Kimberly Shea Miller's Story

" You know,i always thought that if i could live in another place then i could achieve something people never thought would make it....but we did in fact,all of us made history as we used to say before we were so rich that money never ran out and people wanted to know us like we never knew them.I also have to say that this story starts out with a big bang,and the things we did will never be the same after the day we found our true matches and when i think of the time when we really mattered i was right...Finally.It was in New York,as they say the city of dreams but no,it was the city of getting killed and being broke as i remember it...and so much of us were basically in our teens so this is our Story....

I ran through the city light streets as the alleyway in the nearby corner was awaiting a little prize i wanted to have while i stayed in my nearby grade and now i wanna stay alive with my friends and keep our little secret a private party.What i saw was a table of money and a man with guns.I braced myself as i knew my final death wish as i reached for it and when i did he charged for me.I ducked but i missed my shot as he drew his gun but he was taken down by my partner in crime and helper Matt.I reached for the money until i blacked out....I awaken back in my room with all my friends but in a place i called home or we called home.

I woke up in the morning,maybe at 8:34 a.m. as i walked towards my closet and just thought of what just happened as a dream.The warehouse was what i was thinking about at the time as we had to survive everything just to get somewhere and the people i just couldn't stand these days.I picked out a gray jacket with my favorite hoodie and put on my Punk Black pants and try out a taco from my leftover last night.

Kimberly,Alyssa,Zared,Chase,Lani,Umbra,Lex,Bloodlyne,Matthew,Casey,Ford,and Katelyn all sat down in the living room and the chat was on as i could remember the lights everywhere.I walked into the Kitchen and fixed myself a sweet mix of Chocolate and a small batch of cookies as i looked out of the window and saw the grass being sprayed by the water pole's.

I walked back into the living room as it got silent and i began to drink my chocolate at the point to where i got out my phone and started to play temple run for a while.

( Sorry it's short but i have to let you guys reply to something :) )

Kimberly was sitting in the corner. It was a dull building, more like a prison than a new home. The walls were bare and the room was cold. She really didn't like it here, but anywhere was better than home. Her hand lifted to her shamrock mood necklace. Her friend had given it to her before she had left for her Sweet 16. That was the only present she had gotten. Her hand travled down to the cut on her chest. She closed her eyes, reliving the moment. The sting of the cut. The blood. The pain meds making her head spin. A tear fell from her eye.

She grabbed her bag nearby, and pulled out a stuffed bear. The bear was from her grandmother when she was born. It looked like those bears in the pictures online. The light gray bear with blue patches. She cuddled the bear. It had always made her feel better. Whenever her dad had hurt her, she would hide in her closet and cuddle the bear. She had even named him, Mr. Higgenbottoms. She was only a little kid when she came up with the name, and she hadn't planned on changing it 6 or 7 years down the road.

Kimberly looked around the room at all the people she was going to live with. A bunch of teenage girls and guys, all with home stories like hers. Everyone had an abusive guardian, or did drugs, or some bad history to where they had to leave. Some made they're mistakes, others couldn't control their past.

Deep inside of his own head, Ford drifted for a while, riding the waves of his own imagination--somewhere he got caught in the middle of a motorcycle chase with ninja tyrannosaurus rexes, and when his suspension of disbelief finally gave in, the young man's conscious mind finally resurfaced.

He opened his eyes and stretched languidly, catching both Lex and Casey staring at him--both attractive girls and both not actively trying to kill him with mind beams like the others. Ford gave a small smile to both of them and raised two fingers in a passable reproduction of the Boy Scout salute, then looked down at the coffee table in front of him. His leather armchair creaked comfortably, like the limbs of an old oak in the breeze, or the bones of a recumbent grandparent.

Ford had dragged the chair from his side-alley shelter to the warehouse the first day he had come here, shortly after Chase had begun his incredible undertaking of converting the entirety of the football field-sized warehouse into living quarters. Chase hated it on pretense, but Ford was a handy man, and quick to give the space a once-over (he'd done some construction work while he was still in high school), and delivered an ultimatum: he would help assemble Chase's madman scheme of rebuilding the warehouse, but if they junked his chair he would leave. Simple as that.

