the Glass prison (Ahsad)

Another night in the lab. under shinning white electrical lights among crystal reflections everywhere, and the thyrst, oh the thirst! wrapping her insides, burning like fire on her throat, ragging her sanity away.

While moving down the streets Dr. Ahsad Patel holding to her coat, felt a little dizzy, her throat hurted with a burning feeling that could only be Thirst, unusually high and piercing thirst.

She found people going to their dormitories, entering in restaurants and simply going with their live as good as they could, the more the doctor thought about attacking someone for his flesh the more interrogants assaulted her common sense of the countless chances that something went wrong... what about..? what if...?

Still the thirst was compelling and inexorable, she had to drink...

Her steps lead her to a dark alley in Queens, where a drunk man was knocked by the buzz. Some sort of begger, obviously of bad health and even worst blood, close to him was a little child, no more than 10 years old trying to drag who seem to be his father throught the alley and possibly back home.

After moving a few blocks from the place across two more alleys. Eventually he went to an old building there throught the back door they got to the janitor appartment. The boy droped his father and from his pocket got a couple of keys to open the door, once unlocked they boy kick it open and started to drag his father again, inside the place. Right before fully crossing the door he left his father again in the floor and turned to Ahsad with a big smile in his face.
"Thank you" he said.

From her point of view Ahsad could see a woman sleeping on the kitchen table with a bottle of rum and a box of cigarettes, totally unconcious.

"I can handle it from here Mrs. Thanks for all, and have a good night!"

"I don't know" the kid replies.

"They're always like this, just sleepy..."

After a quick review of the couple Ahsad could what seemed to be the prime cause of their illness, A LOT OF LIQUOR, the mother was wasted on the table with a yellow tone in her skin and eyes, piucked and pissed on her, the father was even worst when a hard rash in his neck for compulsively scratching.