Memoirs of a Circus Freak

[ycsdramagurl]

Hi everyone, this is my submission for Ridel's story contest...thing. Unlike my other story, I will be updating this one every day this week XD; This is one story I've always held dear to me, because it was the first story I ever wrote started after I discovered my g/t obsession ;D I hope you all enjoy it.
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“First time I’ve had to look professional in ten years.” I grumbled, smoothing my black skirt down over my knees. It’s been a long month and a half. Sure, I’ve been on tour for going on a decade now, for two completely different walks of entertainment no less, but I’ve never had to talk to high school kids. God knows I was screwed up enough at their age.

I’m twenty six now, in possession of more adventure than most people experience in their lives. I’ve been touring the country for the past three years with the rest of Cirque du Insanity, one of the world’s only instrumental dark cabaret-style bands that has become exceedingly more popular than any of us could ever fathom. We’ve even won an award for Best New Instrumental Artist. For a girl who once played electric violin in her parent’s basement, that’s pretty damn good.

And yet, there’s still a part of me missing. The part that no one knows about, except for maybe my closest fans. The part that makes the band name “Cirque du Insanity” just so darn ironic. I sigh. Enough about that. After traveling from high school to high school all over the central United States these past six days, I can’t help but feel a sense of reflection stepping into the shadows of this particular backstage. Palmoa High School was, after all, my high school until my Sophmore year. “Aaaand I’m here to talk about not dropping out?” I muttered to myself.

“Well, now technically you didn’t drop out of school.” My heart jumped slightly, interrupting my thoughts.

“Miranda, don’t scare me like that!” I gasped, seeing the faint outline of my manager and lifelong maternal figure, Miranda Wood. In this light, you wouldn’t think anything was actually wrong with her.

“Pfft, I didn’t scare you.” You know, besides her obvious empathetic demeanor.

I sighed. “What am I doing here?” I asked, smoothing the fly-aways of my dyed, cherry red hair.

She shrugged. “You’re seen as a role model here, Ali. Just give a little shpeel on how school is good, dropping out is bad, and you’re all good!” Miranda paused, and pulled me into a hug. “I know this particular town doesn’t hone very many positive memories for you, but this is our last stop until you’re done touring.”

I shook my head. It was all an act, all of it. My life for the past four years has hidden a secret that, truthfully, didn’t really need to be hidden. “Alright, fine.”

I strained my ears against the same, dark blue stage curtain as there had been when I was in school. Can you believe that this is my first experience setting foot on this stage alone? “The percentage of students dropping out from high schools around the countries is staggering; It’s risen from fifteen to twenty percent in the past decade. Because our school in particular falls victim to this tragedy, I decided to get someone else to talk to you about it. Please give a warm welcome to electric violinist of the band ‘Cirque du Insanity’ and Palmoa native herself, Alice Moore!”

A collective gasp eminated from the audience, only to be replaced with a roar of applause a second later. I stepped through the curtain gap into the flood of light. Students from all around the auditorium had jumped to their feet, cheering loudly. I smiled and waved them down, pulling the lone standing microphone from it’s perch on the stage.

“Thanks, everyone, it means a lot.” I replied. “…Okay, so I’m here to talk to you all about not dropping out of high school. It’s…bad. Really bad. There’s not much of a chance of you getting a well paying job once you’re out of high school, let alone a job at all. That’s the path that leads to drug abuse and a whole lot of other bad crap. So, yeah. Bad. Any questions?”

A few hands shot up in the air. I pointed to one older looking girl in the front. “Um…Okay, totally unrelated question, but I am a HUGE fan, and I want to know, where do you get your inspiration from?”

I smiled. “I get that question every time I tour” I replied, giving a small laugh. “Past experiences, love, heartbreaks, you know. Neeeext…” I pointed to another kid in the back.

"Is it true you've been playing violin professionally since you were twelve?"

"If by professionally you mean in my parent's basement, yes."

"What's life like as a rockstar?"

