Ramifications: Day 1

Word Count: 6,012

Summary of Events:

Lachlan arrived at his apartment to find that he'd been evicted for not paying the rent; in revenge, he set the contents of the nearby garbage dumpster on fire. Finding his gang superiors at their usual haunt, he asked if any of them could host him, but to no avail; efforts to find someone else from his short list of acquaintances in Brisbane was also fruitless, prompting him to wander Brisbane in search of some shelter from the pouring rain until his fuel gauge started to run low, which forced him to seek shelter under a small overhang above a door into a back alley . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

"Leaning back against the door, he sighed. Weariness overcame him, pulling at his eyelids and bidding him just to lie down and sleep.

His conscious mind resisted, though, wondering if there wasn't some chance that the very door he was leaning against was unlocked.

Valiantly struggling against the sleep that seemed suddenly to have launched all-out war against him, he looked at the door and saw that it was metal, it had a lock on it, and that its hinges evidenced that it was an outward-opening door.

Slow and reluctant, he pulled himself to his feet and moved out of the way of the door — which meant back out into the rain.

Trying the handle, he found that, indeed, it was locked. He wouldn't be able to get inside, into the complete and total shelter that the indoors would provide him.

He moved back under the shelter of the overhang and sank down to the concrete pad that lessened the height of the step from the ground to the door, at least immediately in front of the door.

Shifting his backpack, he put it under his head for a pillow, bundling himself as tightly together as he could with his back to the alley and his face to the door, pulling himself onto the concrete pad as fully as he possibly could.

He could still feel the soft mist of water being thrown upward by the rain striking the wet ground, but at least he was sheltered from the large, close-together droplets that were the rain falling from the sky above.

Even though weariness pulled at him, cold chilled him, prompting him to shiver uncontrollably. If only he owned a raincoat or a blanket, he would be drier or warmer then — or if he owned both of them he would be warmer and drier.

Having neither, though, the thought of having them only made him only feel wet, cold, and miserable.

It seemed now, too, that cold was winning the war over exhaustion, and like he was going to end up remaining awake, even though he was really quite thoroughly tired and ready to have been bedded down several hours ago.

He closed his eyes and shivered involuntarily. Maybe he should've kept going until he'd found a dumpster bin. He'd have been completely sheltered on all sides, and between the garbage providing an insulating layer and his own body heat filling the enclosed space, he might've been able to actually warm up eventually — especially if there was rotting garbage, as the action of rotting always seemed to make things warm.

Slowly the black fingers of sleep pried away at the icy fingers of cold and wound their way into his mind, shutting off switches as they went, slowly pulling him down into the darkness of slumber with a soft and seductive touch that he had no inclinations of resisting."