Spoiler: Contains sex, drugs and violence.Show
They called it The Trench. It was a refuge for the resentful, the outcast, the misunderstood. Graphic imagery and war words coated the walls. Rowdy music echoed off the ceiling. Young men fought in a pit. Girls danced in barbaric rhythm to the beating of the drums. Couples fucked everywhere. These were my people. At least I thought they were.
A few weeks after I left home, I met a girl on the road who grew up in the same neighborhood as me in Divinity's Reach. She was older, around 22, and not unattractive. She told me her name - Samana or some such - I just called her Bitch. She was fleeing a boring husband, I was fleeing a boring family. She shared with me some weed she grew in her back garden, the kind that both mellows you and gives clarity to your thoughts. You would think we would be fast friends, but in truth I thought her a bothersome ****. The weed was pretty good though.
It was the night of one of those stupid harvest festivals, when all the old loons show up in their ill-fitting dresses and ridiculous suits in order to toast whatever fucking vegetable they grow in their shitty little town. Bitch took me to the 'party'. In truth it was just a bunch of farmers drinking heavily until they passed out or puked in the bushes. Fields full of humdrum folk all yammering on about vegetables and tame gossip. Kids running around screaming. Boys 'courting' girls. Chaste dancing. I told Bitch I wanted to leave.
"Trench is happening tonight." I didn't need to ask what the trench was. As long as it wasn't a celebration of the artichoke it was better than here.
Abandoned warehouse in the shipping district of a mining town. Wild hair. Luxurious clothing. Music that bypasses your ears and marries with your soul. The stench of weed and sex. Exposed tits. Wild clothes. Drugs. Passion. Yes! This was what I was looking for.
"It gets a bit wild in here. We should probably stick together for protection." Bitch said that to my back as I abandoned her in the crowd. Never saw her again.
Utter and complete chaos. My memories of the night blur into madness. The morning as well. And the next day and night. One of my clearest memories is of tongue-fucking a guy while dancing. His long-time girl, some red-head with a mess of freckles covering her face, attacked him with a blackjack. Her and I fought, the crowd cheering us on. I tore her blouse open in the middle, exposing the tiny nubs on her chest. She punched me in the face, a lot. The next morning I was naked in her bed, my eyes swollen almost shut and her stench in my nose. I remember feeling like a sick mole when she opened the curtains, the sunlight through the windows leaving me stunned and helpless.
The next night was the same, I think. Who the fuck can remember. It was the third night that is of importance to this story. I met a few guys, sunken chest teen boys looking to make names for themselves. They were a gang that ran weed and booze through the customs agents on the dock. It was them that hosted the nightly Trench parties.
I got on with one of their leaders, a rather ugly thug named Hoar with a scar across his cheek. He took a liking to me because I was pretty and had a 'tight little ass'. Normally that would rile me but he offered me drugs I'd never taken before, some Asura shit he claimed. It was alright. Euphoria and joy, pretty colors. Much to Hoar's anger, I never fucked him, even after he got undressed in an effort to woo me with his penis. Hoar was practically deformed and I was enjoying the high too much for sex. Still he persisted. That made me want it even less. Idiot.
"Well if you ain't going to fuck, sweetie, make yourself useful and get me a beer."
His comment wormed its way into that part of my brain that whispers to me that I'm inferior, less than. Worse...sweetie...it made me feel a tiny child. That's ok little girl, even though you aren't ready to fuck you can still be of value by fetching beer for me. You aren't completely useless. FUCK HIM!
I remained, my ire growing into rage but not wanting to let this thug drive me away from the party. I was having fun, at least I was before he got it in his mind to belittle me. The trench was a place designed by some unnamed god just for me. Fights. Drugs. Music. Sex. Laughter. Dancing. The Trench was my place. Mine! This is what I left home to find. This was the place I belonged.
"We gonna fuck or are you gonna get me that beer?"
I fucking lost it. I grabbed his junk, my fingernails clawing into his flesh until I reached tendon. He cried out. A crowd formed around us.
"How's about I prove my use and tear these ugly little skin sacs from your groin so no other girl has to look upon them?"
He tried to wrench my arm free but that only pulled on his balls. He was in true pain and fearful. He yelped out for help. I squeezed tighter and could feel blood trickling down my finger. I felt a blow at the back of my head. Everything went dark.
I awoke the next morning in a gutter. Broken ribs. Coin all stolen. My long hair hacked short and, I found out later, bleached in spots. I tried to stand but the world spun around me and I collapsed again into a heap.
I found refuge in an abandoned barn. I slept for two days. The next two days I spent stealing food and clothing. On the fifth day, I torched the Trench. That's right, during the hollow hour, long after the party had ended and the revelers returned to their homes, I burnt the place to the fucking ground.
I'll find my home, someday.