Klover-Sounds like your family? Oh you poor dear.But you've lived so far,
so I guess it can't be too bad. Glad you liked, thanks!
Chicago-Sorry I took so long! Glad you liked, even if you thought his
family was freaky(trust me, I do too!). Good sleep!
Asp-Fifth Element IS awesome. Spiffy. Oo. I like that word. Lovely. Thanks!
Gothic Author-who I want to call Gothy, may I? Please? Yay, glad you like
it when Dutchykins is happy. Makes me happy too.
Written from Swifty(weeeelll, Kevin Steas) B-Day. Happy birthday, darlin'!
~!!~!!~!!~
Me and my mother-We were always running. I don't really know why.
Okay, screw that. Erase, back up, change, whatever.
Me and my mother-We were always running. I do know why, though.
First we were running from my dads family-high society men don't exactly appreciate it when their sons knock up Chinese immigrants who have no intention of marrying the afore mentioned son. Then were running from my dad-when his family gave up the chase, he took over. Then we were running from the detectives and snoops who he sent in his place once he got tired of tracking down us himself. Then we were running from the cops- prostitution is still illegal, no matter where you go. And let's face it- there was no way my mother was going to be able to marry any one else-not with being constantly on the run and having a kid and all.
Then it was just me running. I was running from the street corners where Mother worked, just so I wouldn't have to see her slumming up with rats against alley way walls.
So, I would run. I was only like, what? 6, 8, something like that at the time, so I couldn't run far, but Lord Almighty, I was fast. Still am. But back then I had little kid energy to boot. I used to start timing myself. I'd leave mother at 7:30, and, if I was on a sugar high and didn't stop to wait for traffic, I could run the 8 city blocks to our apartment in the Red Light District at 7:36 by the kitchen clock.
When I'm running, I'm free. Tall dark streak of light-that's who I am. I feel all powerful-down right godlike, in fact. Nothing can touch me; no one can get to me, no matter what. I'm flying above the ground. I'm running faster then any one could think possible, and I Am Free.
That's when I'm running and in a good mood. Running is also a form of therapy, I guess. I am beyond fast when I'm running and I'm sad or angry or just plain old scared shitless. The fastest I've ever run was when I was 9- when I won the all-city-unofficial Newsboys race. Okay, seeing as you know my current occupation and all that junk, what happened may appear kinda obvious. Ehh! Wrong.
See, the day-no, week-no, MONTH had been, so to speak, A Royal Hell. Part of the whole slut thing involves drinking of snorking whatever your client offers, and I guess Mother inhaled some pretty serious shit, because when she came back in the morning, she was legally married to Mr. Slimeball himself. Okay, I'm being unfair. Arthur was a nice guy. He just, you know, had a temper and required a blow job from both Mother AND me whenever he felt we needed to be 'forgiven'. My real father had been an interrogation lawyer, so I guess I had been naturally bred to have a pretty strong temper- one which I can keep in check 95% of the time, but after a month of beatings and cocksucking I Was Pissed. So when Arthur hit me, I took off.
I just started running. Out of our apartment complex, down the street, and away-away, away, AWAY! I couldn't see where I was going through the haze of red and tears, I just knew I was moving fast, almost too fast, and I didn't care. I ran until the air in my lungs felt like fire and my legs began to slip and slide. That's another thing, when I'm running, I never trip. Never. The sliding was beginning to scare me, so I pulled to a stop, along with some other boys. People were all around us, screaming and cheering, and it scared me. The crack of the gun I heard a few seconds later scared me more. So I took off again, putting everything I had into running away from the gun, and whoever was behind it. The crowd grew silent as I ran, easily passing all of the boys as I sped away down the street. Suddenly an arm reached out and grabbed me. I screamed, but it wasn't Arthur, it was a boy with masses of curly hair and a crutch.
"Whoa, kid, slow down. The race is over, you can stop now." I finally allowed myself a breath, a confused look about, only to realize I had somehow managed to wind up down by the Brooklyn docks and there were about 200 other boys charging towards us. One stepped out of the crowd.
