A/N: Two words: writer's block.
Disclaimer: See previous chapters.
~*~*~*~
November 2, 1899
It's been quite some time since I last wrote here. Reason be that there has been nothing worth wasting ink and paper on. After the bathtub incident Blink avoided me altogether. I suppose he thinks I'm angry with him; I did sound like it that night.
Over the last few days I've been stuck in a routine of utter dullness. Wake up, go to the flower shop, sell flowers, casually pass Blink's selling spot in Central park, receive a cold look from him, sigh, go back to the fire escape I call home, eat, and sleep. It's quite discouraging when your life can be summed up in a few empty sentences.
I must do something to get out of this rut. I may go insane. (Or am I already insane? I cannot remember.)
~*~*~
November 3, 1899
To Brooklyn I go. Spot I must see. well, that could have been the beginning of an amusing song, but I'm afraid I can't rhyme well.
It took only moments to find Spot; he was sitting like a king on a barrel in a busy alley, watching his 'kingdom' of newsies sell their papers. His gaze merely flickered to me when I sat on next to him. He yawned and asked, "Who're you? Whattya want?"
If it was anyone except Spot, I wouldn't have been offended, anyone but Spot. I replied, "Yorkie. We met when I ah. fell on you. Remember?"
"No, I don't remember. Dis is Brooklyn territory, so ya better leave." He did not even look at me when he spoke, as though I was not worth even a moment of his time.
I was irate. I glared at him; he cast his bored gaze back at me while I angrily jumped off the barrel. I was able to get my foot caught in the barrel top and as usual, tumbled down onto the ground. I brushed my self off and trying to look as calm as I could I stalked off.
I could hear Spot and his gang laughing like crows at me.
~*~*~
Well, I believe the Spot chapter in my life has been finished with a tremendous bang. I have decided that egotistical leaders of large cities are not right for me. It's the pants, I know it is. The pants must cut off their blood flow and make their ego swell to unknown proportions.
It is about four o'clock. I'm sitting outside the ancient library, reading one of the many books I've stolen from through the window. This one is called, "Profit From Textiles" How interesting, did you know the average textile is three feet in width?
~*~*~
"Yorkie?" Oh for God's good gracious sake. It's Blink.
I seemed to have fallen asleep against the cold brick wall of the library, spit from sleep running like a river down the front of my dress. Lovely.
I tried to pretend I could not hear Blink, and was still asleep. He finally poked me harshly with a stick. The faint memory of my first meeting with the pirate flashed back in my mind. I miss those days dearly.
Finally, I snapped my eyes open, "Yes?" I asked. He sat next to me, looking slightly uncomfortable.
"Uh, it's going to start snowing soon." He said awkwardly, vaguely mentioning that December was approaching.
"Yes. I know, Blink." I answered, looking at the sky. I hoped I did not sound too harsh. He didn't seem to notice if I had.
"Look, I just wanna say I'm sorry." Blink threw the words out. He looked at me, I looked at him.
He read my look, which implied, 'for what?'
He sighed softly. Removing his cap and running a hand through his hair he replied, "I don't know. Whatever you'se made at me for. I missed you."
I stared at him, more like gaped. He thought I was angry with him? For what? I explained that I was not angry, only that I didn't understand his reaction to when I had said I loved Spot. (I noticed he grimaced slightly when I said Spot.) I concluded with today's encounter with Brooklyn leader himself.
"I told ya Spot was trouble." Blink mumbled, "Let's just say sorry, ok?" he said, half asking. I agreed, and he held out his hand for me. We walked together to Tibby's; he mentioned nothing else of our previous discussion.
As we were walking through the open market, him making me laugh nearly every second with his never ending smile, a hand grabbed my arm. I looked up at the owner of the hand; it was a woman with black hair pulled back into a bun and a slight scowl on her face.
"Netty?" the woman inquired.
It was my mother.
--- Derby: Wow, what a cheesy chapter. Lol. Anywho, next chappie coming soon.
