Homeless AU prequel Part 2
May. 10th, 2004 01:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsThe next part of the prequel is below, it's a little short but it was a logical stopping point.
Shall we do the dance of the WIP? Mistakes, will be changed, don't be afraid to point things out etc etc.
I've been thinking about this story a lot but will post that in a new post, because I'm just that spammy ;)
Part 1 is here
When Chris feels the truck isn’t moving anymore he sits up and peeks under the side, checking if anyone is around. He isn’t sure how long he’s been in there, all he knows is he feels stiff and sore and the sun is lowering in the sky as he wiggles out of his hiding place. Dropping to the ground, he tugs his bag out of the gap and looks around, shielding his eyes that are sensitive after hours in the dark.
A forklift truck heads his way, its engine loud and shocking after listening to the muffled drone of the road for so long. Chris winces and instinctively moves, back pressing against cold metal as he attempts to stay out of sight.
“Where’d you come from?”
The hand on his shoulder is a shock, and Chris whirls around, heart thumping as he sees the driver standing over him. The man doesn’t look mad, just curious, but feeling the hand tighten on his shoulder, Chris panics, ducking then running. Hearing shouts, he speeds up, running blindly past huge cartons and parked trucks, desperate to get away. At last he sees the gate and pushes himself even more, not stopping until he’s blocks away and has to bend double, gasping for breath.
When he can breathe easy he looks up, discovering he’s ended in a park. Trees tower over him and to his right there’s a children’s area with play equipment surrounded by a small white fence. Two young boys play in a sand pit, throwing sand with their plastic shovels and laughing with delight. Their mom sits on a nearby bench, and she looks up as Chris pushes open the gate, making it squeak Heading for the swings he drops his bag to the ground, then sits and lets the swing rock him back and forth, resting his cheek against one of the cool metal chains.
Chris is tired and hungry. He has no idea where he is and thinks about asking the lady then decides that would look too suspicious. Instead he starts to swing harder, using his body to get as high as he can. It almost feels like he’s flying, and he revels in that feeling, like he’s free from the confines of reality before slowing down until he’s grounded once more.
When he looks up the family are leaving, and one boy waves, holding his red spade in the air. Waving back, Chris smiles and watches them until they’re out of sight, then tightens his grip on the chains when a wave of loneliness hits. The park is quiet, there are no voices, just the rustle of leaves and muted traffic noise. Everything is bathed in golden light and shadows stretch long and black across the ground. Chris looks at his shadow and holds up his hand, it’s instinctive to make animal shapes; he does it night after night for his sisters, amusing them with silly voices and stories. At least he used to do it. Remembering that his sisters are lost to him now, Chris lets his hand drop and squeezes shut his eyes. Fighting for control as he pushes back the memories and thinks of other things.
Things like finding a job, and later a room. Chris has no doubts that he’ll find both. He’s a hard worker and there’s always someone that will look the other way in terms of age when they can get cheap labour. Deciding he’ll look for work the next day, he slides from the swing, picking up his bag and heads to a picnic bench. Sitting, he pulls out the bag of food the lady gave him and starts to eat a sandwich that’s started to curl at the edges, slowly chewing as he stares into space. He’s so tired that he can feel himself falling asleep as he eats, head jerking forward in the middle of a bite. Fighting against the urge to lay his head on the table and sleep there and then, he looks around, standing when he sees a possible sleeping spot.
Under a ship shaped climbing frame there’s a small enclosed space. Walking closer, Chris sees there’s a low door to get in so he drops to his knees and crawls through. It smells inside and he pushes two empty beer bottles out before sitting cross-legged on the ground. Opening his bag he grabs a sweat shirt and folds it to use as a pillow, then lies down, curling up small. It’s uncomfortable and cold, but by this point Chris is well beyond caring and loops the strap of his bag around his arm before closing his eyes, within seconds he’s asleep.
~*~*~*~
“Get out!”
The shout wakes Chris and he sits up, looking around wildly. Then kicks out when he feels something grab his ankle.
“Oh no you don’t,” the man snarls, and he pulls hard, dragging Chris toward the door. “That’s my place, you’re not staying here.”
Chris keeps kicking, trying desperately to escape. The stench of alcohol and body odour washes over him and he almost gags as he’s pulled outside. As soon as he has room he kicks with both feet, hitting out with all his strength until the man falls backwards from a vicious blow to his ribs.
“Fucking kid, you’d better get away before I kill you.”
It’s an empty threat; the man’s lying on the ground, cradling his side but Chris still scrambles to his feet. Adrenalin flows through his body as he puts his bag over his shoulder and starts to run once again. He stops when he reaches the park gates, and presses against the wall, hidden in the shadows. His legs shake almost uncontrollably and he suddenly sits, unable to stand a moment longer. The bricks are sharp against his lower back as Chris leans forward, head in hands, trying to calm down. He imagines he can feel the hand on his ankle still, and rubs until all he can feel is his own touch.
