Rain fell over skyscrapers of the city in an eerie horror-movie like mist. Bora Reece wasn't the typical girl who shrieked if her long, black hair got wet. Instead, she thrived on the poor weather since she was a kid. As a grown adult, not grown so much in stature or in her mind. She remained the girl who ran from bugs and spiders, but the rain calmed her jitters.

This wasn't Bora's typical day either, this was the beginning to her end. Within moments, Bora's life would forever change as she waited for a taxi on Fourth Avenue. A man, medium build and average height, ran into her shoulder with his elbow. Her head turned, the water dripped off her hair.

People passed in herds down the crowded sidewalk. Bora stuck close to the front of her apartment building labeled Est. 1920. The building built and decorated in an art deco fashion had peeling salmon paint on the exterior. Vermin outnumbered tenants, much to Bora's roommate's disapproval. They lived on the fifth floor with no balcony like the neighbors, instead they opted for a second bedroom. 

Yasmine Reynolds decided a two bedroom, so she wouldn't have to fight Bora for a single bedroom. Yasmine didn't want a single bedroom to avoid trading the bedroom for nightcaps. Studio apartment was out of the question. Yasmine needed her own "space", her own mirror and dressing table to get ready. Bora respected Yasmine and the need for her own chaos. she didn't want someone to control her placement of the eyeliners and lipsticks. Bora was content with sleeping on the couch in the living room, but Yasmine wouldn't have that either, it was unfair to Bora. 

"Hey! Get your ass in the car before I leave you!" a man yelled from an open taxi window. "It's raining for Christ's sake and I don't need to hunt you down for a full detailing!" 

"Sorry, sir!" Bora called back, stepping to the taxi's backseat. 

She grasped for the back handle, her grip fumbled as pale lights flashing into brightness.

~~~~~~~

An elderly gentleman browsed several ancient texts. The books, dusty with lack of use, lined rows of bookshelves in stacks. Two rows, sometimes more, on each shelf caused the poor-quality wood to sag under pressure. His eyes gazed to the flicker of a candlelit chandelier. "She knows," he whispered.

To whomever crosses the boar's path be riddled with insecurities and harsh luck. They will die from inconvenience in the presense of the unruly. She will try to save them, to no avail. With every day that passes, she grows in unrest. She grows more to blame for her mere existence to cleanse humanity. She will die by arson at her own hand, in her comfortable area. 

The man sighed, remembering the gist of her prophecy. Every day the man checked the books, however, some remained under the radar. He hadn't checked the Reece section in over a week. Her name, Bora, stuck out. The lettering of her name shimmered golden instead of the typical silver. She was important, though he wasn't sure why.

Over the years, he grew less observant with his inventories. He only skimmed the pages anymore. He was long forgotten over the centuries, why would he have to try? No one remembered the keeper of the prophecies or even the library anymore. He was hopeless with humanity as of late. The downfall of the civilizations. He wanted to be back when the Romans ruled, when justice was easy.

He made a pact with his father that he would never speak the truth of his hertiage, no matter the torment. Linus felt long forgotten after hearing the stories of his supposed death. Instead of dying, he hid to keep his father's prophecies a secret and secure. Apollo hadn't so much as visited the boy in the years of his entrapment. Yet, Linus kept his father's prophecies secured. 

Rage boiled in the old man's veins. His time was nearing an end. He was a demigod, not a full god. Immortality was only reserved for them. He wasn't good enough, not high enough on the pole for Zues to consider making him a full god.

~~~~

Bora's eyes opened.

"Are you okay?" a soft, feminine voice spoke. A light hand rested on Bora's shoulder. 

She looked up to the owner of the hand. A woman in her twenties looked back at her with soft icicle eyes that glowed from porcelain skin. Bora coughed into her elbow, only letting the woman escape her eyes for a moment. She blinked, regaining her composure. "Yes. A little jostled from the rain."

"Jostled, huh? That's an odd way to put it," the woman giggled. Her hand fell down Bora's arm, glided against her shirt's sleeve.

"What's your name?" Bora asked, transfixed on the beauty before her.

The woman smiled, tucking a stray lock of white hair behind her left ear. A small beauty mark was painted on the tallest point of her high cheekbones. "I'm Nettle. You?"

