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 Posted: Sun Jan 20, 2008 7:49 pm
 Olivier There are some things out there which are truly bizarre. They make you stop on the street and wonder what's going on. Sometimes they make you think you might be crazy. Maybe that's why I'm doing this again. When everyone has shut their eyes, gone to sleep, I'm sitting up with a candle and thinking like the thoughts mean something, and writing them down. Maybe they do. Maybe that's why I haven't stopped yet, though I'm confident this may be the only time I ever write.
Strange things always seem to happen around me, though. I meet some weird people out there. Like when I first hopped a train. There was this loon with rotten teeth and a glass eye. Wouldn't stop chattering at me. Asked me questions, dug through my bag, ate the map I'd packed. Then there was the time just last week at the fish market. I was snooping around, checking to see if there was anything useful, when this guy throws this huge fish off of a boat at me. Just goes 'first of the day', and next thing I know I found a watch in its stomach. That's right - a watch, and a nice one too! Tell me that's not weird? Maybe I'm crazy, maybe I'm lucky, but there's got to be something out there saying 'you have a story to tell'.
We're bunked at the old Junction now. That's just a junkyard - we call it a Junction because it's right by the road that leads everywhere. The perfect location, takes you straight to the fish market, the outdoor bazaar, uptown, downtown. Anything you can think of. We've been here for a while, but we're getting out of dodge as soon as the sun's up. That's where this story comes in. Something weird happened earlier tonight when I went out. I couldn't sleep, so I decided I was going to take a stroll. You know? Clear my head, think some things through? Seemed like a plan. I was starting to feel better when I made it to the Nooks and Crannies of town. I was cutting through the maze, heading off toward the park when I passed by this old woman. Could have sworn the hag tripped me. I fell right into the wall and ended up turning around to see her face. She was slumped against the wall, petting this small dog. Looked like a pup to me. No collar, nothing. Was just another mutt roaming the street -looked like Shiloh. Well, I was a little confused. Thought she might have wanted to give me the dog, and, hey, Button is only nine - he'd dig a puppy, and Caps likes those sorts of things. I thought 'why not?' and asked her about it. She hadn't said anything. Just sat in her rags, gave this smile to display some sickening teeth. Decayed, rotten, yellow and black. Holes in 'em. They were the nastiest teeth I ever seen. Well, I stomached the sight and asked her again about the puppy. Thing was freaking out, looked scared out of its wits. I was about to reach over and pet it when the dame took something out. The dog just. The dog was on fire. She'd dropped it - dog was on fire, burning like you wouldn't believe, howling like it were dying. It was dying - I mean, it was on fire, and it stopped moving after a while. Just kept going and going. The smell made me vomit right there - I turned. Just wanted to get the hell out. I ran. I ran, and I ran, and I ran. I didn't stop to look back, to think. Was just terrified. Some old hag lighting puppies on fire? At least she hadn't torn it to shreds, but it was still insane. Didn't see the logic of it, and that smell was awful.
Just thinking about it's making me gag again. I don't think I can keep going. Poor fella was desperate, running in circles, rolling around, writhing and howling, barking. Could have sworn it was begging me to help it out, but I couldn't do nothing for it. Not like I had water or knew how to put the thing out. I still feel bad about it. Don't think I'll sleep.
But what's more bizarre than that? She was laughing or something. Looked like the chick from Snow White. Not when she was a doll. When she was that wart-ridden wench? That. That's what this chick looked like, and she was screaming this laugh. I should have popped her. Something happened though. Something happened because of that fire. Much as I hate to admit it? I went back to see what went on. Old lady was gone.
I didn't even get a chance to ask 'what the hell'. But ... Let's just say that the bizarre can get even more bizarre.
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Posted: Mon Mar 17, 2008 11:02 pm
 Olivier I woke up this morning with the sort of thought: what had happened? I wasn't really sure what had happened. I remembered taking a walk, and I remember having had trouble sleeping.
Before I had left that evening, I had double-checked the shack at the old Junction to ensure there wasn't anyone around. I had bolted the door; I had opened the window in the back, crawled out, and shut it again - then I had gone into town with Caps and Button sleeping soundly.
That had been normal. Everything that had happened to that point in time had been perfectly normal, but everything else? I couldn't make sense of it. Nothing seemed to make sense as I laid there, eyes wide-open and staring upward in reflective thought. Yes. I had left through the window and had gone into town to take a stroll. It had been a simple walk through the Nooks and Crannies, nothing extravagant or out of my usual tasks. I saw the same old scenes. Nearly dead empty streets during the late evening hours. There had been an occasional bum saddled against the wall of the street, jingling a can or standing near a fire. The traditional hobos - who I still can't understand entirely. I thought little of them, though. I just walked, hands in pockets, and into the alleyways of the city until I had found that old woman. That old woman with the puppy. The Shiloh-puppy.
A groan had escaped my mouth as I rolled over, covering my eyes with my hands. I didn't want to remember. I didn't want to believe it, or subject myself to more confusion than anything. Thinking back on the night, I just felt something gnawing and gnawing at me. I felt sick to my stomach, and I felt lost. I was lost. For the first time in what I could remember, I didn't really know what to think or do. There wasn't a strategy to the situation. It wasn't a clear-cut game of Chess to enact. No draw the Rooks upward and corner the King, or assassinate the Queen and Bishops. That didn't exist within my memory. What existed was that old woman, petting and petting the pup with her haggish grin.
She had set fire to the thing. The smell, the noises. It was unlike anything I had ever heard before in my life, and I have heard a lot of things. I have seen a lot of things. I have been a lot of places, and I have done my share of unexpected activities to survive - but I had never, in all my life, seen someone set fire to something that had been so innocent, trusting, and alive.
My hands rubbed with more interest at my eyes as the memory became more vivid. I felt a whine in my throat as I kicked at the wooden floor. My socks had scraped against the occasional jutting nail, getting stuck and tearing holes. I couldn't get the picture out of my mind. I couldn't get that smell out of my mind.
I went back to the spot a while after I had calmed down. My feet had crunched against the stiff floor; my face and insides had felt hollow, barren. Still, I forced myself forward - because I had to know what had become of the small dog I had been asking about. I had wanted to know what had happened to it - and though logic told me it had burnt to cinders, something had compelled me to try and believe otherwise. Perhaps it was shock, but I drove my shaking figure back to that exact spot - and it was there that I saw something awkward. The old hag had vanished without a trace. I didn't see her, though I could still smell the whiff of burning hair and flesh. It made me dizzy as I came closer, and closer, until I had finally heard a bit of a noise. There, on the ground without a care and tearing away and some junk-item from a trash-can, was a small boy. He was lean, scraggly, messy. I thought I recognized the type. Those scavengers who are new at the game and don't know what to do. They're always the dirty ones. They don't play right. They wallow in the garbage, patter everywhere they go. Yet, there was a peculiarity to the kid. I just kept going, leaning over and watching him. He seemed to be tearing at the item, which looking like a broken clock. Eventually, he had thrown it to the ground and had continued his scavenge.
It had taken me a while to realize the bizarre nature of what I had found. The puppy that had been set on fire had been a beagle. That was the breed - a type of hound, popular for duck hunting and labor involving scent. They were fine dogs for a small breed. That puppy the old woman had though? She had burnt it alive, and then she had left. There I was again, at that spot, and there was a little boy. As I observed, I came to realize he possessed a tail, and large floppy ears. That boy was a beagle. That boy was the beagle - and in an instant I felt myself at a loss. I didn't know what to say, or what to do. As that kid turned around and caught my eye, we stared at each other - two strangers in the middle of a dark alleyway in the dead of night. We said nothing. We did nothing.
At that instant I was forced to make a decision. It was difficult. Two mouths to feed, two kids to watch and protect. I had a lot on my plate for a guy my age. more responsibility was going to be the death of me, but I had experience. I knew the ropes of the road, and I had been alone once too. I'd been used, tossed around, shamed, betrayed. I had seen it - it had been hard. I could just imagine the same thing happening to that kid. not only that, he was young. He was younger than even Button was, and that entailed something. If I left that kid standing there in the alley - that kid that I thought was the hound - then he would die. Something would happen. Something bad. All it took as a few hours. Someone that young could never make it all by themselves - not in my mind. It was impossible to fathom. So there was my problem. Another mouth and responsibility, or blood on my hands and never really knowing what happened?
My thought paused as I sat up. I ruffled my hair in frustration, glancing around the old shack in the Junction that we had inhabited for the evening. The sunlight was pouring into the room, glowering into my eyes. With a heavy sigh, I had began to stand up. I looked down --- there he was. I had decided to take the kid. At least temporarily. Just temporarily.
"Mmm..." I had grunted as I stepped over the nameless kid, covered in his ridiculous filth. Something had caught my eye and taken away all of my worries, though. All of my recollections and thoughts shattered as I realized ... Caps and Button were missing. "Caps? Button? Button, Caps!" I had hollered, rushing the door, which I had found to be unbolted. They had been there the night before! I had seen them when I had come back with the kid! They had been asleep where I had left them! "I'll kill them." I had hissed under my breath, thrusting open the door and staggering into the open yard. A loud breath had been inhaled as I spun in circles, shouting in a panic.
"What are you doing, Pockets?"
A voice had caused me to freeze. Approaching from a small distance, a few bags in hand, was Caps. Her singular pony tail bobbed from the side of her hat; her face was awkward and questioning. Button was following her, carrying his box with extreme obsession.
"Where the hell were you?", I had demanded. My throat was hoarse from the start.
"I went to get food. Remember? Last night? Before we went to bed, you said; 'Caps, tomorrow morning, go get some food - I have some money, it's in Button's box'"
I didn't remember saying that, but it had to have been true. She stood with food in her hand, and Button was right with her, meticulously peeking inside of his box as if counting his things to make certain they had not been destroyed due to the tampering.
"You need to sleep more. You're always forgetting things! Worry-wart." Caps had stuck out her tongue in my direction. I had only given a snort before rolling my eyes. Without further word, we had gone inside --- and I think for the first time, Caps and Button saw the beagle-kid.
