Hi everyone it's Pullin again :)
I have more writing stuff I found in my hella disorganized writing folders that span over two different locales. This might be my next few blog posts because there's quite a few chapters here but this is a story that I stopped creating about a woman who draws things and they come to life, so she drew her own circus freaks. This is all one giant unedited rough draft lol that I'll post parts of whenever I feel like it. Enjoy!
Prologue
My hands feel frozen, as they usually do around this time of year. The thin rags on my back could hardly be called clothes, but I made them, and I’m proud of them.
The barrel fire Chuck had started did its best to try and keep us warm, but the winters in Boston hardly cared. Every breath that leaves my lungs steams through the air, and intermingles with the smoke from the fire. Chuck is across from me, his face contorted in that way it usually does when he’s gonna talk my ear off.
His stubby fingers are turning red from the cold, poking out of his fingerless gloves as he holds them over fire. He lets out a sigh, the stench of booze carrying on his breath.
“Wish I had some smokes,” he mutters, his voice gravelly as usual.
“You always wish you had some smokes,” I reply, my voice sounds coarse, too. I haven't spoken in a little while, so that’ll do it.
“That’s cuz I never got any,” Chuck leans over and spits onto the ground. I let out a sight, knowing exactly what he’s after.
I fish around in my pocket for my pack of Old Judge cigarettes. It’s crumpled to high hell, and most of the cigarettes are bent in one way or another, but they were intact, so beggars can’t be choosers, and we certainly are the former.
I slide one out and pass it to him. He sticks it in his mouth, leans into the barrel fire, and takes a few puffs.
“Thank ya Willow, you’re a sweetheart,” He says as he blows the smoke upward above him.
I nod with a polite smile. Chuck can’t ever get cigarettes on his own, he’s usually too busy buying booze with what little money he finds, but he’s been at this a long time so I like to humor him.
“You ever gonna tell me what happened?” He asks, taking another long drag on his cigarette. “You got a hell of a bounty on your head, someone’s gonna getcha eventually,”
I shake my head.
“I don’t even know a damn thing about you,” He says, flicking ash from his cigarette.
“I don’t know much about you neither,” I say, the wind catches the fire and blows smoke in my face, burning my eyes. I close them as the air travels up my nose.
“Well, I was born in twenty two,” He sighs. “Born in Jersey, my parents didn’t want me, mom hated me especially. Blamed me for all their financial issues.”
“Were you drinking back then as much as you do now?” I asked.
“God I wish,” he let out a little chuckle. “No, I didn't start drinking ‘till I was eleven.”
“Ah,”
“Mom thought I was a leech, never did anything for me for free. She told me it’d teach me how to survive in this world if I knew the value of everything I have.” His lips purse with a nod.
“Didn’t work out too well,” I shrug.
“It did and it didn’t,” He takes another drag on his cigarette, this time letting the air out very slowly. “At least I know how to survive, that’s a cut above you, little girl,” A wicked smile grows across his face.
“I’ll give that to you Chuck, you’re better at being homeless than I am. Rest assured that you’ve got this down to a science,”
“Damn right I do,” He winks. “What about your parents?”
“I don’t know them,” I say. “I don’t remember anything from my childhood,”
“You gotta remember somethin, what’s your mother look like? Or were you like an orphan or something?”
I look at the ground for a moment. What the hell do I tell him? I guess we were orphans, that would make sense. A twinge of pain kisses at my finger as I quickly reel my hands from out of the fire. Wasn’t paying attention. I look at my index finger and see it turning red on the end. “Fuck,” I say as I shake my hand. That wouldn’t do any good, it just felt like the right thing to do.
“If you wanna know more about me, just wait for Tylian.”
“Why would I ask her about you?” Chuck asks.
“She’s got a better memory than I do,”
“Well, hell why don’t you try? You’re a wanted woman, that’s a far more interesting story than mine,”
I shake my head and let out a sigh.
“Alright, miss I don’t know my childhood, tell me your first memory then!” He says, flicking his cigarette into the fire. My eyes lock onto the cigarette butt as it’s consumed by the flames.
“My first memory,” I nod. “Fine, but once Tylian is back she’s gonna tell you the rest.”
“It’ll be a while, you know how she is around this time of year,”
“We both hate Christmas,” I sigh. “A lot,”
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