Grey envelopes piled up the mail slot of my apartment door.

Overdue bills again, baby. Heck yeah. I'm looking forward to paying them using the money I don't even got that I've earned using the job I didn't even get.

I wonder if Dad would be so kind as to lend me some money in the meantime. Maybe Mom might even pitch in a bit… hmm. After laughing at me for a bit, I'm sure they'll come around.

Open the door, flip the switch, and… they cut the power. Oh well, electricity is overrated anyway. Nothing some candles wouldn't solve. Rain's still pouring as well so I won't have to worry much about getting too hot in here.

Wet shoes off, soaked socks out, I took a step in, marking the calendar that hung on the wall as I did with a big fact cross on today's date.

It's official, folks. It's now been three months since I've decided to live on my own. There months streak of pure independence. Three months streak of total unemployment.

This calls for a celebration. What do I have in the fridge, I wonder?

I scampered my way over to the kitchen, bumping and crashing into every single furniture in my possession on my way over, which wasn't much, admittedly, but I'm sure my bruised and battered pinky toe would beg to differ.

With a painful hiss of a clumsy man, I swung open the fridge - no fridge light, obviously - and found a melted ice-cream packet and some bottled water.

Ran out of food, it seems.

Ah well, It'll have to do.

Now picture this: It's a gloomy, grey afternoon day. It's raining outside. Inside of a quiet apartment building, a man drenched to the bone, sits on his armchair, gloopy ice-cream in a porcelain bowl at tableside, a lighted candle by his side. Silently, he scrapes the ice-cream soup with a spoon and ate.

Pretty pathetic, right? Well, not really. There are much worse things. Like sitting out in a dumpster at a random alley in the street. Least I ain't there...

Yet.

Should I… check on her? Can't get her out of my mind for some reason.

No! Nope. Stay out of it. It's none of your business, me. What if you get infected and start speaking in cursive like her? Best you just continue doing your own thing, yes.

By the time I was done with, uh, 'Lunch' - yeah, let's call it that, only three minutes have ticked by. Knowing much couldn't be done wallowing in misery, much less without any power, I decided to call it a day and hit the hay.

Candlelight guided me to the comfort of my bed, an instant K.O as soon as my head hit the pillow. And just like that, ends my no-good, very bad day. I'm sleeping forever now.

Or so I wish.

I woke up to a light drizzle overcasting the evening sky. I realized I was still wearing the business suit, all creased and scrunched up now, but who gives a shit. I bought the suit for the day, I'm going to use it for the whole day, damn it.

Woke up starving too, which was obviously a given. My wallet laid strewn on the bedside table, and it always breaks my damn heart having to open it up and see only a few pitiful notes left inside.

Begrudgingly, I fished out just enough to purchase a small meal from the convenience store nearby. Time to head out. With help once more from candlelight, I tucked on my shoes and ventured out into the night, umbrella in hand.

The route wasn't too complicated. A left turn here, a right turn there… what concerned me the most, however, was the path up ahead. Ain't long till I'm confronted by the same alley which she was in. Maybe still is.

Come on, I mean… she can't STILL be in there, can she?

Whatever the case, I'll find out in three steps… two… one.

Kinda wish I wasn't such a curious person. Now I'm stuck frozen in the middle of the sidewalk staring at a dark and begotten alleyway lit only by lamplight.

There's the dumpster right there, right where I left it. Don't really hear or sense anyone stirring inside it. Then again, the flap is closed so who knows really?

Nothing is confirmed until that dumpster is open. That settles it, I hereby dub thee 'Schrödinger's Dumpster'.

A peek wouldn't hurt, right? Just a little lean forward, and…

I caught myself before I could take a step further. As I said, I don't need this in my life. Away I went, leaving the mystery untouched, resolving to make sure it stays that way.

That girl smelled like trouble. And she flat-out just smells overall. Forget her.

Or so I wanted to. She just wouldn't leave my mind.

The doors of the convenience store slid open and I was greeted with a nod from the cashier.

I headed to the food aisle and from there I picked up the cheapest items to make a meal out of for myself.

Does she need a meal?

I also brought a drink for good measure.

When was the last time she had something to drink?

The rain was starting to pick up again. It didn't bother me, I knew I was fine in my home.

But was she?

Lightning flashed the sky. Thunder rumbled the rolling clouds. It'll be a heavy one tonight.

"She won't be there."

The cashier probably heard me mutter to myself, if he did, he showed no signs of having done so.

I left the store with a plastic bag slung around my arm, inside of it were snacks that were just simply too much for one person to finish. I guess it never hurts to share, does it?

Shallow puddles that once littered the sidewalks were now a ceaseless stream of water, a murky deluge as heavy as the storm that had brought it. The patter of rainwater against my umbrella was relentless, the wind blew with the force of a battering ram and to simply put, I was not having a good time. No sir.

Practically blinded by a misty fog, I staggered my way onwards, retracing my steps, until I finally found myself in the same position I was in not even ten minutes ago.

Motionless, blankly staring beyond the entrance of a damp, musty alley, to a dumpster, equally as damp and musty.

I know I said I'd forget about her but there's no harm in being a good samaritan every once in a while, right? At least, only for a day… only for the evening.

There's just something about her that feels… different… abnormal, even. Couldn't quite place a finger on it… but, there's no better chance than now to find out, I suppose.

Each step that brought me closer to her was immediately followed by a clash of thoughts, each battling for control over my actions.

Left foot. She isn't there.

Right foot. But what if she is?

Left foot. But what if she isn't?

Right foot. She is.

Inches away and a free hand was already gripping the plastic flap before I even was aware of it.

But what if she isn't?

Ah, fuck off.

Gently, ever so gently, I raised the lid into the air, ever so slightly, just enough to simply lean forward for a peek.

And peek I did. Delving into the darkness and stench.

I blinked, I saw, and shortly after, I sighed.

"You can't be serious."

There she was alright, right where I saw her last. If I thought of her as strange before, it doesn't compare to what I thought of her now. Because back then, I only ever saw her face.

Now I'm seeing her in her entirety.

If she really was a cosplayer. Then I sincerely appreciate her passion for her craft.

The gleaming silver knight armor that adorned her body looked too genuine to be a replica. She had the complete set right here. Braces, leggings, chest plate, greaves, even thick broad shoulder pads. The only thing missing was the helm and to be honest, I don't think it's much of a loss.

Her face, up closer, felt like it had an ethereal glow to it, almost too pristine to even be human. And her ears… yeah, they were still elf ears but I thought they might have been the detachable type but upon closer inspection, it seems they are actually her real ears.

Oh, in case you're wondering how I'm getting such a good view without even the smallest protest thrown my way, it's because she's fast asleep.

Yep, in the dumpster. Quite peacefully, I might add. You'd think she has been sleeping in dumpsters for ages with how snug she seemed to be.

Something wasn't adding up. If she had the money to afford such an attire, combined that with the sword held tightly in her grip, then why is she sleeping out here?

Why not go home?

If she doesn't have a home, then where on earth did she come from?

Why is she dressed like a knight about to go off into battle?

Nothing about her fits the textbook definition of normal.

Silvery white locks rested on her face, beauty blighted by muck and grime against her rosy cheeks. Okay, I admit it, she was pretty. I should probably stop staring before dear ol' Grandad in heaven shakes his head at me in shame.

The question still remained unanswered, though.

"Just who are you?"

What answered me was a soft grunt as she adjusted herself sideways in her slumber.

Later, then. I'll get some answers out of you.

For now, what phrasing do you use to ask a Elf-Knight out for dinner at your place, I wonder?

Guess I'll just make it up as I go along. Like I always do.