The bags of food had fallen to the floor. A gasp had escaped Caps as she covered her mouth, giving me a look as if wondering what was going on. I had only shrugged my shoulders, waiting on her to say something.
"You found someone?"
"Something like that."
"Where?! Pockets, look at him - he's a mess!"
"I know that, I'm forgetful, but I'm not blind."
"You're definitely forgetful."
We paused in our conversation, looking back and forth from the kid - which Button was kneeling over precariously.
"Where's he from? What's his name? How long has he been out?" Caps had began again.
I had bit my lip, thinking back again to that burning smell and the old hag. It was going to be a very, very complicated story. "It's a long story."
"Like I don't have time? Hello? We're a crew? God, you can be so dense!" She had laughed at me. I had felt my blood boiling a little, but gradually I had let it go. It was a game between us. Caps and I had known each other for a good while.
Button had set his box down and had grabbed the edge of my flannel. In his customary silence, he had tugged at the edge, pointing to the beagle-boy with the same look of perplexion.
"It's hard to explain. I just found him." I couldn't bring myself to tell them. They would both think I was crazy. I thought I was crazy.
"Does he talk, what's his name?" Caps had persisted, setting her hands on her hips. Her lips had puckered as she leaned forward, giving me her eye from beneath her wild and fiery hair.
Button had mimicked her in the manner he always did.
"He doesn't have one." I had moved away from the both, bending over to cover the kid with the blanket we had been sharing. We only had a limited number, so I'd ended up having to share mine. Just for the night.
"Really?" Caps had seemed to squeal. I could tell she was getting excited over this. Of course she was. Sociable thing. She loved new additions, and I could remember the day we had first met one another. She had been demanding we formulate our little transient group.
"Really." I had breathed, pulling the kid's hat off of his head to set down. Afterwards, I had grabbed Button's box and set it on top of a small table-top.
"Ooooh! Then we get to name him don't we?"
"Who said anything about we?"
"We're a team!"
Button had watched Caps and I as we battered back and forth about the issue. I was afraid of letting her do anything to the kid. Especially name him. Just knowing her, she'd do something silly, like naming him after a bandit, or some Casanova-figure.
"Fine --- What would you call him?" Caps had snapped, huffing as she began to pick up the food she dropped.
"I don't know. I didn't think about that when I brought him here. Who thinks about that when they just found someone that small running around at night."
"He's been here all night? how did I miss that!"
I had shrugged my shoulders, smiling coyly. "You're the blind-one."
Caps had thrust one of the food bags at me, whacking me in the chest. With an 'oof', I had staggered backwards, nearly knocking the table with Button's box on it over. Fortunately, I hadn't. That would have been a dramatic mess.
"So what would you name him?" Caps had asked again.
I had looked down at the stirring little youth. There was something in the back of my mind. It was echoing. Echoing. Echoing.
"Luc."
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Posted: Sat Jul 12, 2008 12:32 am
 Olivier It was a cold and quiet afternoon. Outside of the shack we had taken for shelter, the rain was pouring down. Droplets of water dribbled through the wood, clapping onto the floor rhythmically. It was a steady pace, as refreshing as it was maddening. To be trapped indoors was not the most satisfactory of ways to be spending the day - nor was being trapped indoors with a minimal amount of food. Our bag was running low. A box of crackers, a jar of jam, and a few pieces of bread left over from a loaf. It wasn't much to occupy us - especially when all we seemed capable of thinking about was food.
"We should buy a toaster!"
Caps voice had resonated. It had nearly jarred me into jumping from my seat next to the rickety old door.
"Then we could eat some toast - and maybe one of those electric tea pots..." She had continued. I had raised my head to glance off in her direction. My eyebrows had furrowed curiously at the sheer thought of carrying around house-hold appliances. It was out of the question, still, she brought it up with a candid attitude, her mouth half full of a piece of bread. "Just think! Toast and jam would be good for once."
I had grunted as I folded my arms over my chest. The jam was fine all its own. I didn't need toast to enjoy a good jar, and I was satisfied not having toast. All the same, she posed a point that variety would be wonderful. Crackers and bread hardly sounded like a meal - and even though we had a few dollars, the rain was too bad to just send anyone out into it. It wasn't worth the hassle, the soggy food, or the effort to brave the storm. "No toasters - maybe a pot." I had shifted against the wall before standing up and stretching. My shirt sleeves had fallen down to my elbows, the cuffs that usually held them in place unbuttoned.
"I could make a toaster." Another voice has said. It was that small, confident voice. The kid, of course - and the only one who had ever seemed interested in broadcasting his unusual antics. Luc was standing near the window, his arms resting on the sill as he stared out with blind wonder. It was almost unnerving how methodical he was in his gaze and observation. The way he touched the window, or the sill, or the way he would fiddle with his wrench. I had learned to be nervous about such a face. The boy had tried to invent a number of things since I had brought him to the shelter - and each and every one had ended in a slight explosion or disaster.
"No toasters!" I had repeated sternly before taking a few steps across the room. I had blinked when my foot ran into a box, a number of buttons jiggling, followed by an incoherent hiss of sorts.
"Pockets, would ya be careful? You almost tipped Button's box. That would have been smooth!" Caps had rolled her eyes. "I don't see what the problem with the toaster is. Why couldn't he build a toaster? I bet he'd do a great job!"
My head had snapped in disbelief. A great job? Was she mad? I hadn't had time to gawk at her. Before long, she was picking up buttons and grumbling attentively.
"I could go find parts in... In the town - where all the stuff is." Luc had added on with a smile. He had finally torn himself away from the window. "I bet there's all kinds of stuff here too."
It was like being an old married couple. Or a single parent. The lot of them never seemed to understand the basic rules, and the number of times I had gone over them was almost as maddening as the drip-drop of the rain from the ceiling.
"No toasters." I had repeated. "We don't need to be carrying stuff all the time - we have enough to carry as it is. Three backpacks, and one food bag; that's enough to carry."
"Oh, I forgot." Caps had coyly looked back at me. "Travel light, of course." Her eyes were like daggers. "It's just a toaster - I could take him into town and we could ..."
"The answer is no! Besides. I don't want him going into town. He doesn't know how to stay put when he's told - and..."
"Why?" Luc had cut in. His hand had grabbed the edge of my shirt, tugging on it furiously. "Why can't I? I want to go into town. We went before!"
"But I was watching - and I'm not going into town for a toaster. We'll finish the bread, the crackers, and then we'll worry about going into town." I had grabbed his arm, tugging it away from my shirt. The kid just didn't understand, and Caps wasn't helping the situation by fueling him.
"But why?" Luc had repeated.
I had heaved a breath, looking from Luc to Caps, then back again. They were ganging up. "Button's on my side at least." I had murmured. The little boy was seated in front of caps, toying with his disordered buttons without a qualm or peep. "He plays fair."
"You need to loosen up. What's the harm in it?" Caps had smiled somewhat as she turned her head away. "Besides," Her voice had grown mocking. "How many times have we actually broken your rules and nothing has ever happened?"
"And how many times have we broken those and something has happened?" I had retorted.
"Then I'll go with him into town! For the love of a train, Pockets, I know the rules!" Caps had snapped.
"What rules?" Luc had breathed suddenly. I caught him backing up to stare up at me. His ears were perked, and his head was turned. "What're you talking about?"
"Oh, Pockets is a stiff, Luc, don't worry your pretty little head." Caps had given something of a fake laugh as she tossed buttons left and right, only stopping when Button slapped her hand away. "He thinks there are five things we have to do in order to not get caught."
"Get caught by who?" Luc had asked.
Before Caps could open her mouth again, I had put my foot down. Quietly, I had kneeled to the boy's eye level, staring at him. "By very bad people." My heart was twittering with thought. Siff or no stiff, I knew I was right - and I wasn't going to have those rules broken. It was more trouble than it was worth. "Listen to me, kiddo. Out there, out in that town, there are some really mean people. You know what they do? They find peple like us - just innocent people minding their own business, not breaking any laws, just trying to get by ... They find us, and they separate us. They take us place! Places we don't want to go, and places you don't ever want to see." I had leaned in, grunting when I heard Caps huff towards me. "If you don't play it smart, they're going to catch you - and let me tell you ... If they catch you, we can't always save you - and if you're not careful, you put everyone else in danger. You don't want to do that, do you?"
I could see Luc's coy confidence draining from his face. His ears had drooped. His eyes had grown wide with terror as he tried to take a few steps back. I had grabbed his shoulders, shaking him lightly. It needed to sink in. "Look at me, kid." He was looking towards Caps for reassurance. I knew she wasn't giving it to him - she knew I was right too.
"Pockets, don't be so hard on him."
Maybe I was wrong? She had spoken.
Shaking my head to myself, I had nudged the kid a short distance away and had returned to my seat next to the door. Luc had followed nervously, standing in front of my as I slid down the wall.
"W-what are the rules?"
"Luc, you don't need to ..." Caps had stood up, stepping away from Button for a moment to approach us. "Pockets, look what you started - you're going to ruin his childhood. Look how young he is! Button doesn't even know the rules."
"Button doesn't talk." I had repeated, giving her a sharp look. "And Button doesn't walk without either of us. Now I know you, kid. Playing it clean. You're gone and back every single day, and where you're going? I don't know - but you listen to me, and you listen good..." The kid had gulped, stumbling back into Caps. She had straightened him sympathetically.
"Rule number one: Never tell anyone who you are, or where you are staying." I had began. "Rule number two ..."
"Never be seen completely on your own in an uncrowded place." Caps had finished for me.
"Right - Rule number three: Never let a police officer approach you, and never approach a police officer." I had held up three of my fingers on the count.
"Rule number four: Always travel light." My lip had quirked as I shot a look up at Caps. "Because if you're carrying too much stuff, it slows you down. If you need to get up and move quickly, having a lot of stuff gets in the way. Only have what you need - only carry what you need."
