Los Angeles was a city of blinding lights and unlimited possibility—at least for the moneyed. To the rich, it was an amusement park of decadence, where the smell of expensive perfume wafted through the air and skyscrapers of apartment complexes stood as monoliths to their success. Restaurants echoed with laughter and clinking glasses, designer-dressed couples walked hand in hand, and new black cars whizzed down the street with occupants living a world beyond those like Elon Wayne.
For the poor, however, it was a war zone.
Homeless encampments cluttered the back streets like a hidden society behind the city's beauty. Subways stops' sidewalks reeked of wet cardboard, urine, and stale remnant fast food discarded by passersby with no regard for trash. Darkness seeped under stuttering street lamps, revealing people crouched under low-priced blankets, facial features emaciated by hunger.
And in one of those homeless shelters, between rundown buildings and whitewash walls, lived Elon Wayne, a high school senior who had made it the last two years by using what little wits he still possessed in a world that had turned its back on him.
A Life of Struggle
Elon walked along a cracked sidewalk, his thin and worn-out shoes the soles barely hanging together. The city's neon lights reflected off damp pavement, remnants of an earlier drizzle that had left the air cold and damp. He zipped up his thin hoodie around him as he walked past an alleyway where a guy rummaged through a garbage can, muttering to himself.
Elon barely glanced at him. He had seen that kind of existence. The desperation. The hunger.
He was kicked out of the orphanage at sixteen, with nothing to his name except the clothes on his back. The orphanage director, a greedy man who had diverted donations meant for the kids and put them into his own pocket, had fabricated an excuse to throw him out.
"We don't have the resources to take care of you anymore."
That was what he had been lied to. The real reason? Elon had started doubting the lost money too much.
Since then, his survival was a question every waking moment posed.
He did whatever labor he could scrounge up—washing pots at a dive restaurant, selling the newspaper, sweeping the floor at a corner store. Every day was an endless repetition of exhaustion, spilling over from one to the next, just to earn enough for dinner.
And yet, despite it all, he never lost grip of one thing.
Lana Carter.
She was his only chance, the single beam of hope in his otherwise dark life.
For three years, he'd observed her from a distance, done everything he could for her, hoping someday she would realize he was there.
One day, she would realize how much he loved her.
One day, she would choose him.
And today, he was certain that day had arrived.
He had spent the last week saving just to buy her favorite Starbucks drink, a caramel macchiato. He could already picture the smile she would give him when he handed it to her. Maybe, just maybe, she would thank him properly this time.
He stepped into the golden glow of the Starbucks across from her hostel, the scent of deep coffee drifting on the air. The store was full of the muffled hum of conversation, couples speaking in hushed tones over lattes, students pecking away at keyboards.
Elon went up to the counter, oblivious to the barista raising an eyebrow at his faded hoodie. He ordered, paid with his hard-earned money, and picked up the hot beverage in both hands, taking it as a gift.
He exited the shop cautiously and pulled out his old button phone, opening it.
On the small screen, there was a notification.
A text from Lana.
His heart skipped a beat.
He opened it, already smiling—
Then his world shattered.
"I can't take it anymore. You're a loser. Don't contact me again."
"I found a boyfriend. If he sees me with you, he might get the wrong idea."
The Starbucks cup trembled in his grip.
His fingers dug into the paper sleeve, the warmth of the drink unable to chase away the sudden coldness spreading through his chest.
"No…"
His breath stuck. His vision blurred.
This is some sort of mistake. It has to be.
The Desperate Chase
The streets were loud.
Cars honked, music pulsed from passing cars, the laughter of people echoed as they walked down the sidewalk. But to Elon, everything was dulled sound, a hollow echo in the depths of his mind.
His legs shot off before he even knew what he was doing.
He ran, the Starbucks cup still clutched in his fingers.
His breathing came in gulping ragged drafts as he sprinted down to her hostel, his head refusing to accept the words on the screen.
"She didn't mean it."
"Maybe she's angry."
"I need to see her. I need to talk to her."
He turned a corner, his chest hammering its way up and down, his shoes slapping against the wet sidewalk.
And then—
He spotted her.
Lana stood under the golden glow of a street lamp, her brown locks aglow in the light. She was laughing, her arms placed on the chest of a tall individual who stood beside her.
The fellow was rich, that much was for sure. He wore a tailored coat, a gold watch, and his black sports car glowed in the street lights, reflecting the neon signs of the surrounding buildings.
Elon froze, his breath caught in his throat.
His fist wrapped around the cup.
"Lana." he breathed.
She turned to him, her eyes widening infinitesimally when she saw him.
For a moment, just for an instant, something flashed in her eyes.
Then she sighed.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her tone level.
Elon took a step forward, his hand held out with the coffee as if it were a fragile thing.
"I. I got this for you," he breathed.
She stared at the cup, and then laughed icily.
"Seriously?" she mocked. "You're pathetic."
The rich man smiled, throwing an arm over her waist.
"Who's this, babe?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Elon's gut twisted.
Lana laughed, resting against the man's chest.
"Only some guy who used to follow around behind me," she waved a hand carelessly. "Don't waste your time on him."
Elon was winded.
"But. I did everything for you." His voice cracked.
Lana arched an eyebrow.
"And I never asked you to," she replied. "You were just. convenient. That's all."
She glanced at him once more, the face devoid of any feeling.
"Move on, Elon."
The car door shut with a click.
The rich guy pulled her in, his hand on her thigh as she laughed.
The engine growled into life.
And then—
They were gone.
Elon just stood there, the hot Starbucks cup slipping from his fingers, splatting onto the pavement. The inky liquid puddled and seeped into the cracks like spilled blood.
Outside, the streets around him were still raucous.
But inside, Elon couldn't hear anything.
The Lonely Eclipse
Hours later, he sat under a bridge on the riverbank, looking up. The city lights shone on the horizon, but here, away from all that, he was finally alone.
The moon was dark, eaten by the eclipse.
A cold wind blew through the empty space, ruffling the dried grass and releasing the scent of damp earth.
Elon exhaled a dry laugh, his voice little more than a whisper.
"I was such a fool."
A tear trickled down his cheek.
Then—
Light exploded from the sky and slammed against him.
Elon screamed in agony as his body was torn asunder by pain.
The world dissolved into searing white.