Thread: This War of Mine (Alvis & BaadBaarbie)

Growing up in London, shed never really had the privilege of learning what a gunshot sounded like. When shed moved to New York, shed chalked the near-to-nightly popping a block away from her shitty flat up to fireworks Americans were a celebratory sort, she found. It wasnt until her decidedly very American flatmate had come back from down the street out of breath and covered in someone elses blood that shed even registered that those fireworks were in fact gunfire. That was just six months ago. How daisy fresh she had been then, bright-eyed and ready to start her career on Broadway. April had been dancing for as long as she could remember and for just as long she had been dreaming of dancing her way across all the big cities of the world. She had started her venture in Londons upper east side and slowly but surely had worked her way into dance troupes that led her at last to the Big Apple. She had dreamsParis, Milan, Moscowbut dreams took time. She had had faith then that she would make it there someday. When it had gone to hell, shed been at practice. Shed caught the flash out of the corner of her eye, reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirror at her side. One foot still propped up on the barre, she had straightened to look out the window just in time to brace herself against the shockwave that rattled the building. She was still trying to pick the remainder of the shattered glass out of the side of her scalp. In an instant, nearly an entire block had been leveled. Truth be told, she had no dog in this fight. Shed barely known a thing about American politics before moving abroada conscious choice, but in hindsight, a wistfully stupid one. The situation hadnt seemed nearly so fraught. Shed hardly listened to the chatter on the news anyways. She was always so busy with this or that Now, as she ran around a barrage of fire somewhere between 56th and 9th, she wished she hadnt been so damn busy. She wished shed emptied her savings and booked the first flight home. Perhaps things were just as awful at home, but April liked to think the British were a much more sensible breed. But here she was, risking her life for canned corn and some Advil. So, Central Park had been a bad idea. She would admit it. The greens were teeming with ambushesit was a risk, but she knew there was a holdout there worth raiding. In the end, she hadnt been able to make it that far, barely managing to make it out of a mostly-torn-apart pharmacy before she came under fire. As she ran, she fumbled with the zipper pocket of her sport jacket, grappling for the keys to her apartment building. She wasnt honestly stupid enough to stay on her eighth floor flat, but there was a cozy cellar that shed done her best to bunker up in for the last few weeks. It was the only place shed been able to smoke a blunt before, but now weed was the last thing on her mind. It made her too damn hungry and shed go through her entire stash if she wasnt careful. April managed to outrun the fire for just long enough to turn the corner and duck into the alcove where the door was. Her hand was shaking, but despite the added challenge she managed to unlock the door. She slammed it behind her, pressing her back to the wall before sinking to the floor. Corn and Advil. Corn and fucking Advil. Once she had gathered her bearings, April removed a bobby pin from the underside of her ponytail, bending it so that she could pick the lock to the cellar. Shed dropped the janitors keys down a grate a week and a half ago and she was still kicking herself. She was running through bobby pins faster than she was comfortable with, but for now this jimmy-rigged system for managing the lock would have to do. She bolted the door and descended the stairs. The candles were still lit, but despite the warmth of the light, the cellar was still cool and damp. She had done her best to cozy it up by hanging quilts and laying down pillows, but she felt that she was only leaving fodder for the rats. The bastards had already managed to figure out a way into her dried goods. She was meant to tackle the problem that night, but she needed a cigarette first. April dumped her backpack at the base of the stairs, fumbling around in her pocket for her lighter and her last pack of cigarettes. She closed her eyes as she made to light one, cursing herself for falling back into her old secondary school habits. Just as she flicked her thumb over the lighter, there was a distinct bang followed by the rattle of crumbling drywall and cinder. Aprils eyes snapped open, greeted by the dust that rolled in the sunlight pouring through a hole in her once perfect cellar. Out of instinct, she reached for the baseball bat beside the wide self shed commandeered for her bed. She dropped the cigarette and the lighter on the ground as she crept over the rubble there was a body, and she prayed it was just that a body. She hadnt been forced to kill anyone yet, and she wasnt sure she had the nerve to start today.