Disclaimer: See previous chapters.
~*~*~*~
November 2, 1899
It's been quite some time since I last wrote here. Reason be that there has been nothing worth wasting ink and paper on. After the bathtub incident Blink avoided me altogether. I suppose he thinks I'm angry with him; I did sound like it that night.
Over the last few days I've been stuck in a routine of utter dullness. Wake up, go to the flower shop, sell flowers, casually pass Blink's selling spot in Central park, receive a cold look from him, sigh, go back to the fire escape I call home, eat, and sleep. It's quite discouraging when your life can be summed up in a few empty sentences.
I must do something to get out of this rut. I may go insane. (Or am I already insane? I cannot remember.)
~*~*~
November 3, 1899
To Brooklyn I go. Spot I must see. well, that could have been the beginning of an amusing song, but I'm afraid I can't rhyme well.
It took only moments to find Spot; he was sitting like a king on a barrel in a busy alley, watching his 'kingdom' of newsies sell their papers. His gaze merely flickered to me when I sat on next to him. He yawned and asked, "Who're you? Whattya want?"
If it was anyone except Spot, I wouldn't have been offended, anyone but Spot. I replied, "Yorkie. We met when I ah. fell on you. Remember?"
"No, I don't remember. Dis is Brooklyn territory, so ya better leave." He did not even look at me when he spoke, as though I was not worth even a moment of his time.
I was irate. I glared at him; he cast his bored gaze back at me while I angrily jumped off the barrel. I was able to get my foot caught in the barrel top and as usual, tumbled down onto the ground. I brushed my self off and trying to look as calm as I could I stalked off.
I could hear Spot and his gang laughing like crows at me.
~*~*~
Well, I believe the Spot chapter in my life has been finished with a tremendous bang. I have decided that egotistical leaders of large cities are not right for me. It's the pants, I know it is. The pants must cut off their blood flow and make their ego swell to unknown proportions.
It is about four o'clock. I'm sitting outside the ancient library, reading one of the many books I've stolen from through the window. This one is called, "Profit From Textiles" How interesting, did you know the average textile is three feet in width?
~*~*~
"Yorkie?" Oh for God's good gracious sake. It's Blink.
I seemed to have fallen asleep against the cold brick wall of the library, spit from sleep running like a river down the front of my dress. Lovely.
I tried to pretend I could not hear Blink, and was still asleep. He finally poked me harshly with a stick. The faint memory of my first meeting with the pirate flashed back in my mind. I miss those days dearly.
Finally, I snapped my eyes open, "Yes?" I asked. He sat next to me, looking slightly uncomfortable.
"Uh, it's going to start snowing soon." He said awkwardly, vaguely mentioning that December was approaching.
"Yes. I know, Blink." I answered, looking at the sky. I hoped I did not sound too harsh. He didn't seem to notice if I had.
"Look, I just wanna say I'm sorry." Blink threw the words out. He looked at me, I looked at him.
He read my look, which implied, 'for what?'
He sighed softly. Removing his cap and running a hand through his hair he replied, "I don't know. Whatever you'se made at me for. I missed you."
I stared at him, more like gaped. He thought I was angry with him? For what? I explained that I was not angry, only that I didn't understand his reaction to when I had said I loved Spot. (I noticed he grimaced slightly when I said Spot.) I concluded with today's encounter with Brooklyn leader himself.
"I told ya Spot was trouble." Blink mumbled, "Let's just say sorry, ok?" he said, half asking. I agreed, and he held out his hand for me. We walked together to Tibby's; he mentioned nothing else of our previous discussion.
As we were walking through the open market, him making me laugh nearly every second with his never ending smile, a hand grabbed my arm. I looked up at the owner of the hand; it was a woman with black hair pulled back into a bun and a slight scowl on her face.
"Netty?" the woman inquired.
It was my mother.
--- Derby: Wow, what a cheesy chapter. Lol. Anywho, next chappie coming soon.