The winter breeze sailed into the twilight sending a howl across the town. The sky was a mix of navy, black and purple shades. It was a dreary dark rainy night. A night where most families sit a home sipping tea and watching movies wrapped in warm blankets. A shiver was sent down Erica’s spine as she descended into the streets of Bloomsdale. Erica was spending her evening in her most dreaded place, her work office.

Erica spent all of her time in an old ancient building made mostly of wood making fabric and clothing until her fingers were numb. Her boss has already threatened her that if she misses work again, she’s fired. Erica lives in a rundown apartment trying hard to pay her bills every month. All potential she had growing up was swept away from one accident.

Her parents threw Erica on the road on a snowy day in December about 15 years ago. She was only 4 at the time; but it didn’t affect her life as other kids would be affected. She HATED her parents, or so she remembers. Her parents were always hanging at a bar or with others who shared the same passion, drugs and alcohol. Her parents were barley home. Erica became independent. Cooking her own meals, walking to school, put her self to sleep every night without hearing the word, “I love you”. Ever since then, she has been in 8 different foster homes where she has been raped, abused and tortured. She escaped trying to find happiness.

Erica climbed the metal stairs to her office. While she was walking through the narrow hallways, she glanced at all the other sad depressed workers trying to do the same as she does. Finding a happy place.
Same as always, Erica sat down at her chair and pulled out her sewing machine. She grabbed her cloth from the old musty bin underneath the table. As she sewed her cloth she heard shuffling throughout the hallways. She thought nothing of it.

Erica started feeling a burn in the back of her throat and a gurgle slipped through her lungs. She coughed a couple times while she heard other coughs and hacking. Shortly after she started to hear loud piercing screams. “GET OUT, GET OUT”. Erica ran towards the door ripping the sewing machine off the table and came back and slammed her in her leg. Her leg stiffened as her raw red hands reached for the doorknob. As soon as she touched it, her thin layer of skin that was still holding on to her bones sizzled in the heat. Fire. Smoke arose from underneath the door growling at Erica’s presence. All at once the fire ripped across searing through the wood walls, and floors. As she looked at the fire circling her she screamed.

Her mom and dads face hovered in the red and orange flames. This time, her parents seeming loving and caring, trying to lure Erica into the scorching heat. Erica was fuming. She stood up and stumbled because of her pained leg. She was determined to get away from her parents. She ran through the fire as fast as she could with the sewing machine in one hand and her other hang holding her leg. As she encountered the door she noticed the door crumbled into burnt wood. That made it easier. She sprinted out of the room through the blazing heat. As she took longs strides for an exit she could feel her body throbbing from what would be a 3rd degree burn. The fire surrounded her. There was not a noise from the building. Alone. She’s alone. She took a big deep breath and closed her eyes. Seconds later she jumped from an open window.

Erica died that night. She took her own life. Laying on the pavement below, she almost looked happy. We live in a world that kills.