[197 / 8 / 1]
Quoted By:
Every night you go to bed and you dream.
Of the sky, the wind running along your skin, whistling in your ear till you can't hear yourself think. Sometimes it's a storm with you at its center, watching it crush everything in its path, thunder rolling, lightning splitting the world. Or space, where there's no noise, nothing weighing you down. Just infinity punctuated by stars.
Your alarm drags you awake.
The same drab ceiling with paint chipping at the corner stares back at you like always. The room's humid again from sleeping with the windows shut. Your routine never changes: get up, eat whatever's in the fridge, shower, work construction for twelve hours, come home dead, repeat.
Your name is Arthur Carr. You live in a run-down apartment, work dead-end construction jobs. And tomorrow, your niece who you haven't seen in years is coming.
Your mother had four children; you being the youngest. None of you grew up well-adjusted. Your eldest sister Rosie married a cop who uses her for a punching bag. She convinces herself that getting abused is part and parcel of the "good life," whatever the hell that means.
Irene, second oldest, grew up hating everything about herself and her family—-an ambitious overachiever, always with a barb loaded behind her tongue. The first chance she got, she fled with some rich boyfriend. Last you knew, she’d gone to school and divorced her boyfriend turned husband, she defends pharmaceutical companies for enough money that she can afford to forget where she came from
April was only a few years older than you, but when you were a kid, you sometimes imagined she was your mother. She was kind and reliable in all the ways your real mother wasn't. She stayed the longest, because of you. You don't let yourself think about her anymore.
It's April's daughter who's coming to live with you. The social workers made it clear you weren't their first choice, so you can only imagine how bad things must be with Rosie and Irene. Though Irene probably refused outright—that's her style.
You're halfway through a cup of coffee when a knock at the door comes.
You open and the social worker stands in your doorway. Her raven hair reaching to her shoulders, she's wearing that same unreadable expression as in all your previous meetings.
Your niece stands at her side. You got the date wrong. <span class="mu-i">How dammit?</span>
"Hello, Uncle Arthur."
The girl's voice barely makes it across the threshold. You've met her three times— once when she was born and two supervised visits where the social worker did most of the talking while you sat there just listening.
It takes you half a second too long to respond. Uncertainty worms into her eyes.
The worker shoots you a look that breaks you out of your stupor. You get down to her level, smile wide and do your best to give a good impression.
“Hello Sophie, come in. Are you hungry?"
Of the sky, the wind running along your skin, whistling in your ear till you can't hear yourself think. Sometimes it's a storm with you at its center, watching it crush everything in its path, thunder rolling, lightning splitting the world. Or space, where there's no noise, nothing weighing you down. Just infinity punctuated by stars.
Your alarm drags you awake.
The same drab ceiling with paint chipping at the corner stares back at you like always. The room's humid again from sleeping with the windows shut. Your routine never changes: get up, eat whatever's in the fridge, shower, work construction for twelve hours, come home dead, repeat.
Your name is Arthur Carr. You live in a run-down apartment, work dead-end construction jobs. And tomorrow, your niece who you haven't seen in years is coming.
Your mother had four children; you being the youngest. None of you grew up well-adjusted. Your eldest sister Rosie married a cop who uses her for a punching bag. She convinces herself that getting abused is part and parcel of the "good life," whatever the hell that means.
Irene, second oldest, grew up hating everything about herself and her family—-an ambitious overachiever, always with a barb loaded behind her tongue. The first chance she got, she fled with some rich boyfriend. Last you knew, she’d gone to school and divorced her boyfriend turned husband, she defends pharmaceutical companies for enough money that she can afford to forget where she came from
April was only a few years older than you, but when you were a kid, you sometimes imagined she was your mother. She was kind and reliable in all the ways your real mother wasn't. She stayed the longest, because of you. You don't let yourself think about her anymore.
It's April's daughter who's coming to live with you. The social workers made it clear you weren't their first choice, so you can only imagine how bad things must be with Rosie and Irene. Though Irene probably refused outright—that's her style.
You're halfway through a cup of coffee when a knock at the door comes.
You open and the social worker stands in your doorway. Her raven hair reaching to her shoulders, she's wearing that same unreadable expression as in all your previous meetings.
Your niece stands at her side. You got the date wrong. <span class="mu-i">How dammit?</span>
"Hello, Uncle Arthur."
The girl's voice barely makes it across the threshold. You've met her three times— once when she was born and two supervised visits where the social worker did most of the talking while you sat there just listening.
It takes you half a second too long to respond. Uncertainty worms into her eyes.
The worker shoots you a look that breaks you out of your stupor. You get down to her level, smile wide and do your best to give a good impression.
“Hello Sophie, come in. Are you hungry?"
