Cadia

The soft hum of arcade cabinets and marquee signs intermingles with the occasional muffled car driving down the street. The arcade has dim lighting, perhaps an artistically retro-grunge vibe that matches its place in the city. It sits on the outskirts, away from the busiest sections. Its clientele consists of hooligan teens that find a place they feel welcome, young adults admiring what they were too young to experience, and older adults revisiting their youth. Though at this hour, nearly nine o'clock, only a few souls remain. The silver ball drops between the flippers, falling into the abyss and signaling the final round of pinball. The crimson glow of "Game Over" flashes on the screen ahead as the points begin to tally. You note the final score with a sense of accomplishment and turn on your heel to head out. It's getting late, after all, and the arcade's dim lightning is now arguably brighter than the city street outside. Immediately upon turning, you are met with a moving figure, a gasp, and an audible thud. As your eyes adjust to the dark corridor between the game cabinets, the outline of a girl takes shape rising up from the floor. Her amber eye meets yours, her other covered by a swoop of long blonde hair. Her eyes scrunch and a smile forms in an attempt to reassure you. It happens to the best of us! She says. She takes another moment to brush off her white skirt and pink hoodie. I should've given you a heads up before trying to move behind ya. She raises her hand in a sweet wave, attempting to absolve you of any guilt.