Snippet #1714416

Lightly pushing his hood off, Lukas splashed water in his face from the sink in the airport's restroom. As the water dripped off, he looked at himself in the mirror. His hair looked like he'd never seen a comb or a hairbrush in his life, thick periorbital dark circles surrounded his eyes, and his skin was as pale as a porcelain doll. He figured that since everyone hated him, what did it matter that he looked like a crack addict? He was nothing. Worthless, inferior, inadequate. Pulling his hood back over his head, and slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder and picking up a second bag containing his synthesizer, drum machine, and laptop he left the restroom.

The young german-canadian waif walked through the airport, trying his best to avoid eye-contact with the people he walked past, and putting the headphones he wore around his neck on his head to take his mind off what the people who occasionally glanced at him could be thinking. Walking into an elevator, Lukas was dismayed too see that two people, a pregnant woman, and a man, were already inside, and quickly ran to a corner and stood there, hanging his head and raising it only too see three more people walk in. Lukas silently stood, turning up the volume of his Ipod Touch to soothe his growing panic, to the point where dubstep could be faintly heard by the five other occupants in the elevator. When the elevator tremored, and the lights went dim, Lukas slouched into the corner into a fetal position clutching his head and began to whimper and hyperventilate.

(Edited)