"Rule number five: Never leave someone behind if you can help them." Caps and I had stated the final rule at the same time. Outside, the wind had rattled the door. I had slank against the wall, sliding until I was nearly laying down.
"T-that's it?" Luc had stammered.
"That's it. Don't do any of those things. Understand? If you don't want bad people to take you away from us - then don't do any of those things?" I had shut one of my eyes, staring at the boy through the other. I was beginning to feel bad. The terrified look to his face. I knew he didn't want to go away. We were together in it all. The four of us. We were all he had.
"That's enough!" Caps had heaved as she spun Luc around. "Don't pay him any attention, Luc. We'll go into town when the rain's stopped, and we will get a toaster." She had stared at me, fury in her eyes. "Right now ... How about you help me and Button with his box? Hm?"
I had rolled my eyes. No toasters wasn't enough of an answer for them, but I had given up the fight. Enough was enough - and I was tired. As they turned and slipped away, I had shut my eyes tightly. My arms had slipped behind my head, and in a dreary mumble, I had repeated myself one final time: "No toasters."
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Posted: Sun Nov 23, 2008 6:03 pm
 Luc
"Caps, Caps!" I bound down the sidewalk, trailing along behind the girl. Her pony tail was swishing like my tail, bobbing left and right, up and down. Every turn of her head moved it. It was like it had some life. It was alive! I was sure that it was alive, teasing me as we made our way into town.
It had been something of a fight to earn the privilege. In the long run, I would have gone even if Pockets had said I couldn't. He en't right sometimes, and I en't going to miss out on anything on the account of him. I wanted to go into town! And with the food bag empty, Caps was doing some food shopping. We had traveled down the old dirt road from the junk yard to the town, and we were on our way to the grocery store to pick out some food. Of course, Caps had told me that I couldn't go inside. You're dirty, she had said, and dirty little boys draw attention inside of a clean building. I had taken her word for it, but I en't happy. I wanted to see everything in the town. I wanted to see every store, and I wanted to find a bookstore. Quincy had talked about a big castle full of books. A library! I wanted to see the library, and I wanted a card with my name on it. I wanted to read, and there were so many things that I needed to gather. Our plane. It was all that I could think about as we passed building after building. Which one held the answer?
"Can we go to a book store?" I had barked at Caps, jumping at her heels. I had quickly run in front of her, smiling as she gave me a good natured look.
"A book store? You can read?" She had laughed at me. Her hand had been set on top of my hat, twisting and messing up my hair.
"H-hey!" I had swatted her hand away, fixing my hat. I didn't like it when people touched my hat. It was my hat. "Don't do that!"
"Shhh." Caps had covered my mouth with her hand. "Don't be so loud, you'll draw attention - remember what Pockets said?" She seemed sad when she looked at me. I wasn't sure why, and I didn't want to question it. Pockets had said a lot of things, and not all of them had been good. It made me nervous. The sheer mention of all of the things he had said was enough to sometims make my tail slink between my legs. It was difficult to imagine.
"But can we?" I had swallowed hard as I grabbed her hand to hold onto it. I didn't want to be carried away by bad people.
"Why do you want to see a book store?" Caps had hummed. Her head had tilted down towards me for a moment as we came to a stop at a light. There was a flashing red man on a black sign in a box.
"I want to read." I had smiled crookedly. "There en't anything wrong with reading, right?"
"Smart boy." Caps had cooed. "I like reading too."
My face had grown long. I had never seen Caps touch a book before. It was hard to imagine her reading. She was always up and moving, always talking, or fixing her hair, or playing with her small collection of hats.
"Or, I used to like reading. I haven't touched a book in months!" She seemed to be contemplating something. "But, Luc, we don't have the money to be buying books - not if you want to eat something other than crackers and bread."
"There's lots of food in the yard." I had replied quickly. There was all sorts of food in the junk yard. There was all kinds of stuff to eat. There were socks, there were shoes. I liked chewing on shoes, though I had always tried to do it when no one else was around. "Can't we just eat that?"
"That's ... Garbage, Luc. That isn't food - don't put things in your mouth if you don't know where it came from." Caps had nervously looked me over. I could tell she was thinking something.
"It came from the yard."
"Luc!" Caps had laughed knowingly before tugging me along. The red man on the black sign had turned green, signaling for us to walk. "Not now - we'll go next time, alright? I promise. I'll get some money, and then we'll go to a book store and buy some books - but you have to take care of them, alright? And you have to help earn them."
"How do I earn them?" I had raised my eyebrows, jogging to keep up with her. She was a fast walker. She was so fast that we beat the cars steering down the road into the parking lot of a big building.
"I'll tell you when you need to know. Right now ..." She had dragged out the final syllables of her words as we stopped in front of a big building with glass windows. People were rushing in and out of the building, carrying mountains of food in bags. Some of it smelled delicious. "Food is what we need to get." She had knelt down in front of me, glancing to the left and right quickly. "Now you can't go in with me. You're all dirty, but I'm going to buy something to clean you off with. You can't go running around like this all the time, but don't you go telling Pockets that I left you out here, right? And remember what we talked about. If anyone talks to you, don't go with them, and if anyone grabs you, what do you do?"
"Howl?" I had tilted my head to the side. I couldn't remember exactly what she had told me on the way to the store. I had only been paying attention for a little while before I had started thinking about stuff. About the town, and about things that could be found there, and about the plane, and about Quincy.
"That's close enough. Make as loud of a noise as you can - and if they cover your mouth, you bite them."
"Right - grrr!" I had made a face, giggling as she turned my face away lovingly. Caps had kissed my head before starting towards the automatic doors.
"Be good! Don't leave that spot!"
"Yes ma'am!"
It wasn't long before she was gone. I found myself standing stupidly, scuffing my feet against the ground. I wanted to listen to her. Caps was nice - she always did something when I listened, and she had promised that she would take me to a book store someday. If I was good, maybe she would even take me to the library. The castle of books - all that were free. I had forgotten to ask her about it when she walked away. No matter what went through my mind? I wasn't going to move.
Of course, I hadn't been expecting a surprise. Through the automatic doors, and stacked on a series of haphazard shelves leading into the store, something in particular had caught my eyes. Every fiber of my instinct wanted it. I wanted to chew it, or at least touch it. Giving a couple of looks around me, I had decided that it would be worth the trouble. I had bound through the doors, only to run into something that had just walk through them. A flurry of papers had surrounded me, and I had rolled, scrambling up to my feet with a gasp.
"A-ah!" I had looked down, my mouth hanging open. I wasn't sure what to say. What do you say to someone you ran into? Especially when they had been carrying stuff - but why was someone carrying papers out of the store? That made no sense. Everyone had been carrying food.
The man I had run into groaned as he sat himself up. His long fingers had rubbed at his blond head, scratching the once neat hair as if he were looking for something on his head. I had glanced off to the side, only to see a funny looking bowl hat. Quickly I had grabbed it before offering it to the man. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ..." I had began. I had just run into a stranger - and I didn't know if they were bad or not. They smelt okay. And he didn't look too angry when he looked up at me. My tail sank.
"Don't worry about it, sport." The man had said as he took his hat. He was funny looking, wearing what looked like a heavy brown jacket and a buttoned up shirt. The formal wear didn't match with his hat. Still, his smile was nice. "Need to keep your eyes straight when you're walking." He had began picking up his papers, glancing at me every now and then as I stood stupidly.
I took the hint to mean the same thing as Button when he screamed about his buttons flying everywhere. If you knock something over, you have to pick it up - or else someone is going to be really angry, and maybe a little bit crazy. Clearing my throat, I had leaned down to start picking up papers. There weren't many of them, only about ten, and they all had pictures on the with the sentence 'have you seen this child?'.
"Thank you." The man had raised his brows at me, standing once he had all of the papers. He had taken a set of keys from his pocket to unlock a glass case set in the walkway between the front of the store and the actual inside. I could see him pinning up the pictures. Why?
"What're those for?" I had asked; my ears had raised as high as they could.
The man with the funny hat had stared in disbelief for a moment before returning to the pictures. "Missing children. You see these?" He had patted one of the pictures with the stack of papers. "These go up all over town. To help find them."
I was beginning to feel nervous. I wasn't sure why, but the way he looked at me seemed like he was looking for something. I had brushed off my over-alls in a vain attempt to look clean. Clean children didn't draw attention.
"Where are your parents?"
My parents? I had scrunched my nose. I didn't have parents. At least I didn't think I had parents - so he had to be talking about Caps. "In the store." I had murmured as I looked up at the cork board. "One of them. They don't want me running around." I had paused. "Because I'm dirty. She'd told me to stay put."
"I can see that." The man had smiled as he pinned up another picture. "Must be playing rough out there."
"Yes sir."
"Where were you headed?" The man had asked. Another picture, and then another.
"I wanted to look at something inside."
The man's face had twisted awkwardly. I could tell that he was thinking something - and I could smell it too. It smelt like confusion and disgust. "Oh. What?"
I had pointed into the store. "That thing." Sitting on one of the shelves was a funny squeak toy. It looked like a turnip. "It looked fun."
"That? That's a dog toy. They're on discount." The man had blinked.
"It still looks fun. I don't really have any toys." None of us did. Not Button or me. Button didn't seem to mind, and I was fine playing with the scraps of the junk yard - but the turnip did look fun.
The look the man had given me was almost frightening. It seemed to be one of shock and awe. I had no toys. It had never seemed like such a deal, but the way he had stared made me feel almost like an alien.
"Tell you what." The man had pinned up another picture. "I've got three more of these that need to go up. They're at the customer service desk. You can read, can't you?"
"Yes." I had blinked. My ears had fallen back to a droop, sliding against my cheeks. Quietly I had tugged my hat over my eyes. "I can!"
"Well. You run up to the counter below the sign that reads 'Customer Service'. Ask them for the last three print outs, and tell them you're fetching them for Mr. Cunningham. Bring them back here, and I'll get you that toy, and help you find your Mum."
Never go anywhere with strangers. I could hear Pockets' angry voice within my mind, but the turnip looked fun. I wanted it, and what would it hurt? I wouldn't tell the man my name, and I wouldn't let him know anything. I hadn't told anyone, not even Quincy, anything. "Really?" I had asked.
