Labored breathing. Heavy footsteps. And a whistled Moonlight Sonata. It was always so easy to follow the cumbersome noises her brother made; being blind was not such a problem when his breath was so familiar, his thudding footsteps so unique and his constant humming was the ambiance of her life. She ran behind him, a silent ghost in a leather trench coat. Her fabric-wrapped feet made her nothing but a shadow slipping between the maze of boxes and debris that made every alley way an obstacle course. She ran after her brother, wishing he would be quiet but knowing that if he was she would be lost in her world of black shapeless sight and dark destructive thoughts. Being blind was her tie to him.
“This way!” He yelled over his shoulder, as her beacon of noise dodged to the left. Thorn smirked and leapt over a box to take the lead. These alleys, scattered with broken lives and abandoned dreams, had been her playground all her life. Fifteen years of memorizing the layout of her city, the alleys, the streets, the buildings and even the more permanent pieces of trash, had given her a working map. She knew they were close.
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