If I had to use one word to describe my current living situation, it would be nonexistent. Sure, if I were to get technical, I do have a living situation, but it's not one that I'd like to be in. 

Instead of a home, I have the empty shell of an abandoned one. As for family and friends, the only living things I've been interacting with are the critters that occasionally run across the floor. 

I've made a makeshift bed on a couch; the only piece of furniture left in the house, and although it's not as comfortable as my old bed, it'll have to do. Truth be told, I haven't gotten up off of the couch in a couple of days, other than to use the bathroom. There's no point in getting up without a reason to.

I look down to the floor, and at the plastic bag of remaining food items I've avoided eating. When I had wiped the fridge clean at the neighbour's house a couple of nights ago, anything and everything had looked good to eat. I guess I — in my hangry state— had also grabbed some things that I'm not so keen on eating, like condiments and olives. Next time I raid someone's house, I should probably take the things I'll actually eat.

I peer over at the window to see that the sun is barely rising, which means that it is merely eight in the morning. I close my eyes to go back to sleep, when I feel something inching it's way across my back. In my rapid attempts of swatting the vermin, I fall off the couch and onto the cold hardwood floor. I guess that's my signal to wake up.

After making sure that the bug is off of my back, I run my fingers through my matted hair. I smell no better than the condiments and olives on the floor, I realize as I get a whiff of my body odour. 

With no mirrors in the house, I guess that my appearance isn't going to get any better than that of a shut-in, so I put on my jacket and stumble out the front door. It's not like I'm trying to impress anyone anyway.

In the few days of not seeing the outside world, it has transformed from just being snowy, to the North Pole. Christmas lights and inflatable Santas adorn every house on the street, complementing the bland snow. Without a phone (or calendar for that matter), I've lost track of what day it is, though it's clearly close to Christmas.

I look back at Harold's old house, which lacks any form of holiday spirit. My first thought is to pull out some decorations and make the house festive, but I remember that it isn't my house. I forget about the decorations, and make my way over to Easy street, which is just as (if not even more) festive.

All of the coloured lights and wreaths are beautiful, but make the heart in my hole bigger with each look, as I know that I can never experience a proper Christmas ever again. The nippy air doesn't help my situation either, taunting at my cheeks, as if trying to provoke tears. I take the arm of my sweater and wipe my waterlogged eyes.

In my sad state, I remember that the police are probably keeping an eye out for me, but I could care less. It's not like I have anyone that would care if I were to get in any trouble with them. Besides, they're only looking out for me and trying to provide me with a home that I don't want.

Somewhere in my tainted heart, I know that the main reason I won't let the police near me is the sliver of hope that everyone will just reappear how they were before. Amy's house would build itself up from ash, and she would bake cookies. From her icy window the scent would linger down the street to where my parents and I decorated our yard just like everyone else, and I could just forget anything ever happened.

But I've taken it too far. They're gone, and no amount of self hatred toward Amy or my father's death will bring them back. It doesn't matter that I've given William what he deserves if it can't bring Amy back.

My hungry stomach is begging for food, and somehow I find my legs walking to Vitales, a fast food restaurant close to Easy street. Without any money in my pockets I'm not sure what I was thinking, if I planned to get food. All I know is that I'm certainly not prepared to bum someone for money.

Upon arriving, I notice that the delivery door out back is open, and a young worker is struggling to lift crates of frozen food into the restaurant. I make my way over to him to see if I can be of any help.

"It looks like fun, bringing all of these boxes into the restaurant!" I joke, and the worker glances over his shoulder.

"Oh yeah!" He rolls his eyes and laughs, "I just got hired, and they already have enough hands inside, so instead of working the cash like I'm supposed to, I'm doing heavy labour!"

"Do you need any help?" I offer, taking a step closer.

"I think I'm good, but thanks!" He says just before dropping a box of frozen peas. Hundreds of little green balls cover the snowy pavement, making it look like grass. He stands there and glances at them before putting his face in his palm.

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think that my manager would be happy if I let you help me—"

"Don't worry, they won't know! I don't have anything better to do anyway!"

I walk over to where he is sweeping up peas.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask, rocking back and forth on my feet like a little kid on bring your kid to work day.

"If you're sure you don't mind, I could use a hand getting the boxes down out of the truck!" He exclaims.

As I lift down some boxes, I can't help but look at the boy. There's just something about the way that he happily sweeps that makes me want to be happy too. I wonder what his secret is, being able to shake something off so easily that would've ruined my mood for the entire day. Then again, spilled peas isn't exactly the same thing as the many deaths I've been through.