"What's your name, kid? Where you from?" He asked, angry. I prepared to take off again. What if he was part of Arthur's circle? I don't want to go back.
The boy with the crutch answered for me, "He's with us, Spot. No issue."
The second boy snorted, "Are you telling me Manhattan beat out Brooklyn in THIS race?"
Crutch-boy nodded with a grin shot at a group of boys in the crowd that had gathered, "Yep. His name is-" he faltered, but recovered quickly with a smirk, "Swifty. And he's with us."
"Rumors about a secret weapon were true, Conlon! Hand over that prize!" A boy yelled from the crowd, offering me a grin.
Conlon spat on the pavement, "My ass I will. There's nothing between those fucking enormous ears of yours, Crutchy, if you think I'll believe that load of bullcrap."
The anger swelled within me again. I hate it when people pull shit like that. I stepped forward, glaring at the Conlon boy, "My name is Swifty Lee and I'm from Manhattan. Hand over that prize."
A loud cry rallied forth from the crowd. Apparently no one had ever really stood up to 'Spot' before. The Manhattan boys grabbed me and dragged me off to a alley near by to give me half of the prize money. They said that they were Newsies, this was an annual contest held by Brooklyn, who they had never beaten, until today. They said thanks, but I better be getting home now, but if I ever wanted to stop by, I was welcome to.
I stood there, with more money then I had ever seen in my hand, thinking over my options. I could keep running-hoping something like this would happen again.
Scratch that-it was unlikely as all get out.
I could go home-maybe Arthur would lay off if I offered him money.
Scratch that-he'd just say I'd stolen it.
Or, I could join this rag-tag group of boys who had treated me like a friend for the first time in my life-who had given me the money that was sort of theirs to boot.
Sounded good to me.
That day, I ran 3 more races, and won every won. I went home with my new friends, who split all the money half way with me, got me a job and a place to stay, gave me a name and welcomed me in as one of their own. And even better then when I was running, I Was Free. Really free.
My name is Louie Chen. This is why I am the way I am. How about you?
~!!~!!~!!~ Sorry about Swifty's attitude. I like him a bit of a smartass-he's always smirking in all those pictures and stuff.
Nice happy written things feed my soul. Fanfics, emails, reviews. Especially reviews. Hinthint.
Written from Swifty(weeeelll, Kevin Steas) B-Day. Happy birthday, darlin'!
~!!~!!~!!~
Me and my mother-We were always running. I don't really know why.
Okay, screw that. Erase, back up, change, whatever.
Me and my mother-We were always running. I do know why, though.
First we were running from my dads family-high society men don't exactly appreciate it when their sons knock up Chinese immigrants who have no intention of marrying the afore mentioned son. Then were running from my dad-when his family gave up the chase, he took over. Then we were running from the detectives and snoops who he sent in his place once he got tired of tracking down us himself. Then we were running from the cops- prostitution is still illegal, no matter where you go. And let's face it- there was no way my mother was going to be able to marry any one else-not with being constantly on the run and having a kid and all.
Then it was just me running. I was running from the street corners where Mother worked, just so I wouldn't have to see her slumming up with rats against alley way walls.
So, I would run. I was only like, what? 6, 8, something like that at the time, so I couldn't run far, but Lord Almighty, I was fast. Still am. But back then I had little kid energy to boot. I used to start timing myself. I'd leave mother at 7:30, and, if I was on a sugar high and didn't stop to wait for traffic, I could run the 8 city blocks to our apartment in the Red Light District at 7:36 by the kitchen clock.
When I'm running, I'm free. Tall dark streak of light-that's who I am. I feel all powerful-down right godlike, in fact. Nothing can touch me; no one can get to me, no matter what. I'm flying above the ground. I'm running faster then any one could think possible, and I Am Free.
That's when I'm running and in a good mood. Running is also a form of therapy, I guess. I am beyond fast when I'm running and I'm sad or angry or just plain old scared shitless. The fastest I've ever run was when I was 9- when I won the all-city-unofficial Newsboys race. Okay, seeing as you know my current occupation and all that junk, what happened may appear kinda obvious. Ehh! Wrong.