"You don't want to know, trust me. Any questions that actually pertain to high school?"

“Didn’t you drop out of high school?”

“Yes, and now I know it’s bad, okay moving on."

The last girl who had her hand raised lowered it uneasily. “I-I’m a really big fan too, and I’m on this Cirque du Insanity fan site…thing, and…um, it says that before you started touring, you used to tour with a freak show?”

The crowd went silent. I raised my eyebrows in surprise. It's amazing to me how far people are willing to reach into the past of a psuedo-celebrity. I might just be known as the "violin chick from that one band", but it's scary how much fans can find out. I've been warned by my music producer to keep my past a secret everywhere I go. "...You know what? Yeah, it's true." I replied, earning a collective gasp from the audience. I glanced to the right of the stage to find a simple desk chair sitting on the side. I pulled it over and sat down.

“Alright, I’ll start out with a little history for you all. Now would be a good time to pee if you need to.” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “You all know how vaudeville shows were top of the entertainment world during the twenties, right? Well, freak shows were one of the top vaudeville shows. In other words, they were pretty popular.

That is, until the 1950s when the television and computer business started to heat up. That paired with something about the freak show's, pfft, 'negative attributes', and the public's strive for political correctness won out, isolating freak shows from the world. Today, there's only about a handful of performers seeking work and acceptance. That's where our story begins...sort of..."

[Amayasama]

^0^ Ohhh ;D A circus story? x3 You know I've never been to a circus but I've always loved the ideas, can't wait for more my dear ;D

[natalie]

Great start!!

[ycsdramagurl]

@ Ama: You've never been to a circus?? D: That's awful, I've always PRIDED myself on wanting to join a circus as a part time job! XD; Oh, and thanks!

@ Natalie: Thanks!

Current Word Count: 1,009
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The entire world is silent as the stage darkens to pitch black. A single beam of light hits me as a platform raises me up to stage level. I gaze out into the crowds of screaming fans, chanting my name: “Alice, Alice, Alice!” I give a dark smirk. They eat it up. My platinum blonde hair has been straightened and styled by Simone Botrovelli, stylist to the stars. I raise my instrument, a neon blue 5 string electric violin, encrusted with diamonds along the neck. Real, not fake.

I wail away on my instrument, listening to the world cheer and scream my name. Beads of sweat run down my neck, ruining my 90 dollar hair appointment, but it’s not like I can’t get another one. I am, of course, Alice Moore, number one alternative star in the world. I push my lip ring with my tongue, a nervous habit I’ve had since I was 12. All around me, all I can hear is the screaming of my name: “Alice! Alice!” I wail ever harder. I’m drowning in the cheers even more. I’m-! “ALICE!!” …I’m awoken from my day dream.

The crowd disappears from around me. My hair is back to being braided halfway down my shoulder blades and definetly not styled by Simone Botrovelli. No lip ring like I’ve always wanted. I pull out my other ear bud connected to the amp I’m sitting on to hear my mother screaming my name “What, mom?!” I yell up from my practice studio/basement.

“Come up here, please!” I roll my eyes and set my beloved, garage sale-purchased violin down and walk upstairs to the kitchen. Mom , already in full anniversary mode. “Alright your father and I are going out. You know the drill, make something suitable for dinner, be in bed by ten o’clock, don’t burn the house down.”

I purse my lips. “Mom, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m seventeen. I don’t really need to be in bed by ten, do I?”

She glances my way before checking her reflection in a metallic pot hanging over the sink. “Seeing as it’s a school night, yes you do.”

I collapse into a wooden chair over dramatically. “Bwahhh, I’m going to die if I stay up until 10:05, right?”

Mom smoothes her crimson hair down and opens her mouth to answer, but is interrupted by my dad walking into the kitchen with a low whistle. “Abigail Moore, even after 19 years of marriage, you haven’t aged a bit.

Mom smiles sweetly and plants a kiss on Dad’s lips. “And neither do you, Peter.”