Some time later, the deep purple armchair, still the worse for wear, sat defiantly in the living room, a testament to Ford's own dedication to his stuff. A while passed and Ford quickly drained his cup, then set out to the kitchen and sloshed some water into the mug, washed it, dried it and set it into its rightful place in the cabinet. He quickly got a bowl of cereal (brand generic; nothing special for Ford) and was returning to the kitchen when he slid past Kimberly; the newcomer, and her teddy bear.

Kim was the newest addition to the ragtag band of misfits living in Fortress Impossible; his affectionate name for the warehouse. He didn't know that much about her, and didn't really pry, but had immediately taken a shine to her somewhat fearless nature; mostly because he could appreciate a person who knew how to have fun without screaming "YOLO" every twelve seconds.

He hadn't; however, noticed the stuffed bear the first time.

"Cute bear," he noted off-handedly, still cradling his precious bowl of cereal. "Had him a while?" His smile was earnest, his eyes alight, body language set to 'intrigued'.

In a land of enemies and ambivalence, Ford could use a friend.

Kimberly looked up as a boy approached. He was a good looking boy, modest clothes and nice hair. Kim didnt know what to do, so she pretended not to notice. She couldn't help but look back at him. Kimberly smiled as he asked about the bear.

"Yeah. I have had him since I was born. It's kinda a special bear." She didn't know what it was about this boy, but he made her feel better. He was a living Mr. Higgenbottoms. She chuckled to herself. "Why don't you sit? I'm Kimberly. What's your name?" She patted the ground next to her. She blushed alittle at his smile.

"You know, this place could use some color. It's so bland and looks like a prison. If this was my place, I would do some major redecorating, cause whoever had this place last obviously had noooo sense of style. I mean what were they, a prison warden? Um I should shut up now...I tend to talk a lot when I am nervous." Kim put her hand over her mouth at that last part. "Not that you make me nervous! I just...uh...meeting new people, you know?" Kim's whole face turned bright red, from her nose to the tips of her ears. She was soo embarrassed! She probably lost her first chance at starting over by being a total spaz in front of the hot guy! "I uh..I think I should go get some food too. So uh, yeah."

Well, that was unexpected.

Ford smiled as he was invited to sit. It wasn't like he hadn't already been doing that for the last twenty minutes or so (he had), but suddenly he was somewhat compelled to take a seat. As he lowered himself to the floor; looking, for all the world, like he was curling into himself, he caught her laughing. It was a pleasant noise; and not one you heard much of in the doom-and-gloom atmosphere of the angst-ridden denizens of Fortress Impossible. Had he been a poet, he would have described it as being 'as pleasant as a soft breeze on a hot summer day'.

But he was not a poet. He was Ford Fucking Milligan. And he thought it was kind of cute.

Then she started to ramble. Ford was about to introduce himself when she picked up the small talk and sprinted away with it, rambling about the decor of the house, then being nervous about him--that brought a smile to his face--and then, finally terminating at food.

"Well, to respond to those things in order." Ford, still smiling, raised one finger. "First, I'm Ford Milligan. The pleasure is all mine." Then a second finger. "Two, I completely agree; you should see the theme in my room--black and white and eyesores all over." He grimaced, then raised a third finger. "And three, that's fine. Do the same thing myself." He watched her face grow redder and redder, and chuckled lightly. Still holding his bowl of cereal and sitting on the floor, looking very comfortable, he added, "Feel free to join me when you've got food."

Kimberly ran to the kitchen, feeling flushed from her conversation with the guy, who introduced himself as Ford. She found a bowl, a spoon, and about half a gallon of vanilla ice cream. She put under half of it into the bowl. She raided the fridge and cabinets for toppings, and found rainbow sprinkles and chocolate syrup. She covered the ice cream in them until you couldnt tell the color of it. "Ahh sugar. A girl's best friend." she whispered to herself. She walked back to where Ford was sitting, eating as she went, and sat back down. "Yumm..." She smiled as she took a bite.