Head resting on his knees, Chris digs his finger nails into his palms, using the pain to distract him from the tears that threaten. He doesn’t want to cry; he won’t cry, but he has to decide what to do. It’s too busy for him to stay where he is. People spill out of a near-by club, men and women who glitter under the street lights, laughing and smiling as they walk. Chris hates them, hates that they’re happy and unafraid while he’s so scared and alone.
“Don’t, Angela. You’ll encourage him even more; he should be working for a living not expecting us to provide for him.”
The sneered words make Chris look up, and all he can do is stare as a woman throws some coins near him. She’s looking at him with an expression of sympathy, a total contrast to the man linking her arm who looks down with contempt.
“He’s a child; he needs the money more than we do.”
The woman smiles, then walks away and all Chris can do is watch her go. He’s ashamed but also angry, not wanting her money or her sympathy. The way she looked at him is burned in his mind. It’s a look he’s seen a thousand times, like he’s something to be pitied, but familiarity never makes it any easier. The coins are spread on the ground, a visual reminder of his shame and he wants to leave them there, but he’s not stupid and scoops them up, dropping them in his pocket as if they burn.
More couples are approaching, and Chris stands and moves away before they come close. He doesn’t know where he’s going, just walks and doesn’t stop walking all night. He’s aware of movements in the shadows but keeps his head averted, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Passing men who yell obscenities and women that offer him a good time but he ignores them all, walking with his head down, looking at nothing but his feet.
It’s only when it starts to get light that he slows down, sitting on a bench and rubbing at his eyes as the city begins to wake. Bone weary, Chris slumps in place, letting his head fall back against the wooden back rest as the sun slowly rises. Basking in its gentle heat he allows himself to relax for a short time, knowing the day ahead will be a long one.
Shall we do the dance of the WIP? Mistakes, will be changed, don't be afraid to point things out etc etc.
I've been thinking about this story a lot but will post that in a new post, because I'm just that spammy ;)
Part 1 is here
When Chris feels the truck isn’t moving anymore he sits up and peeks under the side, checking if anyone is around. He isn’t sure how long he’s been in there, all he knows is he feels stiff and sore and the sun is lowering in the sky as he wiggles out of his hiding place. Dropping to the ground, he tugs his bag out of the gap and looks around, shielding his eyes that are sensitive after hours in the dark.
A forklift truck heads his way, its engine loud and shocking after listening to the muffled drone of the road for so long. Chris winces and instinctively moves, back pressing against cold metal as he attempts to stay out of sight.
“Where’d you come from?”
The hand on his shoulder is a shock, and Chris whirls around, heart thumping as he sees the driver standing over him. The man doesn’t look mad, just curious, but feeling the hand tighten on his shoulder, Chris panics, ducking then running. Hearing shouts, he speeds up, running blindly past huge cartons and parked trucks, desperate to get away. At last he sees the gate and pushes himself even more, not stopping until he’s blocks away and has to bend double, gasping for breath.
When he can breathe easy he looks up, discovering he’s ended in a park. Trees tower over him and to his right there’s a children’s area with play equipment surrounded by a small white fence. Two young boys play in a sand pit, throwing sand with their plastic shovels and laughing with delight. Their mom sits on a nearby bench, and she looks up as Chris pushes open the gate, making it squeak Heading for the swings he drops his bag to the ground, then sits and lets the swing rock him back and forth, resting his cheek against one of the cool metal chains.
Chris is tired and hungry. He has no idea where he is and thinks about asking the lady then decides that would look too suspicious. Instead he starts to swing harder, using his body to get as high as he can. It almost feels like he’s flying, and he revels in that feeling, like he’s free from the confines of reality before slowing down until he’s grounded once more.
When he looks up the family are leaving, and one boy waves, holding his red spade in the air. Waving back, Chris smiles and watches them until they’re out of sight, then tightens his grip on the chains when a wave of loneliness hits. The park is quiet, there are no voices, just the rustle of leaves and muted traffic noise. Everything is bathed in golden light and shadows stretch long and black across the ground. Chris looks at his shadow and holds up his hand, it’s instinctive to make animal shapes; he does it night after night for his sisters, amusing them with silly voices and stories. At least he used to do it. Remembering that his sisters are lost to him now, Chris lets his hand drop and squeezes shut his eyes. Fighting for control as he pushes back the memories and thinks of other things.
Things like finding a job, and later a room. Chris has no doubts that he’ll find both. He’s a hard worker and there’s always someone that will look the other way in terms of age when they can get cheap labour. Deciding he’ll look for work the next day, he slides from the swing, picking up his bag and heads to a picnic bench. Sitting, he pulls out the bag of food the lady gave him and starts to eat a sandwich that’s started to curl at the edges, slowly chewing as he stares into space. He’s so tired that he can feel himself falling asleep as he eats, head jerking forward in the middle of a bite. Fighting against the urge to lay his head on the table and sleep there and then, he looks around, standing when he sees a possible sleeping spot.
Under a ship shaped climbing frame there’s a small enclosed space. Walking closer, Chris sees there’s a low door to get in so he drops to his knees and crawls through. It smells inside and he pushes two empty beer bottles out before sitting cross-legged on the ground. Opening his bag he grabs a sweat shirt and folds it to use as a pillow, then lies down, curling up small. It’s uncomfortable and cold, but by this point Chris is well beyond caring and loops the strap of his bag around his arm before closing his eyes, within seconds he’s asleep.