Only when he looks at me funny do I realize that I've been staring at him. I take my eyes off of him and resume lifting boxes.

"Where do you want me to set them down?" I ask, wincing under the arm-crushing weight of one of the boxes.

"Just right inside the door, if you could!" 

I begin walking over to the back door of the restaurant, but find myself looking back at him rather than at the task at hand. The way his crescent shaped lips fall into a smile paired with his light blue eyes strike me in a way I've never felt before.

Hold up. Me falling for a boy? Sure I've had crushes in the past, but this just doesn't seem like it should be happening right now. I need to focus on why I came down here, not on some boy I hardly know.

Despite my pep talk I smile back, and then turn my head towards the door to see another worker standing there.

"Who are you?" He asks, in a dominating voice.

"I'm—"

Before I get the chance to introduce myself, the sole of my shoe skids on black ice, sending my body flying backwards. In an almost slow motion state, my body is in mid air, and locks of my green hair fly upwards, trying to escape the oncoming impact.

Before I can brace myself for the impact, my back lands on the snow covered ice. Pain shoots up my spine and into my neck. The box of food I was carrying lands on my chest, pinning me to the ground. I can feel tears forming in the corners of my eyes, but when I see the cute worker appear over me, I smile it off.

"Are you okay?" He asks, still standing over me.

"Yea.. Can you get the box?" I whimper, nodding towards my chest.

"Oh yeah, sorry." He lifts the box off of me with barely any effort.

As I get back on my feet, the man standing in the doorway raises an eyebrow.

"Having fun Kian?" The man asks.

The man is short and round, with a smooth bald head and glasses. I'm guessing that this is his boss.

"Oh, uhm yeah," Kian replies as he scratches his blonde hair, "I mean—this is Lacey, she's just a friend of mine that saw me outside working and—"

"Yeah I don't care, as long as she doesn't slow you down." With that, he shivers and heads back inside.

"Lacey?" I look at Kian with an unenthusiastic face.

"What?" He replies, bemused.

"You couldn't have came up with something that doesn't sound like a stripper's name?"

"It was my mother's name, but she died."

"Oh my God, I'm sorry!" I say, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Relax, I'm just pulling your chain!" He smirks at me, before breaking eye contact to return to work.

"My name is Emerald, by the way."

"That sounds more like a stripper's name than Lacey!" He mumbles, "Mines Kian."

I roll my eyes playfully, and pick up the box that I had dropped.

As much as I enjoy talking to Kian, I have to decide whether or not I want to try and bum food off of him or not.

"Hey, I have a question." I say, walking closer to him.

"Sure, what is it?" He replies, turning to face me.

"Okay," I brace myself, knowing that I shouldn't be asking someone I've just met such a huge favour, "You see... It's a long story, but I'm suuuuper hungry and the whole reason why I came down here today was to see if I could get food, but the only problem is that I don't have any money and—"

"Hey, Slow down!" He looks at me with concern as I catch my breath, "So you're homeless?"

"Just recently, yeah. My parents are both dead, and now someone burned down the house I was staying at, so yeah... I'm homeless."

"Geez. Well you seem really nice and all, but I don't want to lose my job, so I don't know if I'll be able to help you out."

I look down at the ground as he says this. I know I shouldn't be sulking like this, he has no other choice! He doesn't want to lose his job - and I respect that! I just wish that he had said something other than no.

"That's alright!" I say self-pityingly.

"But," He looks down at the box in his hands, before flipping it over so he can see what the label says, "I might just be able to sneak some stuff from these boxes."

"You really don't have to," I exclaim, feeling bad for asking him in the first place.

"Well I can't just let you starve! Now, hand me that pocketknife would you?"

He points over to a knife sitting on top of a couple of boxes stacked by the door. I hand him the knife and he begins to cut boxes open.

"The only downside is that most of the food is frozen, but I guess it's better than nothing!" He laughs as he hands me a bag of peas, along with some potatoes, chicken, and gravy.

I thank him again for what he's done for me, and look down at the various items in my arms that could last me up to a week if I ration it.

"You're the best," I say, and turn to go back to Easy street.

"Wait up!" He calls out, and I turn to face him once more.

"Yeah?" I ask, blowing a couple of stray hairs out of my face. How attractive.

"Can you meet me here again tomorrow, same time?"

"Sure."

With a new friend and arms full of food, I make my way back to the street that I dread the most. The street that is loving and welcome, but retains so many horrible memories that make it the total opposite.

Now the only question remaining is who's house I should break into so that I can cook all this food?