Ford would probably think of her as some fat kid now. But honestly, she didn't care. She had been judged all her life and somehow, it didnt bother her anymore. She sat the bowl on the floor and put her bear in her bag. Didn't want ice cream all over him. "You know what I really wanna do?" She picked up her bowl and took another bite. "I wanna go get some stuff to decorate. This place is bringing me down, and my room could definately use some pink. Ooooh and a puppy! I want a puppy too. I could never have one before because it was against the apartment rules. Here is good though, because we make the rules. I like it here alot more than home. If only I had enough money for decorations and adoption fee. I onyl have like 100 and some odd dollars. Adoption is usually more than that alone" Kim got quiter and quiter as she talked, so quiet that the last sentance probably went unheard. Then she continued eating, not saying another word.

The girl knew how to eat; he'd give her that. No sooner had he started eating his breakfast than she had come back with a quarter of a gallon of ice cream with god-knows-what-all stacked atop it. "You gonna share?" Ford said mock-innocently; adding in a little lower lip action and adding the patented 'Milligan Sad Puppy Eyes' for the final touch, raising his spoon from the half-eaten bowl of cereal before dropping the charade and going back to his breakfast. "I'm kidding," he said, "I don't want any anyhow."

He continued eating slowly as he listened to Kim's proposals and, surprisingly, found him agreeing to them despite his own financial situation being fairly desperate. Eventually, he finished his cereal as Kim finished her spiel, and he nodded sagely. "I agree with you there, actually. I only have about two hundred dollars saved up though; so it'll have to be either decorations or a dog." He stretched slightly on his way back from the sink, settling to the floor next to her as his back and joints popped into place one by one, his body adjusting happily. He sighed once the pops were finished. "I'll tell you what," he said, smiling, "you meet me outside in five minutes, give me some time to get dressed, and you think on what you want to do. When I get down there, I'll get my car and we'll make a day of it. How's that sound?"

He sat forward slightly, looking into Kim's eyes, awaiting an answer.

Kimberly jumped up. "For real? Are you serious? I will be right back!" She ran to the kitchen and put her now empty bowl in the sink. She rinsed it out and ran to the room with her clothes. She shut the door and grabbed her bag, stripping out of the week old clothes she was in. She pulled out the essentials for a shower, and quickly washed up. Then she put on a pair of short cutoff denims and a tight hot pink tanktop with a smiling cupcake on the stomach. "This should do it." It was hot out to her and she wanted to show off alittle too, who knew, maybe it could help impress the cute guy.

Then she brushed out her tangled blonde curls, making them cascade down her shoulder to her mid back. She grabbed her money, a total of $137.48, and her necklace, putting it back on. She looked out the window, Ford was there. So she ran to the door, flip flops in hand, and met him outside. "Hiya." She flashed a flirty look. "I call shotgun." She slipped into the passanger seat and put her shoes on, buckled up, and slipped the money in her pocket.

[font=lucida][size=115]The young man nodded as Kim practically sprinted out of the hall, into the kitchen, then back out of the kitchen and down the hall. Ford took care to note which door she turned through, but it was a pointless venture as her turn just led her up the stairs. Ford finished his own cereal and merely lifted himself off of the floor, his feet plodding down the hallways to his bedroom. He slipped through the cracked door, shading his eyes--as always--from the glare of his egg white walls. He hated the decor in here. The whole room was so art nouveau, and Ford only ended up using a tiny corner of it; a nook just around his bed, which was shifted to the corner of the room, had been surrounded with stacks of cheap novels, an old amplifier and the crate-like cases containing his bass and guitar. He went to his closet and selected his clothes for the day; merely jeans and a fitted black t-shirt. No prints, no slogans, nothing, just a t-shirt. Finally, he pulled on a pair of cap-toe boots (his only concession to his new lifestyle in Fortress Impossible was the pair of $120 white leather dress boots; he loved the things despite how ridiculous they made him look) and swept out the door, down to the curb.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long, and he was glad for the sight. In her street clothes, Kim looked very good. Normally, he was more of a summer dress-type guy, but she did look great in cutoffs. He smiled slightly as she looked at him flirtily, then called shotgun. Ford laughed. "Good thing you did."

