I lounge unabashedly on the concrete steps leading up to my brown, brick building. An old woman, who lives two doors down, glares at me. Her eyebrows crouch down on her hazel, hawk-like eyes. I roll my own blue ones upwards pointedly while I smile into my green sleeve. There’s a huff followed by some grumbles. She’s way too easy to rile up.

Sensing an oncoming onslaught of boredom, I twist my neck this and that, groaning some when I feel more than hear the crack of my bones. With nothing left to do, I stare at the retreating old woman. Her jacket is checkered purple and black, with extra cloth spilling out at the sides. Her black hair, full of aged-silver streaks that is pulled hazardously into a floppy, messy bun bounces as she walks down the block. When she breathes, a puff of air becoming visible from where I am into something smokey and indecipherable before it turns truly invisible.

She turns back, her gaze coming unflinchingly on my person. I try. I genuinely try but its unnerving. Her gaze, I mean. Like something, or someone, judging me before my death. Something unknown to anyone. Something unavoidable.

She turns and I face the sky, trying not to let the relief show on my face. It’s slowly being encroached by incoming storm clouds.

I hear chime bells ringing.