Hey, everybody! It has been a little while since I posted anything to the site. Unfortunately I had hit a serious case of writer's block on the Girls of Manchester series of stories. I am still working on them, and have gotten quite a bit of work done on that particular series. I am happy to say that there are three stories in that series that are in the works. Two can be read as standalone stories but involve characters from the main story line. The third is a continuation of the main story line involving Elizabeth, Amanda and Kittie. Hopefully I can get those out by year's end.
This story and the chapters that follow (yes, this is going to be a series too) are something completely new. This first chapter is going to be controversial, I know. Like Girls of Manchester, the actual sex will not come until further along in the story. Chapter 4 or 5 maybe. I tend to write long stories because I love stories with good plot. That influences my writing style heavily. If you are looking for a quickie, my stories are definitely not what you are looking for. If you want plot, buildup, and don't mind some emotion (or a lot, because I am an emotional person) then you might like my stories. Some people do, some don't.
Thank you in advance if you decide to read this story, and I look forward to your comments. I always love to read what people have to say, and I always use those comments to try to improve myself as a writer. If you had ever seen some of my earlier attempts at writing (which have never been posted), you probably never would have given these stories a second glance. It took time to develop myself to this point, and I look forward to getting better with the help of your input.
Please bear in mind the latter part of this story will be controversial, and may hit close to home for some of you as it does me.
This story is not intended for viewing by anyone under the age of 18 or the applicable laws or statutes where you reside. You assume all risk in continuing to read this story. If the subject matter offends you, feel free to hit the back button on your browser.
Thanks again for reading, and I look forward to your comments!
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The night was abnormally cold and clear. Even within the limits of the inner city the starlight pierced determinedly through the haze created by the combination of lights and car exhaust. It was a beautiful night. The wind blew crisply along the streets, the buildings along the streets creating wind tunnels that whipped the hair of the two figures walking hand in hand along the street. With each blast of cold air, they both used their free hands to gather their coats as close to their bodies as possible. This vain attempt to preserve some manner of heat was merely a means of trying to survive. In the inner city, for people like them, survival was always the number one priority.
Anne led her daughter by the hand, occasionally stopping at shop windows. At each stop, her six-year-old daughter would go wide-eyed with wonder at the things she saw. Anne couldn't help but smile at the exuberance and childish joy of young Layla. Her daughter had not yet reached the age where the reality of their situation had fully sunk in to her youthful mind. Anne knew that it was only a matter of time before Layla finally would be able to get a grasp of their situation and the knowledge would crush the spirit out of the young girl. She would finally come to realize what her mom did to help keep the little food they received in their stomachs, and the mediocre shelter that an overhang outside of a long-abandoned inner-city warehouse provided them. Her daughter did not yet understand the true meaning of homelessness. Anne knew she was simply running out of time before she would no longer see that spark of joy in her daughter's eyes. The only thought that scared her more was that something would happen to her, and her daughter would be left alone, defenseless.
It was these moments, one of the few times she was able to indulge slightly in Layla's childish desires, that she treasured the most. She had managed to get enough cash off of her last few clients to be able to afford a hotel room for the week of Christmas, just days away. They would be able to splurge a little and have good food, buy some new clothes, and watch the Christmas movies like she did with her mother when she was Layla's age. The thought of her mother sent waves of sadness coursing through her mind as her daughter jumped up and down, positively squealing about something she saw in a department store window. Apparently, Layla had not noticed and Anne was at least happy for that much. There was little that got her daughter's spirits down yet.
Anne, on the other hand, was a completely different story. She was born into a lower middle-class family in the suburbs. They had moved that way to get as far from the problems of the inner city as possible. She had gone to school and graduated. She had been planning to go to college with some of her high school friends. They would go to school during the day, then party and get drunk at night. They would get boyfriends and learn to live on their own, free of the oppressive stuffiness of their parents' homes. At least that had been the idea at the time. A month after graduation, she started feeling nauseous. It had become a regular thing. She was often moody and sore. Her mother had taken her straight to a CVS store nearby and bought a pregnancy test. The results were positive. Her parents had gotten angry with her. They had no means to take care of a baby as well as her, and she had been on the cusp of leaving the house.
The questions came left and right. How would she shelter the baby? How would she feed it, clothe it? How would she be there for her child when she had to go to classes? Who would look after the baby during those times? What would Anne's 8 year old sister think and do having to compete with a baby for attention and resources? With each question, the only answer she could think of in her mind was 'I need you'. As the tirade got more heated, it became evidently clear that they refused to provide any support for a child born outside of marriage. It was a sin, she was a sinner. She was bringing misery down upon the whole family. They demanded the only logical thing they could think of given their anti-abortion stance. She would give the baby away.
Anne looked down at her daughter, still pointing at the window, the words coming enthusiastically from her daughter's mouth practically unheard by her. She attempted a smile, and her daughter quit pointing. Layla walked to her mother and threw both arms around Anne's waist, burying her face in her mother's waist.
"Don't be sad, mommy." Layla said pleadingly.
Anne heard her clearly that time, and wiped at her face. She had been crying and her daughter had noticed. Anne started to tremble in tearful anger as she bent down to return Layla's affection. She laid her chin on her daughter's shoulder as a few silent tears managed to make their escape. She cursed her parents in her thoughts, unwilling to say those things out loud that would turn her daughter against them. How could they ask her to give up such a precious thing, a precious gift? Her daughter was the sole light left in her world, a mighty bulwark against the dark thoughts that constantly tried to invade her mind. With one smile, her daughter always managed to banish those thoughts away. Her daughter was kind-hearted, exceedingly generous, and far too trusting of everybody. She was the personality type that everyone would try to take advantage of. That worried Anne.
She pulled back from Layla's embrace and looked at her daughter's tearful face. She truly was a God-sent little angel. She wiped away her daughter's tears and then her own before giving her daughter a beaming smile. She took her daughter's hand and warily led her inside of the store. She had been asked on several occasions before what it was like to be homeless and a mother. The answer, she guessed, was not entirely satisfactory for them. How could they understand what it was like to be homeless and raise a precocious, but precious young girl into the world? When they finished their interview, she was left with twenty dollars and standing in line at a McDonald's so she could buy the first meal she and her daughter would have in two days.
The men who interviewed her had left rather brusquely when everything was over, climbing into expensive luxury cars and driving away wearing clothes expensive enough that their suit jackets alone would clothe both her daughter and herself for a full year. The woman, who she guessed was their assistant, was similarly attired and drove a similarly expensive car. Yet the woman seemed to actually care, taking some time to chat with her and her daughter over lunch. Layla had been enthusiastic about the conversation. She pointed out every bird and squirrel she could see, and the woman had been patient and attentive to the little girl's childish attentions. Anne could see that look in the woman's eyes. It was not a sadness, really. It looked the same, but there are subtle differences between sadness and pity. It is all in the eyes. Pity would not feed Layla.
As Anne stood in the doorway of the department store, the well-worn clothes that she and her daughter possessed immediately marked them as different- so did the smell. The inner city had a stench, a stink to it that normally could be washed out. After a period of exposure, however, the smell seemed to permanently attach itself to cloth and person like an invisible appendage. The looks of condescension given by employees and other store patrons were almost too much for her to bear. Yet she swallowed her pride and followed her daughter around to the display case where the item her daughter had been completely enamored with outside became abundantly clear. Anne couldn't help but smile at Layla as she hopped up and down in youthful enthusiasm, pointing once more at the small stuffed teddy bear. Anne's heart melted completely and she reached out to touch the stuffed toy, watching her daughter gaze at her with pure joy as Anne's fingers made contact with the plush animal.
