"Get out of my fucking house!" Celia's mother, a woman so skinny that her bones popped out her skin, had just kicked her out of their trailer home. Her stained, knee-long white vest barely hanged off her shoulders as she shut the door with whatever she had in her. There was a belief that her offspring was unbearable and hideous, bringing substantial anguish to a lady who was sick in all aspects of being human.

She paced back and forth in the place where the kitchen, toilet and their beds all shared a single space until she stopped near a pile of garbage on their carpet. Her mother was now at peace since she was no longer here. Drinking liquor till she passed out was her way of celebrating, and even though she looked old and tired, she could muster strength through alcohol.

Celia was all on her own, and she had no problem with that since her supposed family never treated her well. While the trailer park they lived in was rather dangerous, she would take her chances in the de-facto open-air prison that was the Bale Trailer Park.

This had her drift from place to place while not having shoes or slippers to protect herself from needles, glass, or sharp metal. The trailers she passed were a hodgepodge of graffiti, broken windows, and cinderblocks to prop them up from the mud when it rained across the flat expanse.

Eventually, she came upon a trailer she knew didn't smell like shit or someone had died in recently. It lacked most amenities but it was better than nothing. Once inside, the deplorables that wanted to rob her should go away.

But just in case, Celia would hold onto the jagged beer bottle she picked up to keep them on their toes, with her height and long limbs serving as additional protection. Alongside this, her short, spiky black hair, strong jawline and stern face tricked some into believing that from a distance, she was a man.

However, this was disingenuous. In actuality, Celia had the aesthetic of a true to life tomboy no matter how far or close. Their biases prevented them from acknowledging her real gender.

"Are you there, Jo?" She called for the owner of the curved trailer basked in cream and accents of brown to invite her in. "It's me, Celia."

"I'm almost always here, Celia. Just give me a moment to get myself together before I let you inside." Jo's voice preluded a series of clanks and bangs behind the steel sheet that covered the entrance. The material was so thin, he spoke through it without a difference in tone when indicating if she wanted to talk. Most of the noise was him tidying up before unlocking the sole padlock for her to enter his space.

Afterwards, Jo relocked the door and placed the key that was tied to a piece of thread into his pocket. He would put it back into its hiding place later. As her friend, he was short, had scruffy brown hair, bright eyes and an angular face. He was one of the few good men she ever met; most were either druggies, sex pests, or deadbeats with often very large bodies that sat on the same type of foldable chair without a care in the world.

She admitted that her mom kicked her out as she got a glimpse of the interiour with its peeling floorboards and wooden wall frames. These were a part of failed renovations before the original occupants had left.

Any plumbing in what should have been the bathroom or kitchen was now the space for insects like spiders to reproduce and create civilisations away from the view of humans. And since there was no electrical work done in the trailer, a battery-powered, hourglass-shaped lantern was the main method of lighting and it meant no functioning refrigeration to store perishables.

Jo was determined to be her support in this harsh life. He had learned about her relationship with her mother in detail whenever she came over, so he expected this eventuality. But as a friend and a decent human being, he disliked the fracturing of relationships since he was a orphan.

Having a shit family situation was something he could relate with Celia. Therefore, he had no problem suggesting she should stay here indefinitely, to which she agreed without hesitation.

Celia now had somewhere she could call home, but the two had to deal with the uncertainty of the impending darkness alongside those who inhabited this atrocious place.

There was no need to view the sunset in its twisted yellow and orange with dashes of red. In regards to Celia, the sounds of people moving towards their homes was a more interesting concern. It was far from them being panicked. Rather, they knew they had to be indoors and that preparations had to be made no matter how simple.

For some, that wasn't much of a fear. Some places were more troublesome than others, empowering those that were reckless, fearless, unusually calm, or just plain insane.

Celia had to applaud Jo for picking an area that wasn't too bad. Loitering was the common act of people not in a criminal hot spot during such times. However, this didn't contradict anything. A person could never know when one of these loiterers would switch up on someone and have them begging for their lives. "Jo, what are we going to do? The sun is going down and our trailer isn't the most secure place to live in."

"I have a gun, Celia. So neither of us need to worry about anyone."

Being worried was never her concern, per se. Her true problem was what they would do if someone did decide to come in unannounced. "Thanks for jogging my memory, Jo." He had given her an answer, and this got her feeling a little less anxious. “I just had to be reminded that you had a gun to protect yourself.”

The number of times she had seen the gun was as few as the fingers on her hands. Even so, it looked threatening. It meant she could go to sleep without being perturbed if she didn’t have to pee first.

With a peep through a window, she noticed that the sun was just about gone from the sky. She could have Jo unlock the door to dash across the street and use the pair of public outhouses. There was one each for men and women and were many times critiqued for their bad smell, fading colours, and inconsistent water flow. This, and how going there required some protection against those who lurked and jumped people at their most compromised, meant she had to hold it in.

Celia's convulsing legs and weak face got Jo to suggest if using a water bottle would relieve her. To see her be like this was terrible, so he got his quarter-full bottle of somewhat frothy yellow to unscrew and put in her hand.

"How do I get my pee into this, Jo?"

"You just have to aim, that's all."

That sounded easy enough for her. What Jo needed to do was look away as she pulled her pants down to aim at the bottle.

In earnest, he turned, stepped some feet away, and covered his sight. Her need for some privacy had been enacted until a call got him to forego much of that.

"Jo, I'm having a hard time aiming! My pee is going all over the floor!"

"Celia, you hav—" As a teenage boy, he had never seen the intimate parts of Celia before. This got him to swerve back with a funny look and he took a moment to note how interesting it was even as she peed.

"I really need some help, Jo! What do I do?! What do I do?!"

"Just push it closer to you, Celia!"

Doing this aided in gathering more of what had yet come out. There was the occasional miss, but she had an easier time having it go in. As a result, the level in the bottle had risen considerably and became diluted into something similar to her own modest yellow piss.

"Thanks for the advice, Jo." She dragged her pants up to feel the wetness on her legs. "Boys are pretty much built to do things like peeing in bottles, aren't they?"

Jo had no interest in what she uttered about males. He was too busy getting one of his dirty shirts to wipe the liquid from the ground. It was certainly a lot she let out, but it didn't worsen the scent the shirt already had. When he was done, he flung it towards the other dirty clothes over to the side and took the bottle to twirl the cover back on. They then went a good distance from the places that were drying to finally take their long rest.

Celia still needed to get the drops of urine from the outer areas of her vagina. She waited for Jo to have fallen asleep to stuff her palm underneath and move it around until all were gone. There was some special emphasis on her fingers to get to where her palm couldn't.

With her entire right hand having become makeshift toilet paper, she wiped it on her leg to dry it. Lastly, she wished Jo a peaceful slumber when he was supposed to scan for possible terrors of the night. To not be up meant anyone or anything could interfere.

Prodding, biting, snatching of skin from flesh... This and more were viable with shuttered eyes. Therefore, which of these should they experience? For this, the night, with its threats and tricks, would decide their worth as humans.

If you have reached the end of this chapter, then thank you! I do hope you liked the start of this largely depressing tale, and if you have any constructive criticism, that would be great! Also, do not forget to like, follow, and share this story with everyone who is into these types of tales.