Author's Note: Hmm ok..let me set this straight, this ISN'T (Repeat: NOT)
self-insert, yes, the girl's name is Derby and yes my author's name is
Derby but that doesn't necessarily mean I'm the girl in the story. *Happy
happy smile* Sooo..this is my first semi-good fic, flame if ya want
(mmm..BBQ!) Oh yeah, this whole story will end when she gets to the lodging
house because it's just basically telling her history.
Disclaimer: What you don't recognize is mine and what you do is not.
`*`*`*`*`
She was neither beautiful nor ugly. Not worth a second look on the street but somehow unavoidable. Her hair was black as the night and curled nicely but was masked by dirt and grime. Her eyes could have been a pretty green if they weren't so used to looking at ugly things. Her voice was loud and bold, with the familiar trace of a Brooklyn accent so common in her area. She knew only of the poor life, but lusted for wealth. Adventure and the stage, she often said, that was the life for her. The people laughed when she said such things, a poor girl like her living in the lap of luxury? Not likely, she was dirty like the rest of them.
Charlotte longed to get away from her plain life and embark on adventures she'd only read about, or rather, that she had only heard about. She wasn't educated like the girls in the big houses on the outskirts of the city, who wore colourful dresses and bows in their hair and spoke with small, high- class accented voices. Charlotte didn't care about the clothes or beautiful carriages; she wanted to be independent or free in her words. To do what she wanted without worrying what mama or father wanted. Not that she didn't care for her family, they meant the world to her, but mama was always sick and father always drinking, while Robin her younger brother, only 9, would be at the river all day with his friends.
"Charley! Quit mullin' about an' go buy a pape! Ain't read about nothin' in the last week." Charlotte's father ordered. He was fair tempered, but after a long afternoon working in the boiling sun and sipping whisky here and there, he was irritated easily.
Charlotte was never called Charlotte. Her name didn't suit her for one, and Brooklynites never used a person's proper name. She was called Charley to most, although she didn't care much for it.
She let her thin sweater fall off her shoulders as she walked to the nearest corner where she could buy a paper. Newsboys, known more as Newsies, could be seen everywhere. Most were orphans, some were runways, and all were trying to make a living. Charlotte had always pretended to be fearless, and was usually, but the Newsies made her nervous. They looked innocent enough but were brash and loud. They yelled the headlines, more than likely stretched farther from the truth than imaginable, crowded into restaurants and on the street corners.
She casually walked to the nearest newsie she could find, not wanting to stray far from her familiar home. She was secretly in awe as she watched the newsie boldly shout the fake headlines, if she couldn't live a life on the stage, she would wish to be a newsie.
Although the boy handed her a paper without a second glance, he took an unusually long time fumbling in his pockets for Charlotte's change. Charlotte waited impatiently. Finally, she gave up, telling the boy to keep the change. She knew her father wouldn't be pleased that she had let a good 5 cents slip away when it could be used on other things.
"Like Ale." Charlotte thought, somewhat bitterly.
The walk home was uneventful. She could only think of living the free life of a newsie.
Before Charlotte had even stepped in the door she heard her father,
"Charley! What took ya s'long? I been waitin'! What ya been doin', messin with those newsboys?" He snarled. Charlotte took a step back, never had she seen her father so mad. He had been drinking all day, more than usual.
"Answer me, girl!" Her father continued, her mother did nothing, just kept concentrating on the soup boiling like she was trying to block them all out.
Her father advanced towards her, a look of sheer anger in his eyes. Charlotte took another step back. He was an inch from her face, she could feel his breath.
Spur of the moment, Charlotte turned and ran back out the door, down the street and never stopped, nor looked back. She could still hear her father yelling and cursing her.
She vowed not to go back, if she wanted adventure that was what she was going to get. Father's constant drinking had worn her out, she had had enough.
The headlines still echoed through the quickly darkening sky. Charlotte's mind raced. She didn't know where to go or what to do. She had no money, no food, but no reason to go back home.
Gathering her courage, she started down the street to the Brooklyn Bridge. Ready to finally be free.
Disclaimer: What you don't recognize is mine and what you do is not.
`*`*`*`*`
She was neither beautiful nor ugly. Not worth a second look on the street but somehow unavoidable. Her hair was black as the night and curled nicely but was masked by dirt and grime. Her eyes could have been a pretty green if they weren't so used to looking at ugly things. Her voice was loud and bold, with the familiar trace of a Brooklyn accent so common in her area. She knew only of the poor life, but lusted for wealth. Adventure and the stage, she often said, that was the life for her. The people laughed when she said such things, a poor girl like her living in the lap of luxury? Not likely, she was dirty like the rest of them.
Charlotte longed to get away from her plain life and embark on adventures she'd only read about, or rather, that she had only heard about. She wasn't educated like the girls in the big houses on the outskirts of the city, who wore colourful dresses and bows in their hair and spoke with small, high- class accented voices. Charlotte didn't care about the clothes or beautiful carriages; she wanted to be independent or free in her words. To do what she wanted without worrying what mama or father wanted. Not that she didn't care for her family, they meant the world to her, but mama was always sick and father always drinking, while Robin her younger brother, only 9, would be at the river all day with his friends.
"Charley! Quit mullin' about an' go buy a pape! Ain't read about nothin' in the last week." Charlotte's father ordered. He was fair tempered, but after a long afternoon working in the boiling sun and sipping whisky here and there, he was irritated easily.
Charlotte was never called Charlotte. Her name didn't suit her for one, and Brooklynites never used a person's proper name. She was called Charley to most, although she didn't care much for it.
She let her thin sweater fall off her shoulders as she walked to the nearest corner where she could buy a paper. Newsboys, known more as Newsies, could be seen everywhere. Most were orphans, some were runways, and all were trying to make a living. Charlotte had always pretended to be fearless, and was usually, but the Newsies made her nervous. They looked innocent enough but were brash and loud. They yelled the headlines, more than likely stretched farther from the truth than imaginable, crowded into restaurants and on the street corners.
She casually walked to the nearest newsie she could find, not wanting to stray far from her familiar home. She was secretly in awe as she watched the newsie boldly shout the fake headlines, if she couldn't live a life on the stage, she would wish to be a newsie.
Although the boy handed her a paper without a second glance, he took an unusually long time fumbling in his pockets for Charlotte's change. Charlotte waited impatiently. Finally, she gave up, telling the boy to keep the change. She knew her father wouldn't be pleased that she had let a good 5 cents slip away when it could be used on other things.
"Like Ale." Charlotte thought, somewhat bitterly.
The walk home was uneventful. She could only think of living the free life of a newsie.
Before Charlotte had even stepped in the door she heard her father,
"Charley! What took ya s'long? I been waitin'! What ya been doin', messin with those newsboys?" He snarled. Charlotte took a step back, never had she seen her father so mad. He had been drinking all day, more than usual.
"Answer me, girl!" Her father continued, her mother did nothing, just kept concentrating on the soup boiling like she was trying to block them all out.
Her father advanced towards her, a look of sheer anger in his eyes. Charlotte took another step back. He was an inch from her face, she could feel his breath.
Spur of the moment, Charlotte turned and ran back out the door, down the street and never stopped, nor looked back. She could still hear her father yelling and cursing her.
She vowed not to go back, if she wanted adventure that was what she was going to get. Father's constant drinking had worn her out, she had had enough.
The headlines still echoed through the quickly darkening sky. Charlotte's mind raced. She didn't know where to go or what to do. She had no money, no food, but no reason to go back home.
Gathering her courage, she started down the street to the Brooklyn Bridge. Ready to finally be free.