Bora's mouth manipulated into a flirty smirk. "Bora. Your assistant for the day." The smirk fell from eager lips. "Thank you for asking if I'm okay."

"You're welcome," Nettle said, shocked. Her head shook slightly, sending her white, dyed hair in a swoosh around her head.

"Where are you going? We can split," Bora offered.

"A little bookstore on ninth and Washington, you?" Nettle asked. Curiosity flared in her eyes, creating an icy chill down Bora's back. 

"Coffee shop on Park and third. Your idea sounds better, though," Bora chuckled.

"You can have this one. I'll wait for another cab." Nettle smiled. "We'll meet again, I'm sure."

"Take this one, please. Any excuse to get me out of work," Bora countered.

The women stood, eyes locked on the others. Bora felt as if an eternity in those eyes would not be long enough. What would her boyfriend, James, think? They'd only been together a week. Would a lust at first sight with another woman be justifiable enough for a breakup? He wouldn't have lasted anyway.

"Stop with the googly eyes and someone get in the cab! I'm losing money!" the cabbie yelled from a reopened window. 

Bora watched as the petite Nettle entered the cab. The vehicle sped off with a delicated hand pushed out of the rear window, waving.

She was going to be late for work, again. What were the managers to do? Fire the owner? Bora chuckled.

A jingle came from her front pocket of her dress pants. Bora pulled the bottom of her hooded sweatshirt and pulled out the flip phone. Her cell phone company offered great upgrades on new phones, but would never be able to replace her trusted sidekick.

She opened the phone to see a text from James. "Good morning, beautiful," she read aloud. Without replying, she shut the green phone and put it in its home.

Another cab flew to a halt in front of Bora. Her head tilted and peered inside of the cab. A gentleman with bronzed skin smiled to the back door. Bora's hand reluctantly grasped for the handle and opened the door. She didn't want to see the flashing lights again. The door opened. The back of the cab smelled like old booze and body odor. 

Bora scooted into the backseat of the cab, keeping herself on the passenger side. She shut the door and buckled the seatbelt, waiting for the notorious cabbie colition to conquer the roads. The cab driver took off slowly, merging  carefully into the right lane. He didn't speed off. He was the male Driving Miss Daisy.

"Can we hurry? I have to get to work," Bora groaned.

"We'll be there in time, Princess," the driver spoke, voice ragged with years of two packs a day.

"Who the fuck are you to call me Princess?" She scoffed. "Let me out of here. I'll get another cab."

"Why are you having a temper tantrum, Bora? We're already here," he spat.

How'd he know Bora's name? Who is he? 

The cab came to a halt. Bora opened the door and bolted out of the backseat. She ran into her coffee shop without a look back. She didn't pay the cabbie but didn't want to face him again. He was weird, there was something off about the cabbie and the cab. They were so far from the coffee shop yet at the coffee shop in a second.

The bell chimed as the front door opened. Bora turned, expectant of the cabbie looking for fare. A very different sight there was. A man in a white tank top, his skin not much more tan than the shirt. He wore dark blue, nylon basketball shorts that fell to his knees. 

The gentleman in basketball shorts walked to the register, his head hung low under his matched baseball cap. Bora recognized the man from a glance of the face, but couldn't place from where. He must had been a customer at some point. 

She walked behind the counter and stood next to the trainee, Tara Pryce. Tara was a wondrerful employee and quick, without knowing everything about the job. She could use the register without a problem. Her long red hair was always in a ponytail and tucked into a rimmed hat. She smiled, her freckles mushing into a glimmer on her pale skin. 

The door chimed as it squeaked open. Another man came in with a suit jacket over dark washed jeans and tennis shoes. He didn't wear a hat. Instead, his shagged light brown hair fell over his forehead in some stylish cut no one could afford from a high-end salon.

Bora watched as the man in basketball shorts paid and proceeded to the end of the counter. 

"Open the register and put your hands up!" a high-pitched male voice yelled. Bora knew that voice.

The black hair woman's head jolted to see her ex-boyfriend, Scott, at the register with a gun to Tara's head. "Do what he wants," Bora whispered.