I make a gagging noise. Mom looks my way and smirks. “Alright, were going to dinner and then out to ballroom dancing lessons. Don’t expect us to be back before eleven.”

I stand up. “Well I was kind of wondering…as long as your headed into town, could you drop me off at the book store?” I ask quietly. Mom and dad look at each other silently with parental, all-knowing gaze. “It’s just a mile out of your way!”

Mom steps forward. “Alice, we’re going to be gone for awhile. You know the rules: When we go out, you don’t.”

I shake my head. “Oh, Mom, come on! I’m almost seventeen here! Even if you don’t drop me off, I’m sure I could walk down to the bookstore, browse, come back and be completely fine!”

“Does that mean you’re going to do that the moment we leave?”

“…no?”

“Are we going to have to take you with us and strap you in the car like the child you’re acting like?”

“I’m NOT acting like a child!”

Dad puts his hand up. “Your mother’s right, Alice. That’s the end of that.”

I open my mouth to protest, then sat back down into my chair in silent defeat. Mom walks over and gives me a peck on the forehead. “We only do these things because we love you. Good night.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, have a good stinking night…” I grumble.

Dad walks over and follows suit before walking out the door. “Remember, no going out!” And with that he shuts the door. I get up, walk into the living room and watch our family’s mini van speed away. I wait a few seconds before snapping the curtains shut, my arms crossed.

If you talk to anyone in Palmoa, Iowa, they’ll all tell you that normal little Alice Moore lives with her normal family, in a normal little one story house on Center Street, in the middle of normal old Brookes County. They’ll tell you Alice isn’t all that out of the ordinary: Not too popular, while not too out there either. What they won’t tell you is of Alice’s normal little skeleton in the closet that she’s kept for as long as she can remember.

She’s telekinetic. I mean, I’m telekinetic. I’ve known ever since late one night when I was five. Let’s just say that children deal with the monsters under their beds in different ways; some kids call to their parents to come check under the bed. I was actually GETTING to that point, just after squeezing my eyes shut and wishing that my teddy bear, Teddy (yeah, I realize I wasn’t too creative in my early years) was there in bed with me. And then, right after wishing…there he was…floating towards me as I stared, unable to say another word.

You have no idea how hard games of Truth or Dare are for me. I’d rather not become a scientific phenomenon at this stage of my life, so I’ve kept it a secret as best as I can, including from either of my parents. That’s another thing: My parents are the most normal people in the world. Mom’s a hairdresser who’s done my hair since I was three, and Dad’s a trucking supervisor at LEMP motors. The question is who did I inherit my non-returnable gift from?

I sigh as I pull my brown zip up sweatshirt from the back of the recliner. Enough of my life story, I’ve got places to go. I pat my pocket and feel the thirty bucks from last week’s paycheck in my pocket. I walk out of the living room, into the kitchen and glance around. I think I’ll do the dishes before mom and dad get home as a late anniversary present. But first, time to defy the only rule my parents set into place. I give a snicker before walking out the door. My mom knows her daughter way too well.

I try to shake off my earlier thoughts as I walk down the driveway and up the road. I find it exceedingly peculiar that I inherited my mom’s deep set brown eyes, her thin five feet and four inch frame, and my dad’s blonde hair, but I have no inkling of where my more obvious oddity came from. No great great grandmother, no aunt with a hidden agenda, no black sheep cousin from the other side of the family, nothing! Maybe it’s fate’s way of flipping me off, or telling me I’ll never be truly normal.

Then again, my gift DOES only come out when I’m feeling extreme emotions, and then it’s only in short bursts. Since the big science fair fiasco (you don’t want to know, trust me), I’ve learned to control myself pretty well. Even now, I only practice with my powers on small things. Maybe even someday I’ll learn to control my powers completely, and then I won’t have to worry about slipping-

I gave a small yelp as a car zoomed by, swerving slightly towards the side of the road. My eyes widened in shock, and then narrowed. “Way to almost run me over, Jackass!” I screamed to a car speeding away. “I swear, it’s drivers like that who make me afraid to set foot outside my house.” Says the girl who ran into a tree her first time on a riding lawnmower.