"Really. Now, hurry up ... Ah?"
"Luc!" I had laughed, my tail wagging. That turnip would be mine! Without waiting on his response, I had dashed into the store to fetch the papers, only returning once I had counted the three and taken a piece of candy from a bowl on the customer service desk.
As I returned, I found myself looking over the pictures. Missing people? That meant that someone was looking for them. Were they bad people? Were they good people? I wasn't sure, but as I handed picture for picture, I saw two that caught my eye. Caps! Caps was in one of the pictures labeled 'Madeline LeClair'. My face had grown long. Pockets had said something about bad people wanting to take us away from each other. The Mr. Cunningham was putting up pictures - was he one of those people? But he had offered to buy the turnip.
Before I could really think about it, Mr. Cunningham had pinned up the remaining pictures. He had shut the case and locked it, brushing off his sleeves before looking down at me. His smile seemed friendly, even though something about him made me nervous. I decided that he couldn't be a bad person. He seemed really friendly as he patted my back and walked me into the store - and though he looked at me funny every now and then, I didn't really mind. A lot of people were looking at me funny in the store - especially when we were standing in line.
"You said your name was Luc?" Mr. Cunningham had asked me as he paid for the turnip. I held it in my hands, squeaking it excitedly.
"Yes." I had hummed, my tail wagging feverishly.
"Were you really waiting on your mother out there, Luc? You're a little young to be standing outside all on your own." He had asked in a hushed voice, not wanting to draw attention. It seemed like he was being secretive.
"She's not my mother." I had looked at him, my lip quirking. "We live together. She takes care of me, and we live in the junk yard together." It had slipped. I felt myself jump with the knowledge that I had said it. I had just told him that ...
"The junk yard?" Mr. Cunningham's eyes had grown wide.
"Y-yeah." I had bitten my lip. I had quietly looked to my feet, my hands holding the turnip tighter. I was beginning to hope that Caps would show up. I wanted to leave suddenly.
"How long have you been living with her?" Mr. Cunningham had asked. "At the junk yard? What about your mother? Your real mother? Does she know that you're staying with this woman?"
It seemed really funny that someone would start asking a lot of questions. I guess I looked suspicious, just like Caps had said. I had bitten down harder on my lip, my ears perking when I heard Caps' voice somewhere in the distance. "I... Gotta go." I had whispered.
Mr. Cunningham had blinked at me. His face had seemed stern as I ran away, only looking back for a moment. It was that moment I knew I had just narrowly escaped one of the people Pockets had talked about. I hadn't had much time to think about it, though. I just kept running. My hat had even fallen on the floor, but I hadn't turned to grab it. Instead I just kept running with the turnip in my hands. I had disappeared into the store, slinking behind a stack of tissues lined up to form a tower. There I sat until I heard Caps' voice again.
I was going to be in so much trouble.
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Posted: Mon Dec 22, 2008 8:34 pm
 Olivier "You told him what?" My blood was boiling. I couldn't believe it - the kid had slipped up after I had told him not to. He stood before me, wide-eyed and terrified, clinging anxiously to the stone that had been thrown into our little sanctuary. He had slipped up over a turnip - a dog's toy - there were a number of things I needed to be furious about. "Luc, what did I tell you? What did I tell you?" I could hear my voice rising, trembling with every word.
"I-I'm sorry! It was an accident!" The kid had whimpered. He was slinking backwards towards the door, his tail held between his legs like an innocent little puppy. His arms had squeezed the little toy turnip tightly, as if he were seeking it out for protection. It upset me; I felt like a monster looking into those eyes as they welled up with tears. "I-it was an accident..." he had repeated. His messy hair had drifted into his face as he lowered his head and hunched his shoulders.
I had raised my hand, slapping it over my eyes. What was I going to do? I couldn't bring myself to punish him. I had never been the sort of person who could hit someone aimlessly, and those eyes ... They were so frightened it seemed redundant to scare him any more. "You delibretly disobeyed me." I had inhaled a sharp breath. My shoulders had shaken.
From the corner of my eye, I could see Button and Caps. They were just as scared - I was a monster, but wasn't I doing it with the best intentions? Something had to be said; I had to do something. Didn't I?
"Pockets, it's my fault too." Caps had spoken quietly, tugging Button behind her. "I should have taken him inside."
I had snorted. My feet had fallen heavy on the ground as I turned my back to the kid, to them all. Without a word, I had grabbed one of our knapsacks and knelt down. Item after item, I gathered everything off of the floor and sorted it. The few scraps of clothing or items we possessed. I packed each in quiet, only the sound of a violent clatter and breathing echoing in the air.
"I'm sorry." Luc had whispered. "I don't wanna go away forever!" He had began. "I don't wanna go away forever - and now he's gonna get me."
I looked back at him. He was wiping his eyes with an arm, shivering anxiously. The little toy turnip had fallen to the ground with a squeak. It was such a horrible sight that I had put the knap sack down and eased. A large sigh had been given as I turned my head quickly away. Button was wriggling, heading on his way to the boy to comfort him in that silent way he always did. He'd pulled his ear and given a look, I was sure of it.
"You're not going to go away forever, Luc. They'd have to catch you first, and they're not going to catch you." I had shaken my head. What a nightmare. "Caps?"
"Hm?" She had sounded. Her footsteps had resonated against the creaking floor as she approached me.
"Help me with these bags."
For a long while, we had simply stared at one another in silent understanding. We're were the oldest ones, we had our experiences. She knew as well as I did that we were going to have to move quick. There wasn't a chance that anyone knew we were the ones staying in the Junction, the junk yard - but they knew someone was, and I was confident from the story that someone would be coming to investigate the matter. A dirty little boy staying with a woman who was not his mother in an old junk yard was a force to be reckoned with. There would be consequences. The cozy little location that had seemed so convienet was something of a curse.
"Okay." Caps had nodded her head as she took one of the bags to set over her shoulder. She would need to carry the food, I would handle the remaining two - it would be quicker for us to lug the cargo. Small children didn't need to be carrying things in a hurry.
"W-what're you doing?" Luc had stammered. His arms had held tightly to Button's, the both of them looking at us with wide-eyed curiosity. Luc had no idea what was going on, and I had long suspected that Button could not comprehend the long list of things that he went through.
As I stood up, I gave each of them a knowing look. I could feel an ounce of sympathy. I had been in that situation before. Accidents happened, deliberately or not. There was nothing that could be done about it, and while I wasn't happy, it was never my intention to make children cry. "We're moving out. Now."
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Posted: Mon Dec 22, 2008 8:37 pm
Luc It was gone. All of it was gone, and there was nothing that I could do about it. The sweet smell of the junk yard, and the piles of scrap metal scattered around were like a dream now. I missed them - and it en't fair that I should have missed 'em.
I sat against the doors of the box car. The clatter of the train shook my back as I held on tight to the little turnip that had caused it all. I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it. The squeak it made was nice, and it looked so friendly smiling at me. I didn't want to lose it, no matter what it had caused. It was something to hold along the bumpy ride.
I had never ridden a train before. I'd seen them, and I knew what they were. They were big things that rolled along tracks. Some carried cargo, like the one we were riding, and others carried people, like the nice fancy ones in town. They went all over the place, so there was no telling where we were going. That worried me the most. My workshop was in the yard! Who was going to take care of my things? There wasn't anyone. And what about Quincy? I was telling myself: he'll find ya - he knows what you smell like. But we were on a train. How would he be able to find me if the smell stopped?
Shuffling against the wall, I had began to slink downward. The turnip had fallen onto my lap. My eyes hurt. My stomach hurt. Everything hurt, and there en't no reason. I just did. My eyes were heavy and tired. I think everyone else was tired too. Caps was asleep, and so was Button, both curled up against the back wall and covered with a couple of blankets that were in the bags we had carried. Pockets looked like he was asleep too, even though he was sitting up. I had began sitting up again, my wrench shifting in the pocket of my cover alls.
"You going to move around all night?"
I had jumped at the sound of Pockets' voice. He had opened one eye to stare at me from across the way. Not a word left my mouth; I had just shifted a few more times. The box car was cold. It was hard to be comfortable - and I didn't think I could sleep. Too much had happened, and I was scared. I messed up. Pockets was mad at me.
"You don't have to sit over there. Door isn't a good place to sleep. Those rattle." Pockets had said as he opened both of his eyes.
"I'm en't tired." I had lied.
Pockets had paused for a long period of time, following my hands as I grabbed my turnip again. It had squeaked quietly as I squeezed it. It didn't look so angry - Pockets looked angry. It was easier to look at the turnip. "Don't start lying to me, now - we carried you half way here because you were tired." He had heaved a breath as he got up to walk towards me. "You sick?"
I had shrugged my shoulders anxiously.
"You know, first time I rode in one of these, I got sick too. It's dusty, there isn't a lot of fresh air - but ..." He had looked down at me, giving a motion with his head for me to move. I moved - I didn't want to make him yell again. "You can open these doors. Don't get too close or you'll fall out - these things move fast - but it's a nice view." He had cleared his throat. He looked nervous for some reason. As stiff and mad as he was, he looked kind of scared too.
I had felt a cool rush of air hit my neck as he opened the door a little. He hadn't opened it too much, and I knew why. Lights from the town were shining outside. There were people, and Caps had told me: if you get caught riding a train like this, you'll get in big trouble. People didn't like it. It made me wonder why we were doing it. It didn't make sense that we'd do so many things that people didn't like.
My nose had wriggled as I inhaled. I had dropped the turnip on the floor, crawling a short distance to the open crack to stick my nose outside. The air smelt good. Pockets had done the same, and we were both still, and quiet. But it was bothering me. I felt really bad, and he'd never said it was okay. It wasn't okay. I messed up -but ... "I'm sorry." I said it for the hundredth time. "I didn't mean to."
"Hm?" He had made the noise as if he didn't know what I was talking about. He en't stupid, and I knew it - he knew what I meant.
