Lyric.

Lyric Izabel Edwards waits.

The sun beats down against her skin, warming her. One by one, people clump into the small paved area beside the theater. They spill through the doors, shouting excitedly.

Lyric looks down, avoiding eye contact, and scuffs her shoes on the pavement. She leans her back against the cold bricks.

Energized chatter and animated movements surround her.

The crowd screams. They form a tight cluster around a table that was set up beside the door.

Lyric doesn’t join them.

She’s content to simply watch the chaos.

They pull and push each other in the scrabble to the table. Lyric thinks that they look like savage animals fighting over a dead carcass. A feeling of need overwhelms the region. They need to meet their idols.

They’re not Lyric’s idols.

She’s not here for an autograph or a picture. She’s here because she has no where else to go.

She slides down the wall, watching the crowd disperse.

Lyric rests her against the bricks and waits.