Within twenty minutes, I push open the front door to Bookberries book store, a bell tinkling above me. I give a polite smile to the receptionist at the front desk and make my way to the young adult and fantasy section. I take in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of freshly brewed coffee and fresh print. I always feel like I should be talking about something profound and intellectual whenever I come into this store, like Russian literature or Greco-Roman architecture.

“If I see one more young adult vampire romance novel, I will probably go on a killing spree.” Or you know, something to that effect. I set ‘Linger’ back onto the shelf, shaking my head disheartenedly. I glance up as I hear the bell above the entrance ring and my eyes grow wide. I duck down behind the bookshelf, and peer over slightly. Josh Greeley is standing at the door, banging his head in time with a song emenating from his earbuds.

Josh Greeley is the epitome of the American teenager; Choppy brown hair falling into his deep, endless pools of cyan blue he calls eyes…of course, I’m not gushing or anything. Not me. I shake myself out of my daze before peering back at the young adult section. I pull the third of the new Juveniles series (not so much a young adult vampire novel so much as a book about teenage mind readers) from the shelf and walk slowly towards the checkout desk.

The older woman’s eyes crinkle into a smile and I give a small smile back. I try to nonchalantly glance over my right shoulder, my eyes just so happening to land in Josh’s direction. A squeak catches in my throat as he catches my eyes. He waves, his fingers wiggling slightly. I pull my right hand from my jeans pocket and wave back, my face growing warm. The saleslady clears her throat.

“$7.29, dear.” She says, not bothering to hide the knowing smirk on her face. I grin sheepishly and hand over a ten dollar bill. She gives me my change and places the receipt in my bag. I thank her and turn on my heel, doing my best to control my breathing as I feel Josh’s eyes on me.

And I stumble, nearly landing flat on my face. I glance back nervously, giving an idiotic grin before running out of the store.
I finish chapter four of my book just as my wall clock clicks to 10:17. I promised I would be in bed by 10, I never promised I would be asleep. With a contented smile, I slide underneath my bed covers, lodging my new book into a free space onto my bookshelf.

“Powers certainly have their advantages.” I muttered, my eyes drooping with exhaustion. I decided when I got home to clean the whole house, top to bottom, and leave a note on the white board in the kitchen for my parents to read when they got home. I shrugged. “At least I can say that I did something nice for my parent’s anniversary.” I murmur before drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

It doesn’t last long. I jerk awake as I hear the wireless phone on the end table next to my bed tone loudly. I give a soft groan before sitting up on my elbows and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I glare pointedly at the illuminated alarm clock next to me. It reads 1:19 am. I scowl and snatch the phone off its hook tiredly.

“Alice Moore?” A gravelly voice on the other end asks uncertainly.

“Mmmm?”

“This is Officer Benjamin Davis from the Brookes County Police Department.”
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Updated Word Count: 2,949 (This update was JUST under 2000 words XD)

[whisperer]

The bit with the book reminded me of the ending from Matilda. But the cliffhanger has got me real worried D:

Great story though, and I'm looking forward to more!

[Amayasama]

o.o Oh no...D: Please not her parents...;3; I hope he's calling to tell her that he gave them a bandaid for their injuries...As for my circus experience xD I've always wanted to go to one but I don't believe there are any around me, my school is the only circus I've been to!

[ycsdramagurl]

whisperer: Aha! I knew someone would get the reference! XD
@ Ama: I know just how you feel. Ours is almost better than Ringling Brothers XD

Current Word Count: 2,949
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I lose my balance and topple face first out of bed and to the floor with a thump. “Oww…” I groan, rubbing my forehead and holding the phone receiver away from my mouth. “I…I’m sorry, who is this?” I say, hoping I heard wrong.

“This is Officer Davis…I apologize for the late call, but it would seem that we have an issue.”

