One Block From Hell – Desperate

This story was inspired by something my friend said to me. One afternoon as we drove through my neighborhood, we passed a stretch of abandoned stores. Dirt was piling up on the sidewalk, people were selling drugs and a homeless encampment had been built from cardboard boxes and worn-out tarps. No one seemed to care. The block had become a no man’s land. As we drove by, he stated flatly,  “You live one block from hell.” What he had said, stuck with me and stories about that desolated sidewalk began to develop in my head.

Another day, a pool hunt had brought us to the east end of the San Fernando Valley. The area between the I-5 and the 170 is mainly industrial. Gritty. We were driving up the I-5 ramp when I saw a woman on the side of the road. She had messy hair and with her short skirt and high heels she looked clearly out of place. It was obvious that she was a prostitute. She climbed up the embankment and quickly vanished from my sight. Since that day I’ve been writing about her and she has become a recurring figure in my stories.

The sun grinned maliciously as it scorched its way through the San Fernando Valley. Cars crawled down the streets in the early afternoon traffic. Windows closed, air conditioning running. The sidewalks remained empty as people sought shelter in their homes. A stretch of barricaded buildings sat in neglect on the side of the road. Faded signs in barred windows advertised goods in foreign languages. The goods were long gone and the stores had been boarded up with thick planks. The rats had left the sinking ship a long time ago. Trash and dirt cluttered the sidewalk. No one cared to pick it up. On the corner building mocked a sign: ‘Safe Harbor Urgent Care’. Its windows were shattered and the once vibrant paint obscured by graffiti expressing thoughts of anger and territorialism. This hadn’t been a safe place for a very long time. On a small set of stairs sat a thin figure. She crouched in the entrance of what used to be a liquor store. Her blonde hair hung messy over bloodshot eyes and colorful make up ran down her cheeks. Her shirt was sweat stained and her short skirt barely covered pale skin. She lit a cigarette with a small green lighter and rubbed her leg. Her shins were bruised and her knees had fresh red scabs.

Last night had been rough. She had a couple of the usual un-showered, filthy ones looking for quick relief on their way home to their wives and kids. She had gotten used to the smell and the taste. It wasn’t a big deal anymore. The night went slowly and she hoped for a couple more “customers”. She smelled vodka when the guy in the old Toyota truck rolled down the window. Usually, she stayed away from drunk ones but she needed the money. He took forever and kept pushing her head down into his lap, not letting her up for air. When he was done, he refused to pay her. He reached over, opened the passenger door and told her to get out of the car. She insisted on her money. He laughed and pushed her out to the streets. Her knees hit rough asphalt. Blood ran down her shins. She picked herself up and screamed at the receding truck: “Motherfucker!”. The truck disappeared in the darkness. Her knees burned. She felt her eyes water. With dirty knuckles she rubbed the tears away. “No… don’t be weak.” She scolded. She took a deep breath and ground her teeth. “Fuck this guy.” She picked up her purse and went about her business.

The sun started setting and tinted the sky a dark red. Cars inched by the small set of stairs. She caught her reflection in the windows and barely recognized the pale mask that stared back at her. She lit another cigarette. How did she end up here? She came to Los Angeles, full of dreams. She had followed a man that she loved and it was great for a while. They didn’t have much but it was all they needed. She remembered how they would drive up Mullholand at night and park at one of the overlooks. They would sit on the tailgate of his truck and watch the lights. A million diamonds, just for them. She would rest her head on his shoulder and he would put his arm around her and kiss her. Then things went sideways. One cold winter morning he told her he had met this woman and was leaving. A world torn apart. She tried to make it but she quickly found a friend that numbed her pain. Solace came in powdered form. She lost her job in the little coffee shop and soon, the brown venom, throbbing through her veins became her entire existence.

She threw the cigarette on the ground. Her head swam. She felt her throat tighten. “Don’t be weak.” She swallowed the tears, reached in her bra and pulled out a couple of bills. Solace. She lifted her aching body off the stairs and staggered past the ‘Safe Harbor’ sign. When night came, she returned to the stairs. The streets lay deserted. People hiding from the squalor. She crouched down in the corner of the store entrance and began to melt the brown powder on a dirty spoon. She had been living in hell for long enough. “Time to go to a better place”, was her last thought before the needle punctured her skin and darkness settled over her.

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Thank you Ozzie Ausband for proofreading and making my writing better – Blue Tile Obsession