeah! One blanket has a herd of American Quarter Horses and Thoroughbreds galloping across a mountainous terrain with courage on it while the other blanket has umm…” he looked down at the other blanket. “Fish. This one has fish on it. And they’re playing together in a group.”

        “A school.” she corrected.

        “A school of fish!”

        Saya sighed. “I’ll take the blanket with the fish on it.”

        “Yay! I get the horses!” Ball exclaimed, laying it out across the bottom bunk. “Oh I’m sorry Saya I didn’t ask what bunk you wanted. I’m new to the whole bunk thing.”

        “You can take the bottom bunk, Ball. As long as I can get to sleep, I won’t be complaining.” Saya said, tossing her blanket onto the top bunk. “But Ball...” the boy was very intent on his new blanket. He rubbed the print of the horses gently as if they were in a stable together and he was their humble caretaker. “Ball!” she raised her voice.

        “Oh. Sorry. What’s up?”

        “The kitchen, Ball. I’m hungry.”

        He paused for a second, and turned his head away from her. “We kinda already passed the kitchen. It’s…” he paused again. “...sort of blocked off by trash.”

        “What?!”

        “But I have chips!” He pushed the plastic bag of half-eaten chips onto his desk. The lamp illuminating the crumbs that stuck to the corners of his mouth. He turned back to Saya, meeting her bitter expressment and crossed arms with wet eyes. “I’m sorry. I wish I had known you were coming today. I didn’t know. I would have gotten you food. I could’ve warmed water for noodles.” He began to cry.

        “Woah, woah, woah…hey,” Saya dropped to her knees as he turned away, shielding his eyes. “It's alright, dude. I just wanted an answer.” Time felt as though it had stopped and she had a dagger plunged into her chest. Soft whimpers of the boy were the only sound filling the empty room. “It’s okay if we just eat chips. I like the normal flavor.”

        “You d-do?” The lamp reflected a glint in his eyes as his posture slowly turned to face her. “Some people say they hate the normal flavor. That it's too salty. I don’t think it's salty at all.”

        “They’re not too salty at all, people are just exaggerating.”

        “Can we read the comics and eat chips together? It always cheers me up.”

        “Of course.” Saya said, taking a small handful of chips. Crunch. They were salty, really salty, and…incredibly oily, and the texture really isn’t all there. But god, fuck, they were kinda good. Ball pulled out the chair and sat on it, grabbing a chip bag all for himself. He ripped it open and a savory scent erupted all about the desk. Saya knelt beside the desk, resting her arms and chest; she knew the inevitable collapse was coming. Reaching for a newspaper, Saya ripped off the rubber band and the comic section exploded in their faces. “What’s your favorite comic strip?” she asked, pressing tongue to index finger before flipping pages.

        “Heithcliff the cat.” Crunch.

        “Should have known. You seem like the type of person that would really enjoy Heithcliff.” Crunch.

        “Does that mean you don’t like Heithcliff?”

        Saya yawned. “No, no, don’t get me wrong. I enjoy Heithcliff from time to time. I like the surreal gags.” Crunch. Gnaw.

        “Like the helmets?” Crunch.

        Saya looked up at his hat, “Ball” in all caps staring back at her. “Yeah. They’re charming.”

“Heeheehee. Awesome.” Ball smirked.

Crunch. “Sho wat’s up with you and Clyde? Juss rreally love the newsh and analog formatsh?” Saya asked through a mouthful of chips. Chew. Chew.

“I’m a paper boy! I get the neighborhood their papers in the morning.” Gnaw. “Clyde drops these off for me at night while I’m at work!”

“And he’sh alsho your bossh?” Crunch.

“Of the gas station, yeah!”

“How’sh that make any shense when he’sh living in a pigsty?” Step, step, step. Her ears piqued upright, and she quickly turned towards the door. In the distance: creek…slam. “Sheems like a backwardsh ashshole to me.”  

Crunch. “You’ve got it wrong, Saya, he may seem backwards, but I feel in my heart that he really is a good guy. He has just been misled.”

“Ha. Mishled, my assh.” Saya finished reading the comics quickly, but stayed put until Ball was ready.

“I think that’s all the comics for today.”

“What? There’sh gotta be more…there were only two pages!” Turning the page, Saya’s mouth fell open. She could only mouth “no,” over and over quietly to herself. Ball turned to her and started making conversation.

“Have you thought about what job you want to get? Clyde will probably get on your case about it tomorrow.” Ball spoke on. “You could work at the gas station with me! I had a co-worker but they recently stopped coming into work following an odd illness. Clyde would probably let you take over his shifts! Ooo! You could join me on my paper trail tomorrow to see if you like it. But we’d have to go to bed now because I wake up early to deliver before-”

“Look.” Saya pushed the headline right into Ball's hands.

“MISSING PERSONS REPORT: FIDELLE MORGAN. LAST SEEN IN THE SUNSET NEIGHBORHOOD FROM EIGHT TO TEN PM. HEIGHT: 5’10”. HAIR COLOR: RED. SPECIES: VULPES.” Attached to the report was a small picture of a vulpine woman no different from Saya in appearance.

“Oh goodness. Oh goodness. Not another disappearance, this is terrible! This town must have had a horrific curse placed upon it!”

“Is this today’s newspaper?” Saya tugged on Ball’s shoulder with a strained voice.

“Should be! Clyde dropped it off so I can deliver it tomorrow morning.” Ball raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that so important?”

“That’s my fucking aunt.”