I gulp. “That’s…that’s what I thought. W-what seems to be the problem, Ben?”

“…I’d feel better about telling you in person. I will be at your house in a few minutes. Thank you.” And with that, he hangs up the phone.

I drop the phone. My hands are shaking so much that I can’t hold it any longer. I couldn’t have done anything that horrible. I couldn’t have. I jump to my feet and run downstairs. “Mom! Dad! I need you!” I yell, wrenching their bedroom door open and letting it slam against the wall in a panic. I freeze. They’re not there. I squint at the alarm clock on the right bedside table. 1:23. They should’ve been back by now.

I pull my hair from it’s braid and pull the strands into a tight ponytail in a nervous fit. My body is shaking so much that I can barely stand straight. I sit down in the middle of the hardwood hallway and curl my legs into my chest. The tremors cease for a split second as I make an unnerving realization; My parents should have been back by now.

I jump when I hear a sudden knock at the door. My head snaps up, and I wonder for a second about pretending I’m not home. The option is looking better and better by the second. I shake my head and shakily get to my knees, the tremors emanating through my body almost enough to keep me seated. With a heavy heart, I wrench open the front door to find a tall, widely built man standing in the doorway.

Officer Davis is my father’s best friend. He was the one who introduced my mom to my dad in college, and thus, I’ve met him on quite a few occasions. The fact that his hazel eyes were bloodshot only made my body convulse with fear even more. There are a few seconds of silence between us before he gives a shuddering sigh.

“…Can I come in?” He asks quietly, not meeting my gaze. I pause, then nod my head quickly. I switch on a lamp as he leans against the brown loveseat next to the wall. “…I need you to sit for me, Alice.” I take a seat on the farther end of the loveseat. “There was a car accident out on freeway J-29. It involved your parents.”

My eyes cast downward. “Are they…” I am unable to finish, in fear that if I so much as utter the phrase, it might come true.

“…I’m sorry, Alice.” The words ring in my ears as I am unable to register a single more word. I pull my head to my knees and cover it with my hands, letting loose a loud sob. My stomach lurches and I feel like I’m about to throw up.

My breathing quickens. “You’re lying.” I state plainly, staring at the carpet beneath my feet. “It’s not true. They’re…they can’t be dead. They’re just late.”

“Alice-“ Officer Davis starts, laying a beefy hand on my shoulder.

“NO, God damn it!” I shriek, jerking my head to stare him straight in the eyes. I jump when the once illuminated light bulb in the lamp shatters. I hardly flinch at this instance, even though Officer Davis’ eyes widen in shock. I bore a hole into the middle of his eyes until I realize there is no answer in them. My face crumples and I break into another sob.

I remain in a ball until I hear Officer Davis clear his throat. “…This isn’t the best time, I know.” He gently takes my hand in his. “You’re the only family member instate who can make a positive identification, for legal purposes.” The words don’t register for a few moments. He wants me to go to the police station two miles away and identify my dead parents.

I heave myself into an upright position and slowly stand, leaning on his arm for support. I wipe underneath my right eye and it comes away with the remainder of my black eyeliner. He leads me to the squad car humming in the driveway and opens the door. He helps me in and walks around to the other side. My head slumps and burns against the cold window.

My vision blurs as I am lead into the basement of the police station. The elderly coroner holds open the door, a solemn pertruding his face. He glances down at me and lays a gnarled hand Officer Davis’ shoulder. He leans in and whispers something into the officer’s ear. Officer Davis shrugs and whispers something back. The coroner nods silently and lays a hand on my shoulder. “God speed.” He mutters.

Officer Davis gives a sigh. “…are you ready?” I pause and nod my head slowly. The coroner lifts the sheet from my mother first and then my father. I clasp a hand over my mouth and turn away. Both my parent’s legs and arms are severely battered, deep violet bruises and crimson blood dried upon sickly pale skin. My mother’s mouth is slightly agape, forever frozen in an expression of fear. My dad’s hair is matted with blood, a crack along his skull very noticable.