"You're mad, en't you?" I'd looked up at him for a moment.
He had looked down with a squint before looking back outside. "Sure, I'm mad - but it's done and over with." I could see a smile on his face. It made me want to smile too. I liked it when Pockets smiled. He didn't do it often. He was always so serious. "The situation's handled." He had added after a moment, reaching down to ruffle my hair. I had shaken my head in response, my fingers trying to muse out the mess he had made. My hair never would stay down.
"I saw Caps on a poster." I had told him - then I had thought about the second one I saw. "And you too. Why're you missing?"
He had looked at me again, his eyebrows raised. He looked as if he were going to start laughing at me. "Did you now?"
"Yeah! Except ... It said Madeline, and yours said Olive...Er. Olive."
"Olivier. No Olive - oh.liv.ee.eh." Pockets had hummed thoughtfully. "Tell you the truth, kid, I'm not missing." His jaw had quirked; I knew that meant something was annoying him. "Don't let me catchin' you calling us those names, though, understand, Luc?"
I had thought for a minute. Pockets was Pockets to me. I understood enough, and Olivier was harder to say. But it worked. The way he said it made it sound right - like it was his name. His real name, like mine was Luc. "But why're you on posters?"
He had stared at me with that quirked jaw. It made me shrink back some, but after a while, he quit. He just put his hand on my head and pressed his forehead against the crack in the door. "I left ... Home." It was a blunt statement, almost cold. "Long time ago."
My tail had sank. Home? That implied something good. That meant someone was looking for him - were they really bad people? There were so many question. "Home?"
"A bad place." Olivier had snorted, waving a hand as he went down a list. "Tell you what to eat, what to wear, what to do, what you can be - and they're not really your ..." He had paused, shaking his head. "No, it wasn't bad, but it wasn't right." He had run his fingers through his hair. "Like being ..."
"Trapped?" I had asked, perking up.
"Exactly. See this out here? It's freedom - and that's a beautiful thing. All we want, but there are some people out there who can't accept that. They'll take it away in an instant because they think they're right." He had smiled at me. I believed him. He was Pockets. He took care of me - he never lied to me, and he seemed sincere. I could smell it. He was a good person. Even if he was angry. "You're a lucky kid. Don't ever have to see that."
I had tensed for a moment. I wasn't sure he was right. All of the rules and things came back to me - if Pockets knew about Quincy, or the plane, he'd take it away, wouldn't he?
"Always can do what you want - but you've got to be careful." He had cleared his throat, shuffling his feet on the floor. He was shifting balance, trying to stand still with the moving train. "Understand, it's dangerous."
My mind was swimming in circles. I knew one thing. I wanted to be free too. Free. It sounded like a great word. "Do you miss it?"
"Hm?"
"Home." I had said.
Pockets had taken a long time to answer. When I looked back to see if he was okay, his jaw had quirked again - but he looked upset. I hadn't ever seen him look sad before. "... No." He'd shrugged his shoulders. "I don't."
He hadn't looked at me. But it wasn't in anger - that made me feel better. I'd been so afraid that he wasn't going to ever look at me right again. I had shifted anxiously, my ears perking when he spoke again.
"Just promise you won't do what you did again. If there's one thing I know, none of us want to go back." He had smiled smoothly. "This is life. It's ours, and the people who want to take it away? Good luck to them. Don't help them. You're on our side."
I had smiled, my tail wagging feverishly. I felt proud to know Pockets wanted me on his side. I wanted to be on his side, even if it was confusing and weird. It was all I knew - and it was home. It was home to me. So long as that was safe, everything would be good. I would protect it from everything - just like I'd protect everything from it. Two lives. That's what I'd live, and both would be happy.
I decided it was best to drop it. I didn't like the way he looked. He seemed really small. Like he could break up into lots of little pieces. "Where are we going?"
"The other end of town." He had patted the wall with a hand. "Not far. See these cargo trains? They run from end to end every day on multiple schedules. Easy to catch, and easy to get off on. We'll be getting off when it stops."
"So we can still go to the junk yard, right?"
"Junction?" Pockets had given me a funny look. I don't think he understood what it meant to me. "There's not really a point in going back there. If there were, it's not a hard trip. Hop the train, ride it down, or walk the city, take the bus if you can slip on - but it's just a junk yard."
A part of me felt relieved to hear that. I could go back. We weren't going far away. Maybe it would all be okay? I could start fresh. Everything would be okay.
"You need to get some shut eye." Pockets had turned to walk back towards the wall. "Few minutes worth until we get to the other end at least, it'll be good for you."
Through the crack in the door, I could see the sky. The city was dimming as we drew closer and closer to the outside again. The stars were shining, and I could see the moon. It was beautiful, and it felt nice. I felt better. Everything was going to be okay - and there en't nothing like knowing that. Nothing like knowing that, if you wanted to ... You could go home.
"I en't tired."
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Posted: Mon Dec 22, 2008 9:15 pm
A basket arrives just a few days short of Christmas, in the same manner as the basket that had originally arrived with the request to be filled. Many goodies are inside! Quote: The following note is written in sloppy but surprisingly neat cursive (with help and a watchful guardian checking spelling and such), stuck in with the rest of the gifts in the basket. A Jar - too keep odd nuts, bolts and gears in, especially the shiny ones.
A compass - because every good navigator needs one, despite that this one may or may not work.
A scarf - too keep you warm when you're in flight.
A set of wings - so we can match in our goal.
and finally
A special pillow - and secret pillow because we're gonna make it.
Merry Christmas, bless!
Happy holidays!
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Posted: Sat Jan 03, 2009 9:35 am
Quest Time!
Out on one of Luc's daily strolls, a commotion begins to stir on the street. A woman (not Exi, assuredly) is speaking to a police officer.. and pointing at Luc! But it's not what you might think; the crazy woman is insisting that Luc is her lost son!! Now that the good ol' dogcatcher (aka child services) is on his tail, Luc, and consequently his family, has a lot to be worrying about!
The woman is clearly mistaken, but she's very insistent and very wealthy, so her influence is such that these people won't stop til they catch Luc and bring him to her. Evade her and the "dogcatcher" as much as possible, but please eventually have him caught. His own wit and cunning should be able to get him out of this nightmare, even under the worst of circumstances. It's up to you how this plays out, between him getting chased, caught, and escaping!
Good luck, little pup! You're going to need it. This lady's a nutjob!
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Posted: Sat Jan 03, 2009 11:06 am
Growth Quest: Part I of III Luc My chest was pounding as I sank lower and lower behind the crate in the alley. I could hear voices chattering from behind me; they were bickering. I saw him go this way, no, he went the other way, the alley's just a dead-end - why would a kid on the run go towards a dead-end? Over and over, the voices cycled. They weren't the friendly kind. The closer they got, the more my chest ached. I was starting to feel kind of sick, and breathing quietly seemed hard - but I tried. I had to try. I didn't want to get caught! I couldn't get caught! It wasn't going to be like the store again if I could help it.
It had started early. I woke up before everyone else, and I left without a word of caution. No one had seemed to mind. Pockets had given up caring so much if I slipped away. He said I knew better now. I was glad he'd blown off steam. He'd been tighter than a jammed gear about Mr. Cunningham, but he'd been nicer lately. I was starting to think that he couldn't stand being in one place for too long without getting aggitated - but I didn't question it much. I was glad to have my freedom, and home was only a short walk and a bus ride away.
Like every morning, I took a dollar from Button's box; and, like every morning, I took the path through the old RV park below the campgrounds into the city. I walked the same route, I made the same stops to smell the cheap breakfast sandwitches on the corner stands, and I waited at the same bus stop to catch the bus towards the edge of town and closer to the junk yard. It was a normal day, the only real difference being that the nice man at the stand had actually given me two of the breakfast sandwitches to eat. The ham, cheese, and bacon were sizzling on the bagel, and it was delicious. I loved it, and I couldn't remember ever having tasted food so good. It didn't seem possible that something could taste so delicious.
But it was on that bench at the bus stop that it happened. I was eating the second sandwitch, gnawing at the stiff bagel, when I heard someone start screaming across the street.
"That's him! Oh, oh my god, officer, that's my little boy!"
I had looked up with the bagel in my mouth, my sharp teeth digging deeper into it. It sounded like someone was lost. It didn't seem knew, and I'd come to realize: if it was lost, it probably didn't want to be found. That was okay, and it wasn't any of my business. I didn't want to get involved, and as long as I was careful, nothing could possibly go wrong on my end. That was what Pockets had said when we got to the camp. He'd tugged me aside and told me just not to talk to anyone if I was going out. I wasn't about to be perfectly quiet - I liked talking to the man who worked at the stand, and the people on the bus. They were nice - but, of course I wasn't going to break any promises like Mr. Cunningham. I wouldn't tell anyone about the camp, just like I wouldn't tell Pockets about anyone in the city, even stand-man with his free sandwitches. The situation was different, though. After a few minutes of staring across the way, my sandwitch had slipped from my hands and hit the ground. My heart had started beating quicker, and quicker, as the woman began to shriek and point more adamantly. That's my little boy. She was talking about me.
The man that I understood to be a police officer had started across the way. He was coming to talk to me - but I remembered. Rule number three: never let a police officer approach you, and never approach a police officer. That was the one rule I had never really broken, and it was the only one that I took seriously other than the most important one: never leave anyone behind. So, as the man drew closer, it was second nature to get up. I forgot about the sandwitch, and I just ran without a word, watching as people turned curiously to watch as the police officer chased after me, calling something that sounded like code onto his radio.
That was how I ended up behind the crates with two police officers arguing with each other about which way I went.
Quietly, I had peeked from behind the crate. I had turned myself so that I could crawl a little and look for an escape. There had to be an escape if I just looked hard enough. It was like putting something together. You had to have blueprints to make something; if you en't got any blueprints, you en't got a plan, and you can't do anything. I understood that to be mechanical law, and I understood that to be the solution of getting out of a problem. I'd been running for a while, and I was getting nowhere, anyway, so it seemed like my next best bet to actually make a plan.
