Post by Charlotte Delprat on Jan 1, 2015 3:07:52 GMT -8
After the incident with Wes collapsing in the middle of the city Charlie was nearly in tears. She had never seen a person’s face turn blue before and it had scared her. He might have died and (whatever Kyle said) it would have been her fault because she didn’t know what to do, a helpless child, a frightened kid. But that wasn’t what the ball of raw anger in her throat was about.
Kyle had come and taken charge. He gave Wes the medicines he needed, then explained to Charlie what was happening, gave her a hug and made them all a mug of hot chocolate. It was comforting, and reassuring, and so much more than what her own mother would have done. Why?
Why was it that a family took such good care of each other, and why was that care extended to her even though she hardly counted as a member? Was that normal for families? If it was, why had her own mum only ever cared for her sporadically, when it suited her, and there was no boyfriend to shove her off too? And if it wasn’t normal for families, then why did it feel so nice?
Her confusion and anger had called for an outlet more powerful than a colouring book. and paints hadn’t seemed to do the trick either. In the end it had been a mindless impulse that had directed her to the corner store to buy cardboard and a spray can. She had made cardboard stencils before at school in art class, it wasn’t that difficult. Waiting until evening rolled round when Wes was asleep and Kyle was watching the tv was harder by far. Sneaking out the laundry window had been as easy as breathing.
The city’s streets had changed completely now that the sun had gone down. Gone were the suits and briefcases, day shops and cafes; London has shed its outer layer and was showing its skin, the glitter and heels, the razzle and the dazzle. The people were different too, sleeker and more sure of their assets. Charlie wondered enviously whether she would one day have tits as large as the ones that bloke over there had. Eventually she found what she was looking for, a reasonably clear stone grey wall. Charlie set her backpack down at her feet and got to work.
Once she accepted that her hands were going to become filthy, spray painting was actually kind of fun. The paint made a nice sound as she sprayed and the stencils ensured that her design was straight. Then, when she had finished the words BE NICE TO CHILDREN and was really starting to get into the swing of things a large hand grabbed her shoulder.
“And what might you be doing then?” asked a cool, commanding voice that made Charlie flinch. “Perhaps you’d like to tell us, along with your name and address at the station”. The station? No she couldn’t go there! No one knew she was gone.
“My name is Charlie. I live at, at” damn what was her address again? If only her brain would calm a bit and think then she might've known. “I can’t remember my address, I’ve only just moved here. Please let me go.” She wriggled, uncomfortable with the touch of a stranger. This only made the officer grip her arm with his other hand. She couldn’t move!
“Can’t remember your address?" The officer’s tone was sarcastic “Well maybe you’ll remember it better if I charge you with obstructing the law on top of public delinquency. How would your parents like to hear that?”
“No! I’m not lying. I only arrived a few days ago. I don’t have any parents here. Please believe me!” But the officer was already frogmarching her towards his checkered car where arsonists and murderers and children like herself were shut in and locked away forever. Charlie took a deep breath, forgot everything she had learnt about finding a nice policeman if she was lost, and kneecapped the officer with the heel of her boot. “Let me go!”
WHAM!
Charlie cried out and went limp. Why did her chest suddenly feel so tight?
Lucille Nibourette
Kyle had come and taken charge. He gave Wes the medicines he needed, then explained to Charlie what was happening, gave her a hug and made them all a mug of hot chocolate. It was comforting, and reassuring, and so much more than what her own mother would have done. Why?
Why was it that a family took such good care of each other, and why was that care extended to her even though she hardly counted as a member? Was that normal for families? If it was, why had her own mum only ever cared for her sporadically, when it suited her, and there was no boyfriend to shove her off too? And if it wasn’t normal for families, then why did it feel so nice?
Her confusion and anger had called for an outlet more powerful than a colouring book. and paints hadn’t seemed to do the trick either. In the end it had been a mindless impulse that had directed her to the corner store to buy cardboard and a spray can. She had made cardboard stencils before at school in art class, it wasn’t that difficult. Waiting until evening rolled round when Wes was asleep and Kyle was watching the tv was harder by far. Sneaking out the laundry window had been as easy as breathing.
The city’s streets had changed completely now that the sun had gone down. Gone were the suits and briefcases, day shops and cafes; London has shed its outer layer and was showing its skin, the glitter and heels, the razzle and the dazzle. The people were different too, sleeker and more sure of their assets. Charlie wondered enviously whether she would one day have tits as large as the ones that bloke over there had. Eventually she found what she was looking for, a reasonably clear stone grey wall. Charlie set her backpack down at her feet and got to work.
Once she accepted that her hands were going to become filthy, spray painting was actually kind of fun. The paint made a nice sound as she sprayed and the stencils ensured that her design was straight. Then, when she had finished the words BE NICE TO CHILDREN and was really starting to get into the swing of things a large hand grabbed her shoulder.
“And what might you be doing then?” asked a cool, commanding voice that made Charlie flinch. “Perhaps you’d like to tell us, along with your name and address at the station”. The station? No she couldn’t go there! No one knew she was gone.
“My name is Charlie. I live at, at” damn what was her address again? If only her brain would calm a bit and think then she might've known. “I can’t remember my address, I’ve only just moved here. Please let me go.” She wriggled, uncomfortable with the touch of a stranger. This only made the officer grip her arm with his other hand. She couldn’t move!
“Can’t remember your address?" The officer’s tone was sarcastic “Well maybe you’ll remember it better if I charge you with obstructing the law on top of public delinquency. How would your parents like to hear that?”
“No! I’m not lying. I only arrived a few days ago. I don’t have any parents here. Please believe me!” But the officer was already frogmarching her towards his checkered car where arsonists and murderers and children like herself were shut in and locked away forever. Charlie took a deep breath, forgot everything she had learnt about finding a nice policeman if she was lost, and kneecapped the officer with the heel of her boot. “Let me go!”
WHAM!
Charlie cried out and went limp. Why did her chest suddenly feel so tight?
Lucille Nibourette