Ford's car was just as unassuming and hardscrabble as he was; the chassis was patched with Bondo and held together seemingly by Ford's hopes and prayers; the paint was faded and rust had started to show through in some places. The interior was bland and the air was musty, but nevertheless Ford patted the wheel affectionately and turned the keys in the ignition, and the old beast thrummed into life. He grinned. "I love this car," he said, more to himself than to Kimberly, as he dropped the car into first and merged into the slow traffic of a hazy summer day in New York.

He spared a glance over to Kimberly at their first of many red lights. "Now I have about two hundred dollars saved up, so I think the dog is out until my next few paychecks come in, but I think we can handle decorations for now-" And that's when he noticed. His face got an odd look as he traced his eyes along the edge of the long scar tracing her collarbone. He lowered one hand from the wheel down to the gearshift and held the wheel softly, looking a little concerned.

"Your story's in that, I imagine." He said, briefly raising one hand from the gearstick to trace the top of her scar. "I didn't see it before. And I won't ask if you don't want to bring it up." A moment passed before Ford realized where his hand was. Then his face got a little red and he immediately dropped his hand back to the shifter, looking away, slightly embarrassed.

"Well I have about a hundred and thirty, almost forty. A puppy isn't that much if you go to a pound. It's usually the pretty, wellknown places that charge like four hundred for a dog. Maybe we can get a little mutt, one no one wants, like me." She suddenly got quiet.

Then Ford asked about the scar, "Your story's in that, I imagine." and touched it.

She looked down and pulled the tankup, trying to cover it. "You...you really wanna know?"

"I didn't see it before. And I won't ask if you don't want to bring it up."

Kim sighed. "My dad never was the loving dad, but one night, he took the abusive role too far. He came home really drunk and demanded I clean the kitchen. I tried telling him that the whole house was already clean, but he just got mad and threw everything around. he went to hit me and I pushed him. His beer bottle hit the table and broke. That waz the final straw, and he went to hit me with it. And this is the aftermath." Kim reached up and touched the scar. "I fixed it up, packed my bags, and climbed out my window. Almost broke my leg gettin outta the 2nd story." She looked down, her hand still on the scar. "It was about a month ago. I lived in Philly. Hitchhiked as far as I could, walked the rest. Had to atleast get outta the state."

Ford didn't really know what to say about that. He wasn't going to apologise; that's for sure. he had nothing to apologise for, and for some people an apology meant that you felt sorry for them. Most people didn't like it when others felt sorry for them, Ford knew he didn't like it. And he sure as hell wasn't going to say that shit sucked sometimes, because he knew that was just cruising for him to get hit. He thought for a minute, sorting through the things he could say. Then, finally, he decided on a course of action.

Sometimes, his mother had told him once, a long time ago, You'll find yourself in a situation where you just don't need to do anything. Just being there is enough.

So Ford didn't say anything. The light changed, and he shifted into gear. Once the car ground and shook its way into first, he placed one hand lightly on Kim's shoulder and let it rest there, his other hand still on the steering wheel. He had an odd, faraway look in his eyes at that point in time; the corners of his mouth turned down slightly. His eyes looked sad. His whole body looked sad.

He looked ahead and some time passed as the car rolled through the warm haze of a New York City afternoon, the powder-blue hull of the battered old Mercedes soaking in heat like a convection oven, the faux-leather interior almost uncomfortably warm now, but the heat broken and Ford without money or time to fix it. Windows rolled down; the breeze like a hot towel across the face.

Minutes passed in silence, stretching on for far too long, before Ford came back to himself. By that point there was a dog shelter down the street from them. Ford thanked whatever God had put that there for his kindness and pulled to the curb, pointing.

"Found a place." He intoned, still looking like he was gazing into the past. "You want to look for a dog?"