dinohigh, no humans allowed!

I go to bed hungry, just like every other night.

Maybe I'll dream of a good meal. Or the luxury of fast food. But I know I can't have that. I only really get to eat that stuff on my birthday. Ever since the economy tanked, life's been worse than hard. But I ain't gonna think about it too much—otherwise, the nightmares will come again. I hate the nightmares. They make my stomach feel emptier somehow.

Marsha Horridus, the triceratops girl with purple-and-dark-blue scales, shifted on her creaky mattress. Her slightly brighter silver-and-violet hair fell across her face as she peeled off her cheap secondhand shoes and the thrift store clothes she spent hours fixing so they'd fit her frill and horns. She'd had a long day hustling on the streets, her fists still aching from punching armored dinosaurs in the amateur MMA boxing ring.

The ring was brutal. It wasn't like the fancy televised fights people watched on the rare TV sets still working in this part of town. This was the underground stuff, with barely any rules and even fewer safety guidelines. People got hurt bad, real bad, and there wasn't no ambulance waiting outside to save them. Marsha couldn't afford to get too hurt, though. She had bills to pay, two seasonal contract jobs to juggle at convenience stores, and bosses who always fired her just before the bonus pay kicked in. She knew the cycle. They'd always hire her back after whatever undocumented worker they found got arrested and thrown outta town.

Non-dinos been coming to Dino City for years now. But here in Trike Town, we got our own way of doing things. You step on our turf, you gon' feel it. Marsha grinned a little, despite herself. That last street fight, as rough as it was, secured just enough money to get her school supplies. The welfare money could now go toward a dorm room at Dino High. Sheets, soap, maybe some spare clothes if she was lucky. She could barely remember the last time she'd bought new clothes, but she knew they didn't cost so much back then. Everything expensive now. She always watched the girls her age buy whatever they liked, the envy clawing at her chest. All Marsha could do was settle for thrift store finds, patching them up in the early hours so they didn't cut her frill or horns.

Her shirts were always more revealing than she wanted them to be. The way they stretched across her chest, leaving little to the imagination, always made her blush and turn away from mirrors. People got the wrong idea, but it ain't like she had a choice. Nobody made species-specific clothes no more. Factories closed down left and right, and the ones still running weren't wasting money on designs for folks like her.

Marsha squirmed under her thin, scratchy sheets. The familiar sounds of glass breaking, distant screams, and occasional gunshots echoed through the public housing complex. Her room was cold, the heating too expensive to run. Mold crept along the walls, and the ceiling was stained with watermarks. She closed her eyes, letting the darkness pull her under. It was the only place where pain didn't exist, where hunger couldn't reach her.

But the comfort of the void didn't last long. The blaring of sirens ripped through the quiet, yanking her out of her short escape. Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw her mom sitting at the small, chipped table in the corner of the room, sipping coffee. Back from her night shift and already getting ready to head out for her day shift, her mom's tired face looked as worn as Marsha felt.

"Get dressed, Marsha. You don't wanna be late for your first day," her mom said, her voice low and gravelly from exhaustion, but laced with pride. She didn't look at Marsha directly, just kept staring into the chipped mug in her hands.

Marsha groaned as she rolled out of bed, grabbing the clothes she'd folded on the floor the night before. As she pulled on her jeans, she asked, "What happened this time, Mama?"

Her mother sighed, brushing a hand over her frill like it weighed her down. "Another dino-on-non-dino fight. Ain't nothin' new. They jus' don't learn, do they?"

Marsha snorted softly. "Guess not."

In the cramped bathroom, she squeezed the last bit of toothpaste from a nearly flat tube onto her toothbrush. The toothpaste was free, a handout her mom had swiped from a co-worker. Marsha smirked, remembering how her mom's boss had to smooth things over when the guy complained. Perks of workin' the city council's job program—you got job security no matter what.

Her mom watched her finish brushing and packing her bag. Before leaving, she gave Marsha a quick hug, holding her a little longer than usual. "I'm proud of ya, baby," she said softly. "I know you gon' do great. Don't let nobody make you feel less than what you is."

"I won't, Mama," Marsha mumbled, swallowing the lump in her throat. She sat down to eat her breakfast: a single piece of stale bread. It shouldn't have tasted good, but it did, knowing her mom went hungry just so Marsha could eat. Her mom probably wouldn't eat at all today unless she got lucky stealing someone's lunch.

Walking out the door, Marsha was greeted by her neighbor in the hall, a scrawny crackhead who spent his welfare check on cigarettes, booze, and the hot new edible, Shue Shue Gum Gum. He grinned at her with yellowed teeth. "Aye, look at you, li'l Miss Dino High. Congrats, girl! I knew you had it in ya."

"Thanks, Ray," Marsha said, smiling faintly. "Wouldn't've happened if the law didn't change."

Ray nodded, scratching his neck. "Mm-hmm. Lucky times we livin' in, huh? Even though that damn governor keep lettin' in them non-dinos. But you know how it is. We handle our own problems here."

Marsha chuckled dryly. "Damn right."

The hallway reeked of mildew and old food, and half the lights didn't work. Most of the apartment doors had been stripped of their knobs and replaced with flimsy plywood. The communal kitchen, always empty, was no better. Budget cuts meant food deliveries were rare, and when they came, someone always robbed the poor delivery driver at gunpoint if they weren't from Trike Town.

Outside, Marsha waved to the other denizens of the housing complex who were awake. A single mom cradled her crying baby. An old army vet with one leg sat on his porch, puffing on a cigarette. A guy fresh outta prison for the fourth time leaned against a wall, muttering to himself. And a scam call center worker with a Bluetooth in his ear shuffled past, too busy scheming to notice her. These were her people. Life was hard for a triceratops, but at least they had each other. That sense of community, even in the worst conditions, warmed her more than any heater ever could.

The bus was waiting on the cracked and dirty street, its once-bright paint now faded and scratched. Marsha climbed aboard, waving at the other ceratopsians, and took her seat. The journey to Dino High was gonna be long—33 hours from New Orleans to the Yucatán. Luckily, the floating bridges and underwater tunnels made it faster than it used to be. Still, it was no quick trip.

As the bus stopped at a red light, Marsha glanced out the window and saw the source of the sirens. A shooting. A recently opened business had been robbed, and the owner lay dead on the pavement, his body covered with a thin, white cloth. Police officers stood around, their faces hard and unreadable. But what caught Marsha's eye was the family of non-dinos crying near the body—a little girl sobbing over what was probably her father.

Marsha's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Fuckin' non-dinos," she muttered under her breath. "Get the fuck outta my city, bitch."

The bus erupted in laughter, loud enough for the grieving family to hear. The little girl looked up, her tear-streaked face filled with disbelief and sorrow. Marsha stuck out her tongue, flashing a wicked grin. "Welcome to the dino world, bitch," she sneered, leaning back in her seat. "Go back to where you came from."

The light turned green, and the bus rolled forward, leaving the scene behind. Marsha settled into her seat, a grin lingering on her face. Today was the first day of the rest of her life. Dino High was waiting, and she was ready to take on whatever the next years had in store.