I had crawled forward a little more. My tail had sank between my legs as I inhaled a deep breath. Opening, ten 'o clock! I could see it! The police officers had turned to their side for a moment, creating a space between the two of them. I wasted no time in bolting from behind the crate and rushing betweem them, whacking one on accident with my arm until he fell over. Then I had just started running again. I had run out into the street, car horns honking and people yelling angrily as the two officers followed after me. It didn't last long, though. The big shirt I had borrowed from Pockets to keep me warm was hard to move in. I fell over on the sidewalk, and just as I was scrambling up, one of the police officers had grabbed me.
"Got you, you little ..."
"Jimmy, you got him?" The voice of the other officer had called out.
"Yeah! Just barely! Go get the car! Pick up his Mom down by the bus-stop, tell her we got him, we're gonna take him down to the station, get this case wrapped up. Might want to phone Austin too, while you're at it.
"Austin's off work today!"
"Austin's never off work." The officer holding me had shook me a little as he dragged me up from the ground. I was kicking, and punching. I tried to bite him, but it didn't work, so I did what Caps told me to do. I howled, and I howled, and I howled. But I was alone. I was alone, and I was caught.
"It's okay, Louis, we just want to talk to you - we're here to help... It's okay."
I had stiffened in an instant, staring wide-eyed at the man. Louis?
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Posted: Sat Jan 03, 2009 11:07 am
Growth Quest: Part II of III Luc
I was feeling more sick than ever. I couldn't stop shaking. My hands were rattling as I tugged on the long sleeves of the flannel. I was caught. I was caught, and I was surrounded by funny smelling people, with funny looking faces, and questions I didn't wholly understand. Nothing was making sense to me. All I could remember was sitting on the bench; then the woman across the way had started crying out and pointing at me. That's my little boy.
"Louis?" A police officer had said to me. She was nice smelling, like flowers almost, but I wasn't sure what to think of her. I was going to be in so much trouble. I was already in a lot of trouble. I could feel tears building up in my eyes as I slipped far down into my seat.
"Louis, it'll just be a little longer. There's a man who is going to come in, alright? He just wants to have a word with you, that's all." She had smiled at me kindly, her blond bangs curled and loose in front of her face. She was pretty. I didn't think police officers could be so pretty, or even nice, but she seemed to be both. That changed nothing, though, and as she set a cup down on the top of the desk in front of me, I could only stare at it with the same wide-eyes I'd had since I'd first heard that name. "I brought you something. Your mother says you like hot chocolate."
"My name's not Louis; It's Luc, and she's not my mother." I had tried to correct her. She had only stared at me with pity in her eyes. It was like she thought I was crazy.
"Honey, no. It's Louis." She had spoken softly as she patted the desk with her hand.
"No! No, it's not!" I had barked at her feverishly. My hands had reached forward to grab the desk and steady myself. I could feel my mind wandering. I was going to be in so much trouble. I was already in trouble.
A knock on the door had ended our brief arguement. I had heard the latch click, and a loud creek had caused my ears to perk up. Nervously, I had glanced towards the door. The glass window was hazy. It wasn't the sort of window you could look through; all I could see was a shadow of a man until the figure had walked through the door. He was tall, and he looked a little stiff and tired. The way he hunched was odd. It was as if he hadn't slept in a long time, and his eyes seemed to say the same thing when he turned around. There was something more, though, behind the neat eyes, and the tidy brown hair with graying streaks, that screamed odd to me. I recognized the smell. I recognized him. It was ... Mr. Cunningham.
"Oh, Austin, you're here quick!" The policewoman had said. She sounded as if she were surprised.
"Of course - have you any idea how important this case is? That woman is one of the richest in town, and if I wasn't, she'd have everyone's ..." He had frozen midsentence to stare at me. Our eyes had met, mine wide and cowering, his simply shocked. "That kid?"
"You know him?" The policewoman had asked. When she received no answer, she had simply slipped away slowly. She had walked out the door, peeking inside for only a moment before she shut it completely, deciding it wasn't her place. I could smell the submission. It wasn't hard - and my nose was good. I knew when people were scared, just like I knew when I was scared.
"You're that kid from the store." Mr. Cunningham, or Austin, whoever he was, had said to me. His hand had touched his forehead. "The one with the turnip."
"My name's Luc!" I had slammed my hands onto the table. The little cup had wavered in its balance. "Please, my name's Luc!"
Mr. Cunningham had blinked, clearing his throat as he took a shaky seat. I could tell he was berating himself over something. I thought I knew what. "Louis?" He had asked.
"Luc!" I had cried out!
"No, no. You're Louis. It makes sense now - the last place she said she'd seen you was with the housekeeper, and ... Louis, you're safe."
I had inhaled a staggering breath. Fighting seemed pointless. The door was closed, the building was full. It was as if there was no escape.
"You said you were at the junk yard?"
Silence.
"Louis, I need you to talk to me - I know you're scared. What that woman did wasn't right, taking you from the house in the middle of the night - but it's over. I need you to tell me what happened, and where she is. Your mother's outside if you want to see her."
Silence.
That was how it went the entire interview. I just stared at Mr. Cunningham. I wasn't going to tell him anything about the junk yard, or about the camp, and especially not about Caps or Pockets. I wasn't going to tell him anything. If I played along long enough, an opening would come. Because that's the way it had to be.
The interview had ended on that note. They said that they couldn't keep me all night. Ms. Orange was upset, and she wanted to see her son. That was what they kept arguing about. Mr. Cunningham had walked out, leaving me with the policewoman again. Nothing but silence. Silence in a world of noise and calamity. I could feel tears falling from my eyes. I was ... I was scared. What if no opening ever came? With every tick of the clock, it seemed like the openings were closing, and I was all by myself.
The door had opened again, and this time Mr. Cunningham wasn't alone. Standing next to him was the woman from the bus stop. Her face was aged and raggity, her hair a long and flowing black with dim streaks fading color. She was fat too. She was really fat, and she seemed to be crying as she approached me, her body shaking as she wrapped me in her arms and squeezed me until I though I would stop breathing.
"Oh, my Louis. You're home. You're home, and you're okay!" She had cried. I had squirmed a little until she pulled back, then my jaw had dropped a little. She ... Was just like me. I had reached up carefully to touch my nose, only for the gesture to be paused by another hug. We both cried. I cried because things seemed more confusing than ever. She cried because she ... Had found me?
"Thank you, thank you, Austin. You have no idea how long I've been waiting to see my little boy! Oh, he looks so much bigger, and look at his hair!" The woman had sniffled, her hears perking like mine did. She was smiling, her plump face pushing up. "He's such a mess, but thank you, thank you, thank you." Then she had turned back to me. I heard those words again. "You're safe, now, sweetie. You're safe, and you're home."
Home. Home?
I had tried to move away from her, but she had only picked me up. She had held my within her big arms, my cheek pressed against her pearl necklace. She smelt like dust, and something else, something sour. "Can I take him home now? It's been a long day, and I know my daughter will be so happy to see him."
Mr. Cunningham hesitated. He was looking at me funny, as if he felt something were off.
No! No! I was trying to scream it out loud, but I couldn't find my voice. I could only find squeaks and whimpers. I was ... What was I going to do now that they had me? They were all mad. They wouldn't listen.
"I need to see him tomorrow, ma'am." Mr. Cunningham had cleared his throat.
"I-I'll make sure he's here!" The woman had cooed loudly. "Oh, come now, Austin, I'd never break a promise."
The look Mr. Cunningham gave. I wasn't sure if it was doubt or concern. He was eying me again, the way he had in the store, as if he suspected something - but he couldn't disagree. The submission was in the air again as his shoulders sank lower. He had given a gruff hum ...
And again the woman had spoken: "My little boy is home."
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Posted: Sat Jan 03, 2009 11:08 am
Growth Quest: Part III of III Luc Life never seems to work at a steady pace. It's as if it doesn't understand anything at all, just like the mind. The deeper I got into my own mess, the more confused I became. Who was Louis? Was I really Louis? Was Ms. Orange really my mother? It couldn't be. I was having trouble believing it. Every fiber of my being told me it was wrong.
It had been four days since the police had caught me and given me to Ms. Orange. The interviews with Mr. Cunningham seemed to continue, but he'd only ask the occasional question. Why was I calling myself Luc, who was the woman in the junk yard, and how was I feeling. I could never give him a satisfactory answer, and there was little more he could do. Before long, Ms. Orange had decided that it wasn't worth the trouble. In her mind, everything had been closed, and she just wanted to be home, and given the position everyone was in, they had to give her what she wanted.
I had learned quickly that her word was law. If Ms. Orange said something to someone, it happened. We had gone all around town with her daughter that afternoon. We had gone into fancy stores, and we had driven in nice, shiny cars. She bought me things, and the shopkeepers occasionally gave us something for free - and the world seemed to revolve around us. I wasn't sure whether or not I liked all of the pampering. Ms. Orange would pinch my cheeks and tug me along the whole way, and her poor daughter would huff, following along behind us and lugging the bags in a fuss. I could tell that she wasn't happy, and I think I understood why.
No one likes to be alone.
It was a special day, though. That was what Ms. Orange had told me. She was throwing a party at her mansion to celebrate that she had found me. In fact, it had become the centerpiece of the entire day. She had woke me up early into the morning and had hurried me along down the hallway to hand me off to Susan, one of her maids.
"See to it that he's bathed and groomed!" She had hummed to Susan, her tail wagging happily as she patted my head and smoothed my hair. I hated when she smoothed my hair, but she seemed bent on making me look good. She made me look like the boy in the pictures scattered all about the mansion. Smooth hair, neat, tidy clothing, and she had even bought me a pair of glasses. It made everything hard to see. I didn't need glasses - my vision was fine, but Ms. Orange was adamant. She wanted me to have the glasses.
