"You annoying twerp, get lost!" A man's voice was a gravelly snarl as he shooed a girl from the doorway of Room 222. His name was Gorr, a hulking figure with a scar splitting his left eyebrow, and he was one of the many who treated Pako like a stray dog.
Pako stumbled back, her bare feet scuffing the dirt floor.
Her old, one-piece gown—faded to a muddy gray—swayed around her skinny frame.
Short black hair framed her jaw, clinging to her sweat-dampened skin, and her heart-shaped face twisted into a scowl.
"Stupid oaf," she muttered under her breath, spitting curses she'd learned from others.
Gorr didn't hear, or didn't care, slamming the flimsy door behind her.
She wasn't welcome in Room 222, not really.
None of the residents were her family, just strangers thrown together by necessity, sharing a cramped space that smelled of mildew and unwashed bodies.
Pako had been in the Backdrop for three years, ever since her mother brought her here, promising a better life.
