The day started with a sizzle, literally. "Name?" the receptionist repeated, in her hispanic accent atypical concerning the population of the town. "You know my name!" Shaniqua replied in disgust. Usually she would have been more patient with Rosa, but 2nd degree burns on her forearm prevented any sort of a pleasent manner from Shaniqua. The pain was horrible, but the stench of rotting flesh made the whole ordeal almost unbearable. It was Shaniqua's third trip to the clinic this month, none of the routine nature. Two holdups gone wrong, and now a grease fire on top of that at Casa D' Waffles. These last few months in particular had not been kind to Ms. (formerly Mrs.) King.
Five more hours and she would have graduated from nearby Decatur University, but instead works a dead-end job as a cook and waitress at the local eatery. Even worse, her marriage ended in divorce, with Shaniqua losing the love of her life and one son in the split. God had always provided for her, but recent events had shaken her beliefs in a supreme being down to the very core; Shaniqua hadn't attended Mass at St. Magdeline's in three weeks. "Damn, should've gotten married after college. Should've taken more classes first semester..."
Sleeves rolled up and hair let down, the late August heat bearing down on her skin spread the smell of the now scabbing burn all over town as she walked back to Castle Apartments room 42 at a quick pace; her arm elevated by two bandage wraps. "Not home," she thought to herself. "Temporary residence."
