It was an uncomfortably hot July twenty second, in the dumpster on the corner of Angel's street and Cloverfield Drive that a mangy calico cat discovered a tiny goo covered, dichromatic eyed baby. If it had been one of those loyal, human loving pets, the kind you read about in newspapers, it may have tried to find a human to help the infant or even tried to nurse her itself.
But it was not one of those human interest stories. It was a starving stray. And as anything half-starved will, it attempted to eat the child. With the little strength she had the newborn squirmed and wailed, startling a passing women who immediately called 911. The baby would be given the rather uncreative name Angela Cloverfeild Calico. A name which she would hate and shorten to Clover. From the dumpster she would head to social services where she was adopted twice and returned both times due to "personal reasons."
By the time she was Six years old Clover had given up any hope of being adopted for a third time. The next few years where a blur of halfway houses, temporary homes, pervy foster dads, and 'siblings' who would slit your throat to get your desert. Until one night in a particularly unpleasant foster hole, clover would meet an older girl by the name of Marcy Blue who would help shape the person Clover would become.
Even many years later Clover could close her eyes and remember the smell of mildew and hear the creaky house shift as the chilly day turned into a frigid night. There was a dull throb in the back of her head where "mumy dearest" had hit her earlier for breaking a dish. She was in the attic, curled up with her head tucked between her knees. Her eyes where burning, but she wouldn't cry. She Would Not Cry.
She was trying to focus on the sound of the rain on the roof or the study 'drip drip drip' of the leaky celling when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Clover flinched away violently. "hey hey. Its ok it's just me." Her perceived attacker had said. Through the gloom of the attic Clover thought she recognized a red headed girl who she'd seen but hadn't spoken to much. She was holding out one hand as if to a frightened animal. The other was clutching a blanket. "it's gonna be ok." the girl said. She sounded so confident. Her jaw was set but her eyes where kind. When she held out her arms clover gave in and allowed the contact.
The girl, Marcy, wrapped the blanket around them both and held the younger girl as she sobbed silently. "it'll be ok. We won't be here forever. Hey I heard your gonna be nine years old tomorrow. how'bout if I make you a present?" Clover blinked in confusion. Marcy Explained how another care taker at another home had taught her how to sew stuffed animals and that she'd been stealing thread and fabric every now and then for months. "if you can be strong and stop crying I'll make you something. Ok?" It wasn't the best offer, but it had worked.
And less them a week later Clover was rewarded with a greenish blue 'doll' that looked more like something used in voodoo then something to comfort a crying child. "ya know what's even better?" Marcy had asked in a whisper, taking the doll and Unzipping it's mouth to show a bright red inside lining. "he opens! So when you run away from here, you can bring everything you'll need!" The red head said in an excited whisper.
That had made little clover Vary happy and she's slept better that night then she ever had in that house. A few days later she was being relocated. The "mumey dearest" had beat Marcy within an inch of her life when she found her red dress shredded and missing it's zipper. She got such a bad beating, in fact, that social services couldn't ignore it. After seeing the other children's living conditions they had all been shipped off to deferent homes.
It would be a long time before Clover finally got the nerves to run away from foster care. It was a warm summer night, two weeks before her Twelfth birthday. She filled the stuffed doll she had named Gutz with the $80 she had managed to save and steal over the last three years. Then added a few granola bars she'd snuck from the pantry. Lastly she added the pen knife she'd once picked from someone's pocket.
That was it. All she needed. Well…all she had. It would have to do. She pulled Gutz over her shoulder by the strap she'd added and headed toward the window. This foster home wasn't so bad, she admitted to herself. She had her own bed, though she shared a room with three other girls. But she's already been here for 8 months. She never stayed anywhere long and there was no telling what the next place would be like. She hated not knowing what was coming next. So, she figured, from now on she'd decide what happened to her. This would be her birth day gift to herself.
With a quick wave to her sleeping 'sisters' Clover Calico turned her back and hoped out the window and into the summer night. She would not cry. She was almost Twelve years old now. Practically a grown women! She Would not cry over leaving a group of girls she didn't even like much. Or about how she didn't quite know where she was going. Or about how she wished more than anything she could go home. That she Had a home.
Three states and Many hours later Clover got off a Greyhound with her mismatched eyes red and puffy and her freckly cheeks tear stained. She realized she was clutching Gutz to her chest and dropped the doll to hang by his strap. She was not a little child that needed to cuddle her stuffed toy for courage. Instead she reached into her hand-me-down jacket and griped the knife in her pocket, as she wove her way through the carnival crowed. The familiar shape calmed her nerves a bit. She knew where she was going now.
When she tracked down the owner of Truman and son's family owned carnival her speech was short and to the point. "hello sir. I don't have a sob story for you. But I really need some place to be. I learn fast and I'll work for food and a place to sleep. So. What do ya say?" she ended with a big hopeful grin.
Mr. Truman considered himself to be a reasonable man. Reason told him someone would be looking for this child. The question was whether or not they should find her. He Knew from Twenty years of experience that there was only a hand full of reasons kids ran away from home. Usually the brats got it in their heads that mommy and daddy didn't love them enough. But a closer look at this kid and her rangy cloths, tangled hair, and the hint of ice in her mismatched eyes told him a different story. "All right. Your in."
All that felt like centuries ago. Clover Sighed as she hugged her patched and threadbare Gutz. "hey. Yous ok?" Toki asked from the other side of the couch. "hum? Oh yeah. Yeah, just… reminiscing." Clover answered with a smile. Toki wasn't sure he believed her, but today was a special day so he decided not to push it. "ok… by the way Happy birthday."