~*~*~*~
“Get out!”
The shout wakes Chris and he sits up, looking around wildly. Then kicks out when he feels something grab his ankle.
“Oh no you don’t,” the man snarls, and he pulls hard, dragging Chris toward the door. “That’s my place, you’re not staying here.”
Chris keeps kicking, trying desperately to escape. The stench of alcohol and body odour washes over him and he almost gags as he’s pulled outside. As soon as he has room he kicks with both feet, hitting out with all his strength until the man falls backwards from a vicious blow to his ribs.
“Fucking kid, you’d better get away before I kill you.”
It’s an empty threat; the man’s lying on the ground, cradling his side but Chris still scrambles to his feet. Adrenalin flows through his body as he puts his bag over his shoulder and starts to run once again. He stops when he reaches the park gates, and presses against the wall, hidden in the shadows. His legs shake almost uncontrollably and he suddenly sits, unable to stand a moment longer. The bricks are sharp against his lower back as Chris leans forward, head in hands, trying to calm down. He imagines he can feel the hand on his ankle still, and rubs until all he can feel is his own touch.
Head resting on his knees, Chris digs his finger nails into his palms, using the pain to distract him from the tears that threaten. He doesn’t want to cry; he won’t cry, but he has to decide what to do. It’s too busy for him to stay where he is. People spill out of a near-by club, men and women who glitter under the street lights, laughing and smiling as they walk. Chris hates them, hates that they’re happy and unafraid while he’s so scared and alone.
“Don’t, Angela. You’ll encourage him even more; he should be working for a living not expecting us to provide for him.”
The sneered words make Chris look up, and all he can do is stare as a woman throws some coins near him. She’s looking at him with an expression of sympathy, a total contrast to the man linking her arm who looks down with contempt.
“He’s a child; he needs the money more than we do.”
The woman smiles, then walks away and all Chris can do is watch her go. He’s ashamed but also angry, not wanting her money or her sympathy. The way she looked at him is burned in his mind. It’s a look he’s seen a thousand times, like he’s something to be pitied, but familiarity never makes it any easier. The coins are spread on the ground, a visual reminder of his shame and he wants to leave them there, but he’s not stupid and scoops them up, dropping them in his pocket as if they burn.
More couples are approaching, and Chris stands and moves away before they come close. He doesn’t know where he’s going, just walks and doesn’t stop walking all night. He’s aware of movements in the shadows but keeps his head averted, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Passing men who yell obscenities and women that offer him a good time but he ignores them all, walking with his head down, looking at nothing but his feet.
It’s only when it starts to get light that he slows down, sitting on a bench and rubbing at his eyes as the city begins to wake. Bone weary, Chris slumps in place, letting his head fall back against the wooden back rest as the sun slowly rises. Basking in its gentle heat he allows himself to relax for a short time, knowing the day ahead will be a long one.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 06:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 08:15 am (UTC)I'm glad that you like it :)
Chris breaks me heart, he really does.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 06:53 am (UTC)you#re doing this story proud, hon.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 08:12 am (UTC)I'm so glad it worked for you :)
*hugs Chris and you*
no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 08:25 am (UTC)beyond words, here.
*sigh*
I just want to make him safe.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 10:47 am (UTC)He'll be safe eventually, every day that goes past he's closer to his JC.
Thanks, hon.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 10:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 11:43 am (UTC)I so want him to meet JC too! I'm literally itching to get to that scene, but I can't :(
Thank you as usual for your comments :)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 11:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-11 07:54 am (UTC)Next part will be very soon. Thanks, hon.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 02:11 pm (UTC)Poor Chris. *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 03:33 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 02:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 03:25 pm (UTC)I want them to meet so badly too.
The only thing is once they do meet I have to go back in time and do JC's story then...sigh.
Thanks, hon.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 04:52 pm (UTC)*sits cross-legged on the floor, hands in lap, enthralled and waiting patiently to be told a story*
no subject
Date: 2004-05-11 07:24 am (UTC)Story soon, I promise :)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 08:59 pm (UTC)*waits patiently for the next bit*
no subject
Date: 2004-05-11 07:34 am (UTC)Next bit will be very soon, thank you as always for your support.
Love your icon btw.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 10:34 pm (UTC)You're doing it again!!!
And it's awesome, as always.
I worry about how much I love this universe, honestly.
And poor! Chris!!!
No thirteen year old should have to know that much about life's realities.
Can't wait to see the rest; I know there's *so* much more to come, just little parts of their characters casually mentioned in Boxes that we'll get to see where they came from here, eventually...
*happy sigh*
no subject
Date: 2004-05-11 07:42 am (UTC)I'm really glad that you love this universe because I do too, and you know I value your opinion a lot.
I feel so sorry for Chris at the moment too, he's going to get a lot of knock backs before life starts to get better. I just want him to meet JC damn it!
There's lots of things that I have to pick up from in Boxes. I should make a time line really.
Thanks again, hon.