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Here's to the Broken Kids | Part One | Chapter Four

Here's to the Broken Kids | Part One | Chapter Four

Posted October 5th, 2018 by Zelda

by Unclevre
in a perpetual predicament

A/N: This~ is~ really~ short~ and~ I~ didn't~ edit~ anything~. I skimmed it, so I know there's problems, but uh, i'm lazy rn.

As usual, thank you so much for taking the time to click that link on the NSP and read my trashfire story! In this chapter we finally get reintroduced to Wink, who is now named Ann because who the hell names their kid Wink?? Anyways I'm excited that this character finally has some, like, backbone? And history? and her alter doesn't jump onto the reader's face raving about murder like last time? Drop a comment if you agree...or if you don't agree and wanna fite me for Blink.

Again, thank you for reading, feel free to comment, I <3 you all!



Chapter Four


 A small girl laid, half-curled, on the gritty alleyway ground. Ann Mavros was fourteen, homeless, and exhausted. She wasn’t asleep, but not exactly awake either. She stared at the stained wall across from her, steel blue eyes blank. There was blood caked under her fingernails. She’d checked, it wasn’t hers, but she wished it was. She closed her eyes, thinking about the blood made her stomach turn. How it felt. How dirty it looked jammed underneath her cracked nails. Who it came from.

Where was she? Ann opened her eyes again to glance around the alley. Light from the weak fall sun was interrupted by a rusty fireescape. A set of garbage bins sat against one wall, stale vomit was dried to the outside of one of them. Was that hers? She sat up, flinching at the sudden altitude headache. They’d been getting worse and worse over the past few months. Sitting down, standing up, walking up a set of stairs. Everything made her head pound and her vision blur.

“What day is it?” she asked out loud, jumping when a feral cat screamed at her. She tapped her head a couple times and got to her feet, “Hey, what day is it?”

Tuesday the fourteenth answered a voice inside her head.

“Tuesday,” she mumbled to herself. Her voice crackled with unused. The last day she remembered was… last Friday. She’d lost four days to the voice this time.  Four days, and blood under her nails. Frustrated tears welled up in her eyes and she kicked the closest wall as hard as she could. Pain lanced up her foot, sending her reeling back. Four days and blood under her nails. She steadied herself against the opposite wall in time to double over and vomit, hot tears running down her hollow cheeks.

She couldn’t remember any of it. No matter how hard she tried, she could never recall any of the time the voice took, it was just blank space after blank space after blank space. But it hadn’t taken long for Ann to piece together what happened during those blank spaces. With the way there were always deaths on the news after the longer blanks, and how she recognized the faces but not the names of the people in the reports. The voice was a killer and it used her body to commit murder. It wasn’t sorry, it didn’t feel remorse, it only felt anger, uncontainable, constant fury that settled like a live coal in Ann’s gullet.

And she didn’t know how to stop it.

Wiping her mouth with the soiled sleeve of her hoodie, she stumbled out into the street. She squinted against the sudden brightness, ignoring the stranger she bumped into and the curse they spit at her. Traffic was low, cars were parked in a neat line all the way up the street. It looked like she was somewhere downtown. A bit of looking and she found a shop with ‘Thorold Dentistry’ written in big white letters across its window. Thorold, huh? The voice had moved her again, she’d started out in Flin Flon and she’d intended to stay there until… after.

“You couldn’t have waited?” she asked in barely more than a whisper. Her shoulders sagged lower and lower the longer she stared at the sign. Thorold. She read it again, the words seemed brighter, bigger, like they were taunting her. She’d wanted to be in Flin Flon for the sixteenth, she had needed to be in Flin Flon. And now there would be police, and alerts, and bus fares that she didn’t have the money for because—she paused to check her pockets with a desperate kind of hope, but came up empty. The voice had spent all her money getting here. “You couldn’t have waiting one fricking week!” Ann shouted at the dentistry sign.

A woman on the other side of the street stopped to stare, and Ann caught sight of a cell in her hand. Sniffling, she flipped her hood up and pulled the drawstrings tight. All she’d wanted was one day, and instead she got a strange city a whole province away from where she wanted to be, and some other human being’s blood crammed under her nails like tar.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that despair aside, she still needed to eat. Without any money, she needed to find a soup kitchen, or to beg a couple bucks off of someone and buy a cheap sandwich. She turned on her toes, and shuffled away, tears still rolling down her face.



See more stories by Unclevre
Ann is a good name. Wink was

Ann is a good name. Wink was good too, but if it was her original name, yeah that's hard to explain lol.

I think I may have already complimented you on your ability to write tragic characters? Not tragic in the ancient sense, tragic in the modern-those for whom everything is difficult. But you rock it my dude


Spero quod via tua est directa et quod tuum onus est levis.

Posted by *Snow* on Fri, 10/05/2018 - 22:11
why thank you :0) "They say

why thank you :0)

"They say before you start a war/ you better know what you're fighting for" ~ Angel with a Shotgun; The Cab

Posted by Unclever Re on Wed, 10/10/2018 - 00:09

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