See, the day-no, week-no, MONTH had been, so to speak, A Royal Hell. Part of the whole slut thing involves drinking of snorking whatever your client offers, and I guess Mother inhaled some pretty serious shit, because when she came back in the morning, she was legally married to Mr. Slimeball himself. Okay, I'm being unfair. Arthur was a nice guy. He just, you know, had a temper and required a blow job from both Mother AND me whenever he felt we needed to be 'forgiven'. My real father had been an interrogation lawyer, so I guess I had been naturally bred to have a pretty strong temper- one which I can keep in check 95% of the time, but after a month of beatings and cocksucking I Was Pissed. So when Arthur hit me, I took off.
I just started running. Out of our apartment complex, down the street, and away-away, away, AWAY! I couldn't see where I was going through the haze of red and tears, I just knew I was moving fast, almost too fast, and I didn't care. I ran until the air in my lungs felt like fire and my legs began to slip and slide. That's another thing, when I'm running, I never trip. Never. The sliding was beginning to scare me, so I pulled to a stop, along with some other boys. People were all around us, screaming and cheering, and it scared me. The crack of the gun I heard a few seconds later scared me more. So I took off again, putting everything I had into running away from the gun, and whoever was behind it. The crowd grew silent as I ran, easily passing all of the boys as I sped away down the street. Suddenly an arm reached out and grabbed me. I screamed, but it wasn't Arthur, it was a boy with masses of curly hair and a crutch.
"Whoa, kid, slow down. The race is over, you can stop now." I finally allowed myself a breath, a confused look about, only to realize I had somehow managed to wind up down by the Brooklyn docks and there were about 200 other boys charging towards us. One stepped out of the crowd.
"What's your name, kid? Where you from?" He asked, angry. I prepared to take off again. What if he was part of Arthur's circle? I don't want to go back.
The boy with the crutch answered for me, "He's with us, Spot. No issue."
The second boy snorted, "Are you telling me Manhattan beat out Brooklyn in THIS race?"
Crutch-boy nodded with a grin shot at a group of boys in the crowd that had gathered, "Yep. His name is-" he faltered, but recovered quickly with a smirk, "Swifty. And he's with us."
"Rumors about a secret weapon were true, Conlon! Hand over that prize!" A boy yelled from the crowd, offering me a grin.
Conlon spat on the pavement, "My ass I will. There's nothing between those fucking enormous ears of yours, Crutchy, if you think I'll believe that load of bullcrap."
The anger swelled within me again. I hate it when people pull shit like that. I stepped forward, glaring at the Conlon boy, "My name is Swifty Lee and I'm from Manhattan. Hand over that prize."
A loud cry rallied forth from the crowd. Apparently no one had ever really stood up to 'Spot' before. The Manhattan boys grabbed me and dragged me off to a alley near by to give me half of the prize money. They said that they were Newsies, this was an annual contest held by Brooklyn, who they had never beaten, until today. They said thanks, but I better be getting home now, but if I ever wanted to stop by, I was welcome to.
I stood there, with more money then I had ever seen in my hand, thinking over my options. I could keep running-hoping something like this would happen again.
Scratch that-it was unlikely as all get out.
I could go home-maybe Arthur would lay off if I offered him money.
Scratch that-he'd just say I'd stolen it.
Or, I could join this rag-tag group of boys who had treated me like a friend for the first time in my life-who had given me the money that was sort of theirs to boot.
Sounded good to me.
That day, I ran 3 more races, and won every won. I went home with my new friends, who split all the money half way with me, got me a job and a place to stay, gave me a name and welcomed me in as one of their own. And even better then when I was running, I Was Free. Really free.
My name is Louie Chen. This is why I am the way I am. How about you?
~!!~!!~!!~ Sorry about Swifty's attitude. I like him a bit of a smartass-he's always smirking in all those pictures and stuff.
Nice happy written things feed my soul. Fanfics, emails, reviews. Especially reviews. Hinthint.