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Chapter 1.1: She Is Not Bleeding For The Attention“Damn, that is a lot more blood then last time.” Whispered Misami to herself as she laid in a puddle of her own blood. Her eyes were gradually closing while her hair was dripping blood as she attempted to stand. Misami’s long purple ponytail felt as if it weighed a ton and was pulling her closer to the ground.
While she was trying to stand Misami could feel her wound on her waist splitting open. She quickly plummeted to the cold concrete. With barely a breath she managed to say “Hope I don’t die this time” and as soon as she finished the sentence she pass out from blood loss.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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