This was where I drew my frustration. I hated the pampering of Ms. Orange. She would flutter about me and fuss about everything I did. If I moved the wrong way, she would correct me. She would clean my face during every meal or snack, and she would bring me many, saying how much she missed me at every turn. Nothing was quite as bad as the bath, though. She would hand me off to Susan four times a day for a bath, as I tended to be dirty without cause - or so she believed. I had been wallowing about the mansion yard, looking for holes in the gate or anything that could provide and easy in-or-out situation. I was worried about everyone. I was sure they were worried about me too.
"Remember to wash behind and around his ears, Susan." Ms. Orange had hummed as she hovered about the door. She gave direction, after direction. She was as specific as a mechanic, and I was her invention.
From the dirty bath, to my room where I was dressed in the finest of clothing (and the hardest to move in). She had thrown out my favorite cover-alls, and my shirt. Everything that was mine had been moved away, but it was for the better. That was what Ms. Orange would say about everything. She would say it about the clothing, about the bath, about the food, and she would always end everything with a carefully constructed: "You're home now, Louis, you're home." I hated the clothing almost as much as I hated the bath. It wasn't like receiving free things all the time, or having the world look all around you. I had received books, and toys, and everything I had never had before. That felt wonderful. I loved the books about planes, about boats, about cars, about machines. They were amazing books, and so were the toys. Yet, it was empty. It felt so empty, and it only made me angrier with every passing moment that I spent within my room, being changed into different outfits as if I were a doll for Ms. Orange to play with.
"I don't like this one at all!" She would say.
"But I like it." I would say, if only to try and intervene.
"But I do not!" She would declare, and she would scold me a moment before cooing and touching my face. She would kiss my forehead and brush my hair. She would tell me she loved me, and that felt nice. Pockets ... Had never said that he loved me.
But Pockets didn't dress me up. Pockets didn't tell me to take a bath, and Pockets didn't give me pieces of cake long after I was full. I was beginning to believe that there was no escape from Ms. Orange.
Except for the party.
The night came. Guests had flocked into the mansion, crowding it with their wine-glasses and stubborn looks. Their noses were held high, their tails wagged if they had them, and they chattered about things I could never fully understand. It was a boring evening in which Ms. Orange carried me about and displayed me to everyone who passed.
"Mr. Crowley, this is my son, Louis." She would say happily, and the guests would congratulate her finding me, and they would ask me how I was doing. They would pat my head, or shake my hand. They would smile at me, or they would frown at me. One man even gave me a nice watch and told me it was for being a trooper. It was an ordeal that seemed as if it would last for an eternity, which made everything worse. The more I saw people, the more I thought of Pockets, and the more I compared life.
He had stared at me with that quirked jaw. It made me shrink back some, but after a while, he quit. He just put his hand on my head and pressed his forehead against the crack in the door. "I left ... Home." It was a blunt statement, almost cold. "Long time ago."
My tail had sank. Home? That implied something good. That meant someone was looking for him - were they really bad people? There were so many question. "Home?"
"A bad place." Olivier had snorted, waving a hand as he went down a list. "Tell you what to eat, what to wear, what to do, what you can be - and they're not really your ..." He had paused, shaking his head. "No, it wasn't bad, but it wasn't right." He had run his fingers through his hair. "Like being ..."
"Trapped?" I had asked, perking up.
"Exactly. See this out here? It's freedom - and that's a beautiful thing. All we want, but there are some people out there who can't accept that. They'll take it away in an instant because they think they're right."
Freedom sounded beautiful, and ... He was right. It was freedom. I could remember the feel of the wind rushing through the railcar door when Pockets had opened it. I could remember the sounds of the city, the motion of the train. I could remember the rain in the junk yard as it clattered onto the roof, and I could remember roaming through the piles of scrap metal. I could remember having built things there, and showing them to everyone happily, even when they backfired and caused a big mess for us all.
That was freedom, and even though there were things I never received, something about it felt ... So right. And the more I thought, the more I wondered what I was doing waddling around a party with Ms. Orange. I knew the answer to that: I was scared. I was afraid. I didn't know who I was. Was I Louis? Was I Luc?
I had taken refuge from the party after finally getting away, finding a nice, quiet place outside in the garden and near the gate with all of its bushes. I sat there on the bench, dangling my legs and contemplating those questions. If I was Louis, then I belonged there. If I was Luc, I belonged outside - but who was I? The boy in the pictures looked like me, although it was hard to tell with black and white shots of a little boy so neatly dressed and smiling with his family. Even if I belonged there, though, I wasn't sure that I wanted to be there. The railcar. The camp. The wind against my face, and the stench of grease and freedom. I felt my chest twist with ache as I swayed my legs about the bench.
"Having fun out here?"
I had jumped at the sound of the voice. It was Nancy, Ms. Orange's daughter. She was towering over me, her arms folded across her chest. She looked pretty for some reason, despite her angry face. Her dark hair was neatly curled, and her dress seemed to shine in the dim moonlight. She looked a lot like Caps did when she was pouting.
"I guess..." I'd murmured quietly before looking at my feet. In all the time that I had been at the mansion, I had never really had the chance to talk to Nancy. I could tell she didn't like me.
"At least someone is." She had huffed at me before sitting down. "My Mom's looking for you?"
I had given her a funny look.
Nancy had rolled her eyes. "She may be blind, but I'm not stupid."
"How do you know?" I had snorted, nudging the ground with my foot. I hated shoes, but Ms. Orange had put me in a nice pair. I was bent on messing them up.
"Because you smell different. And Louis didn't like messes." Nancy had smiled for a moment. "He was a lot like Mom. Two of a kind. They both had an order. Everything neat, everything tidy. You don't seem like that. I see you when you mess up your hair every time she fixes it."
My shoulders had sank. My eyes had grown wide, and I could feel a sense of happiness building within me. Someone had been listening. "I'm Luc."
"I figured. Did you know that you talk in your sleep?"
I had frozen, lolling my head off to the side to look away nervously. It seemed weird that anyone would watch me while I was sleeping.
"No one listens to me." I had said after a moment. "I'm not sure what I believe. I don't ..."
"Know who you are? I know the feeling!" Nancy had smiled crookedly. "I feel the same way t---"
"Trapped?" I had offered
She had given a snarky look, shoving me off to the side before giving a serious look. "My Mom likes you. But she thinks you're Louis, and to tell you the truth, I was glad with Louis went missing."
"Glad?"
"He was happy too. I know he was."
My ears had perked. Louis was happy to be missing? He was ... Like Pockets, then, wasn't he? "He was glad?"
"Even neatfreaks get aggitated when everything is perfect. Mom suffocated him, so he left, and Lupae went with him."
"The maid?"
"The maid." Nancy had hummed. "And for a while it was okay."
"Your Mom doesn't talk to you, does she?"
Nancy had wrinkled her nose. "She used to - but now she has you."
I had frowned. It was exactly what I had thought with Nancy. She didn't like me. She didn't like me because I was Louis - and Louis was everything. It felt awkward sitting there on the bench with all the adults inside. The garden was quiet. It was empty.
And that gave me an idea.
"I hate it here." I said with a sharp breath. "I hate it here. So much."
"You do?" Nancy had snapped curiously. "You mean, you don't like it at all? Then why are you ...?"
"Because I don't know how to get out." I had confessed. Then I had looked towards the ground. The dirt. The garden.
"Oh, you're not ..."
"That's it! That's it!" I had jumped up from the bench, kicking the gate with my shoe. Shaking my head excitedly. "Dig! It makes so much sense now. I can dig!"
Nancy had stared at me with that smug confusion. Then we both had stiffened. We could hear Ms. Orange calling from inside. She wanted me. Louis, Louis, Louis. But I wasn't going back to her. Sitting outside, thinking, and thinking ... I wanted to go home. Home. Real home. I wanted Pockets to yell at me, and I wanted to be dirty again, and I wanted to be free, and, at the same time, I wanted Nancy to be happy too - because she looked so angry ... And no one likes to be alone.
"Go distract her!" I had barked at Nancy.
"No!" Nancy had scoffed.
"I don't want to stay here. You don't want me to stay here either, isn't that what you came out here to say?"
Silence. We were both breathing, eying each other with perked ears and still tails. Then Nancy had walked away with those keen eyes, that angry face. And I began to dig until she returned.
"She's talking to Mr. Crowley." Nancy had breathed. "But she says she'll be right out."
I kept digging.
"She's not going to be happy..."
"Help me!" I had snapped. "Just a little ... A little deeper."
Silence. Silence. It was so quiet in the garden, and I could feel the earth between my nails the more I dug. I could even feel more air and energy as Nancy joined me. She didn't like me - but she was helping me. Maybe I was wrong.
"Get out of here." She had snapped at me when we had dug a big enough hole. I had began to slide under, the iron gate lightly scratching my back as I slipped beneath it. I could hear Ms. Orange in the background. She was beginning to walk outside.
"But your Mom - you helped ..."
"Oh, this is easy." Nancy had grumped as she pushed me a little. "Hurry! Hurry!"
"Louis? Louis? What are you doing! Nancy, Nancy, grab him! Quick!"
And Nancy had winked at me as she reached. I had smiled. I had slipped under the fence, and I had ran. I had ran without a word, without a sound - and I had just kept running without any aim. I would get far enough away that smothering Ms. Orange wouldn't find me. No one would find me. Not all of the riches in the world, or all of the attention, or all of the things, could make me even dream of being found.
I was going home to freedom.
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Posted: Sat Jan 10, 2009 11:34 am
Olivier Something twisted within my chest at the sheer thought of it. He had become a part of the team. He was one of us. He was one of us, though I was confident that he did not share our goals or ambitions. When someone weasels their way into your life, it's almost an impossibility to imagine the horror of never seeing them again. You don't think about such things. You don't think about never seeing a goofy smile again, or seeing big eyes stare up at you in needy terror, or a small voice proclaiming anything out loud just to catch your attention. When someone has entered your life and remained, you don't think about the prospect that such little things are so important to you. That only comes up when someone is gone - and even then, I had never imagined that it would hurt so badly to lose someone. I had never lost anyone before. I had parted with friends, with allies, and I had run from traitors, but I had never lost anyone before. I lost him; and it took everything within me to hide the fear that kept me awake at night.
