#nicholasrush o1

[theroadhxme]

@nicholas-rush || STARTERS 1/?

     It’s a start, he supposes. The hunt for a job was difficult given his attire. Bathing only did so much to mask the rotten stench that seemed to root itself deep into his core. No amount of scrubbing seemed to have helped, and--admittedly--he’d skipped using shampoo after a clump of hair slipped into the shower’s drain.

     Working his way back into society... He feels no such luxury in it. No sense of normalcy in which he could cling onto for comfort. Just emptiness.

     But again... It’s a start. After several attempts applying for even the scummiest of jobs, working as a nighttime janitor seemed more like a blessing compared to other jobs he could have been picked for. The mop, held in a weak grip, offers little entertainment as he finishes the near early morning hours of his shift doing a third clean sweep around the place, not because he enjoys spending the rest of his time cleaning. The idea behind the first day-time shift employee stepping in and sliding his way into the supply closet had coaxed him into doing it. Not that it was likely to happen, but still, he held onto the thought until he’d stepped outside the doors and locked it with the keys.

     Cold, bittersweet air greeted him as he tightened his stained scarf closer against his lips. Quivering hands were quick to dig straight into pockets, and as the sky just barely begun to display it’s vast variety of vibrant pink and orange-yellow hues, he found himself wondering silently--what was going on back home right now?

     He could almost hear her complaints about the lamp being turned on. Her whiny begs as she yanked the covers over her face and pleaded for him to turn the lights back off. Messy, brownish-black hair against white sheets and a sour expression that he’d grown to adore over the years. Szurek would be pawing at the door, begging for their usual morning walk. Happy whines and tired groans mixed with an intense desire for black, bitter coffee. Despite the lingering sorrow in the pit of his stomach, the memory brings a smile, and the tension in his body caused by the cold morning air eases the longer he dwells on it.

     Surprisingly... He feels the day just might be good for a change. Good enough for him to relax after never ending stress and fears. A shame he’d been too wrapped up in his thoughts, but then again, how was he suppose to know that some people were mystically up and about at this hour. Funny, how quickly his temper can snap. All it takes is bumping into a stranger to uproot him from old memories and spiral him back down into the foul depths of anger. Admittedly, he shouldn’t have gritted his teeth given the pain now throbbing in his jaw--nor should he have shot the man a hateful glare for somehow robbing him of some peace--but in the heat of the moment, such hasty reactions simply happen. One can only hope the little misstep doesn’t lead to further issues...