*for the divergent competition

Entry into the divergent competition! let me know what you guys think


1. Chapter One

There isn't anything I love more than the city. Not the city itself as such, more the comfort and protection it offers. The loud cacophonous noise of the late afternoon traffic and the constant streams of pedestrian chatter, which can smother hushed conversations. The continuous string of bright, yellow taxis is a reassuring quick escape. The mass expanse of territory; writhing with business men late for meetings, men who make a living simply from owning things and the spoilt, snobby, upper class girls who exploit their daddy's endless cash flow to fill the void of their absent parents. This seems like the typical stereotypes who roam the streets of the Upper East Side. I however, reside in the midst of their under-class counterparts, Brooklyn.


Manhattan does have its perks but I find Brooklyn, with it's crime rate higher then Mount Everest, a lot safer and more welcoming. It's strange really that I feel comforted in my broken down flat, with a door practically of its hinges and a lock that's just their for show. When in Manhattan it seems physically draining. Being condemned to high class society and having to meet the high expectations of the Manhattan clan when in their domain. Blending isn't an option either, since we practically scream 'this is overpriced and I can't afford it' otherwise Asher will literally be screaming it.


'Are you kidding me? Eight dollars for coffee! In Brooklyn it's four dollars and a hell of a lot better, I'll tell you that' Asher stated exasperated at the overpriced menu. The balding, plump barista stared at him with a condescending sneer.


'Hey mate! You want dishwater, then take your cheap ass back to Brooklyn' the barista replied, waving him along in dismissal. However Asher doesn't take defeat that easily.


'Tell me then sir, what even makes this coffee so bloody good? Because let me tell you-' Asher began waving a finger assertively in the pudgy mans face. The man was turning a shade brighter of red and he grabbed Asher's finger.


'You want coffee? You pay eight dollars! Or get the hell out of here' he challenged, throwing his finger down and staring round him to the couple behind. I could feel I might need to intervene, so I started making my way towards him before Asher slapped down a $20 bill on the counter. 


'And you most definitely can not keep the change' he finished, snatching the change from the barista and making his way back to me, huddled in the corner. He felt like having the last word was a victory in itself.


'I really can't take you anywhere, can I? I mean we've been in Manhattan all of what five minutes and your bartering coffee prices?' I laugh, trying to look stern but failing.


'I find my sense of determination and pride endearing' he banters on, grabbing the coffee cups that had just been called for us.


He hands me mine and I feel great relief from the warmth. I cup my hands gratefully around the cup, feeling overwhelming discomfort from the heat but the pleasure won out and I let it scold my hands a couple seconds longer. We resumed walking down the street, battling against the freezing winds and walking through at least two inches of snow.


'I’m glad you find it endearing because I find it stubborn and annoying' I joke and he feigns shock from my words. Something in his eyes however shows a glint of bitterness beyond the joke, but only for a fleeting second before his lopsided grin returns to his face.


He was never shy of expressing his so obvious feelings for me but I wasn't so quick to reciprocate. We seem to get by quite easily, with me just shrugging off his ever-present show of affection but in some instances like these, I can see that it hurts him. It also shows me the extent of his fondness for me and how it is totally surpasses fondness. He is in love with me and as hard as I try, I can't force the same feelings back. I care for him deeply but not in the way he wants or deserves.


It's not like he isn't physically appealing because he is, it's evident by how many girls openly stare. He has strong, masculine features. He has high, chiselled cheek bones which seems to be the in thing currently with all the girls. What they don't notice is the gentleness in his deep brown eyes. The old proverb, 'the eyes are the window to the soul', truly applies here. His eyes are so expressive. It makes it impossible not to see that every time I hug him, a glimmer of hope blossoms and every time I inadvertently shut him down, his eyes are stricken with sadness.


“So you know how I was telling you about that stupid ball thing my dads making me go to…?” he asks sheepishly. He twiddles with the middle button of his coat, a tell tale sign of his discomfort. His cheeks shine a darker shade of red and small blotches rise up the side of his neck, to the edge of his cheek. Most would put it down to the cold but I’d seen it way to many times in him. Every time he’s scared to say something, his awkward traits appear. I pretend not to notice.


“Yeah, some rich snobby event…” I say nonchalantly, knowing what he was going to say next and wishing he would change his mind.


“Well I was just wondering…” he began but stopped short. I waited for a moment but he said nothing. I looked up at his face and it was completely emotionless, drained of all life.


“Asher!” I grabbed his arm and shook him gently. He dropped as soon as I touched him into a collapsed heap on the floor. I knelt beside him shaking his shoulders. His eyes were staring straight ahead and the usual green colour had faded and been replaced with black. I gasped in fear and stumbled back on my heels. Behind me I heard screeching tyres and a piercing screen. I spun round fast; just in time to see a scene from one of those “end of the world” movies.  At least twenty cars just crashed into the backs of eachother. There were about five cars laying different ways in the middle of the intersection. All of the driver’s heads slumped down onto the steering wheel. Around me people were dropping in the same manner that Asher had.


“No! What is happening?” I whispered to myself, as no one was here to hear me.


I felt shakily at Asher’s wrist for a pulse, for fear he was dying. I felt nothing at his wrist and tried his neck. Also nothing. I surveyed the situation again and everything was silent. Nothing moved. No one moved.


I was all alone. 

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