The city's colors

My oasis. I live in a world of fearfully raveled parts, put together and then, just taken apart. At the blink of an eye, my friend can become my enemy. It's a world at war with itself. A world that inspires many, utterly uncontrollable little and big wars, all on the caverns of our hearts and minds, souls and bodies.
I wish I could say that I'm the better one In all of this, that island alone and unsettled upon by my at times; unsightly meekness to make my marred and ripped flesh apparent. But i'm not. i'm even more scared than the rest; more afraid to fall down that ugly, broken flight of stairs that can sometimes make life hard to look at face first. That make it hard to see the good. So, that's where I am now. I'm making my eyes see the good, my rooftop the watchtower where I can see the heroes of my broken world making more than marred colors of justice shine. The city's colors that shine in the night.
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If my rooftop is my oasis, then my office is probably what i'm making my quiet escape from. I see those haggard faces of the other quiet people float past me almost as if they are already gone. Almost as if they're desks are already empty, and another equally haggard-looking face will stop to occupy it again. And so on.

I don't dare to take a glance at myself. I am just as outwardly beaten, broken as the rest. My names is Mem. 

"Mem, the mex--"

My assistant manages to get this out only a moment before their hulking shadows fill my doorway. ...Three of them. When I was a little girl, my molten brown eyes and red curls made me courageous. What I wouldn't give to make my eyes brown again.

"payment. Payment due."

"My payment...it isn't due until next week."

What I wouldn't give for my red hair.

"Payment. Payment due."

The mex are these creatures with bullet-proof skin that shines like hot metal, even in the darkness of ones city apartment, or in this case: office space. I open up my top desk drawer and swallow back a cry In my throat. So much for my affording my mother's place in the country.

"....Its what i have."

He examines...no, it. It examines with its red-green glowing eyes, like little bits of a galaxy that you used to be able to see from a telescope when i was a girl. It's five silver coins: Each one perfectly round, and little. I might admire their craftsmanship had it not been for their maker.

He rests his galaxy-esque eyes on my thin, small face.

"Funds. Funds insufficent."