The camp was scattered. Twigs were piled up about the small fire we had constructed, which nipped and licked at the night, illuminating the mess of what had become a stressful four days. We could not clean. There seemed to be no point in gathering the cans of old pops, or the wrappers and boxes of food we had made to appease our stomachs when they became desperate for a bite of something. What little belongings we carried were set out and ignored, collecting dirt from the ground of the outdoors - and weak, flickering ash from the fire. We were a wreck. Everything was wrong, and it was something that we knew deep down within our hearts. It felt as if an injustice had been done to us.
That was why I was the one who could show no fear. I had to be stronger than that. I was responsible for everyone, and I had to be the one with a straight head. I had to make the decisions; I had to protect them, and I could not do that if I was constantly worrying about the kid and where he had gone for four days. Four days. He had been missing for so long a time, and everyone missed him. Caps talked about him every night; she wanted to go look for him. Button slept with the small turnip toy that had caused our immediate move, clinging and hugging it with sweet affections. The both of them were hurt almost as much as I was, though they could show it. They could worry.
The silence of the air was unnerving. Quietly, I had grabbed a twig, tossing it into the fire.
"Maybe he's at Junction?"
My head had shifted to look upward at Caps, who was sitting across the way. Her face had twisted anxiously as she removed her ball cap, her hair tumbling loosely from underneath it. She looked lost. She was lost.
I said nothing to her. I wouldn't offer false hope, but I didn't want to take it away from her. Instead, I had simply stood up and tossed a few more twigs into the fire before turning heel to walk away, my fingers tugging at my hair in a frustrated manner as I began a short trek down the path that lead through the trees of the camp.
"Pockets! Hey! Where are you going?" I heard Caps calling after me, but I didn't look back, and I didn't answer. I couldn't answer - but I needed to get away. I had to ... I was so worried. How could the kid do that to us? How could he disappear without a word, and never come back? It was my fault. It was all my fault; I was sure that it was my fault, and I had to get away. I had to.
"Olivier!" Caps had shouted at once, and I heard the sound of her hat on the ground. She had thrown it at me - and I knew she was angry. The only time she ever used that name was when I wouldn't answer her. "Olivier! Where are you going? Don't just walk away!"
Before long, her voice was a murmur, and the fire's light was dim. Shadows stretched about me, and I just stepped over them, hopping between the cracks of light to try and distract any thought. It was useless, and my the time I had reached where I had been headed, I could feel my eyes burn. I could remember that little puppy, and the old woman, and the fire. I could remember him rummaging through the garbage can, and I could remember the first invention he had showed us, only for it to fall apart in an instant. I could remember the trouble he caused, the fights we had. All of it was like a hurricane when I had reached the edge of the steep hill leading downward from the woods to the area cleared for the RV park leading into town. I stood there, my hands fiddling loosely with the sleeves of my shirt; I breathed, and I scuffed my foot. I fidgeted, and I thought until I had felt a hiccup in my chest.
Why did it hurt all of the sudden? The first few days had been alright. I had figured he was at Junction - doing something stupid - but I knew Luc. He came back every night when we were at Junction. He always came back. He hadn't come back, and that ... Was what hurt more than anything. I couldn't even remember the last words I had said to him.
The hiccup feeling in my chest had started again; angrily, I had kicked at the ground, grinding my shoe into it until there was a small mound of dirt. I had leaned over, grabbing a few pebbles and tossing them outward, down and down to the RV park with grunts and murmurs escaping my throat. It was incoherent, but it felt good. It felt good to do it.
I had given a hard pitch outward with a big stone, only to stagger forward and nearly tumble down the hill. My knees had scraped against the dirt and thin grass, and my hands had throbbed as they fell for balance. I could hear myself laughing a staggered laugh as I dropped to my stomach and rolled over, staring out at the open sky with only the occasional branch in my view. The stars were out, or a few were, all dappled and painted against the green and purple sky illuminated by the town and its lights just a distance way. There were two. Bright, shining, and hanging about close to the moon.
I was a grown man laying on the ground and crying about a kid I had lost. I was actually wondering how it felt, and it felt like a betrayal of karma, as if it were some bitter lesson being tossed back at me. But what had I done to deserve it? I lived a fair life. I thought I lived a fair life; I did everything for those kids. Everything was for them. It was my job to keep them safe and to make sure they were happy - so where would he have gone, and why had he left without a word? Even I had left a note before leaving home. A small note. At least a small goodbye. I was confident, though. Luc hadn't run away. He wouldn't run away, and I knew he wouldn't. Something had happened to him, and that was frightening. I could only begin to imagine. The world wasn't always pretty.
It seemed stupid. It was something that a small kid would have done, but at that moment, I needed it. I actually shut my eyes. I had set my hands on my stomach, and I had inhaled a few deep breaths, my own voice swirling about my head.
Make a wish.
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Posted: Sat Jan 10, 2009 11:36 am
 Luc It had been weeks since I had last seen the campground. The harrowing city streets had become something of a new home. The wonder and glamour that had surrounded it seemed to disappear with each passing moment. I wanted to be home. I wanted everything to go back to the way it had been before the accident with the turnip, and the even greater accident that had occurred with Ms. Orange. I wanted to return to the junkyard, to my Junction, to my home, where my workshop was. I wanted to return to making my inventions without worry of anything other than the potential of their exploding. I wanted to be able to plan the plane with Quincy; and most importantly, I wanted to see Pockets again.
As I walked the street, trying my hardest not to appear so obviously me, I kept wondering about him, and about Caps, and about Button. They had to be worried about me. Pockets was likely mad at me. After all, I had been gone so long. Without a word. Without a sound or a trace. I had simply vanished, and I knew that en’t right. It was against the rules to wander off alone without a word, and it was an even greater breaking of the rules to do what I had done: gotten caught. I could see the disappointment in his eyes, almost clearly, whenever I shut mine, and it sent shivers up my spine. But I deserved it. I was wrong, and he’d been right, and there en’t no freedom in a life like Ms. Orange’s or Nancy’s. It was like being tied up by ropes and told you couldn’t be you. No inventions, no nothing. Pockets was mean at times. He had a temper – but he had never told me that I couldn’t be me. He’d never said ‘don’t you go making none of those things you like to make’. He’d never punished me for wanting to build things. He’d never forced me to dress like anyone, or to do something I didn’t want to do, and he’d named me. He was my dad. That was the word Nancy had used to describe a man who names you and takes care of you. That’s your dad. Pockets was mine, and I missed him.
I had been lost all of that time. The buildings around me all looked the same. I couldn’t tell them apart, and the smells had all seemed similar too. It was like being lost in the woods, except there were people all around me, and none of them I knew. I couldn’t even see the man who worked at the stand, and who had nicely given me food on the day Ms. Orange had found me at the bus stop. I couldn’t even smell the sandwiches. It didn’t matter; I had to keep walking. I had to keep up my hope: I’d find the campground when I found the train tracks. If I followed those, I’d make it home. It’d be easy. The tracks ran into the station, and the station ran just beyond to the local camp sites, and in the woods, we were there. That’s the last place I had remembered being; every fiber of my being was almost afraid that Pockets might have moved camp without me. He might have left me, forgotten me, decided I wasn’t good enough. No. That was against the rules too. Or I thought it was. There were so many rules that I couldn’t remember.
My sharp teeth had lightly pinched my lip as I scuffed my bare feet against the sidewalk. There was a gruff texture to it that had seemed to grow rougher, prompting me to look down with exhaustion. It was then that I found the train tracks – and for the first time in what had seemed like forever, I wanted to burst out into tears. My arms had wrapped about myself; I was on the verge of laughing, of crying. I’d found it! I’d found it, and I was going home! Everyone would be there, I had reassured myself. I just needed to remember which way I needed to go. Which path to follow, which road to take. There were so many decisions, and there was so little time to make them. Police officers prowled the streets like monsters threatening to devour me; I couldn’t let them see me, or stop me. I had to get going as fast as I could, and standing dead on the tracks was as conspicuous as a turnip in a mechanic’s office. So I’d gone to the left and had walked straight on until the sun had began to fall towards the ground and I could barely see ten feet in front of me as a station came into view. And with it came the signs. The street signs. The residue smell of breakfast sandwiches. It was beautiful, like a memory I’d been missing forever; I hadn’t been able to contain myself, and, without thinking, I’d run. I’d run as fast as I could towards the station, towards the sign, my ears flapping behind me with the speed. I’d been running so fast that I hadn’t even noticed when an arm had slammed against my stomach, knocking me off balance, and leaving me hanging in the air as someone grabbed me, held me tight, lifted me up. I was kicking and screaming. I was howling, thrashing, moving to bite whoever had grabbed me off of the tracks and pulled me off to the side ground and into the grass near the station’s entrance.
“LET GO!” I had shrieked. I could feel my eyes growing wet. No, no, no. It couldn’t be happening again. It couldn’t be happening again. I was almost home. I was so close that I could taste it. I could almost hear the right voices within my ears, smell the proper scents. Home! And someone had the nerve to grab me. It couldn’t have been real, and the more pressure I felt around me, the more desperate I had become to get away. I was screaming at the top of my lungs when a large, pale tanned hand had been wrapped about my mouth, holding it shut as firmly as it could. I kept trying, until…
“Stop. Stop moving. Dammit, Luc, stop. It’s me. It’s me!”
I had frozen stiff, tears streaming down my eyes as I looked up. It was Pockets. A bloated bag was on his back, signaling he’d been to the store just recently in the city. His eyes were etched with bewilderment and panic, just like mine were, and we’d stared at each other through a chance. I’d found the tracks I knew to walk, the tracks I knew Pockets walked, and I’d found him. I’d found it. I’d found home. I was going home!
Without a word, I just began to cry. I had felt my chest shake as I grabbed hold of his shirt tight and held on. I was a mess. I was dirty. I was hungry. But I was happy.
I’d gone a long way to find it, and I knew for certain: I never wanted to lose it again.
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