I sink to my knees. I give several dry heaves, the only benefit of being too busy to eat only mere hours ago. “Get this girl out of here.” I hear the coroner command. I am hoisted ever so carefully to my feet by thick hands. When my feet refuse to obey my command to walk, Officer Davis scoops me up into his arms and carries me out. I don’t care that I barely know him. My eyes adamantly refuse to open for a few minutes, and by the time I open them, I’m already in the squad car, on the way home.

My eyes shift to Officer Davis gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. A visible tear can be seen on his right cheek. He glances my way for a brief moment and makes a double take when he notices I’m awake. He wipes away the tear fervently and tries to turn his grimace into a small smile. “You’re welcome to stay with me for the night until your family members arrive in the morning. I’ve managed to contact your Aunt Deliah, she will be over in the morning.”

I shake my head. I need to get home. Officer Davis is silent for a few moments and then nods. Within a few minutes, we arrive at the house. He helps me to the door just as he had before and wrenches it open. I silently make my way to the couch and sit as he clicks on a lamp. Officer Davis stares at me for a few seconds. “I truly am sorry for your loss. If it’s hard for me, I can’t imagine…I’ll be over again in the morning. Try to get some sleep. Are you absolutely sure you want to be here alone?”

I solemnly nod my head, staring at the carpeted floor. Officer Davis merely nods and walks out the front door. I watch in silence as the squad car pulls out of the walkway and drives off into the night. Have a good stinking night. Those were my last words to my parents.

I collapse onto the couch and shriek in anguish. I pound my fists against the cushion until they’re sore. The lamp on the side table crashes to the floor along with a lamp across the room. I am above being rational at this point. I don’t care if these stupid powers shatter every trinket in this house.

I break my fit suddenly and jerk into a sitting position. I know what I have to do. I stand waveringly and stumble my way to my mother’s closet on the opposite side of the house. My vision blurs as I think about the steps to my procedure. I put my hand into the bottom of a basket of my mother’s and feel around until I feel cold steel. I pull out my prize. With a heavy heart, I raise the gun to my lower lip, just below where it could shoot through my brain. This is going to hurt. I mentally count to three and pull the trigger.

There is a numbing feeling that is soon overtaken by a sharp shooting pain in my lip. I bet you thought it was a real gun. The metal stud gleams against a minute but steady stream of blood. I’m not about to live this life a second longer. If I’m going to run away, I’ll need a disguise.
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Current Word Count: 4,455
Okay, so who couldn't see that coming -_-; But yes, poor Alice. I just hope things get better from here on in.

And by the way, I made up for yesterday's update since I didn't get home until around 10 pm. If my calculations are correct, I should be on 4000 words?

[Amayasama]

x.x Damn right I thought it was a real gun! *flails* xD So she just got a piercing...right?

[emily13]

GOOD GOOGLY MOOGLY! Jeez, talk about a heart attack. Sad beginning ;3;

[natalie]

Great story!! Super job !!

[ycsdramagurl]

Ahaha...I cause heart attacks ;D

Unfortunately, I've decided that I'm going to have to drop out of Ridel's contest thing. I know, the finish line is literally in two days, but I haven't updated in about two days, and I have no time to update either tonight (I have to go perform at a variety show in a bit until 9) OR tomorrow (Mother's Day AND I have to finish a global project I've put off until now -_-. But, on the bright side, I HAVE gotten over my writer's clock somewhat ;D So, at least I've got that going for me. I'll update probably sometime Monday ^_^

[Amayasama]

XD Awww well best luck to you at your performance <3

[ycsdramagurl]

“Oh yeah, I’ll probably update sometime next Monday.” Bah, me and my procrastination. I almost quit on this thing. It was just brought to my attention that I haven’t finished a story yet! I really like this story too, and GOSH DARN IT, I’M GONNA FINISH IF IT KILLS ME! >:C

…^_^; Aaaanyway, here’s a four page in word update to compensate!

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“Wait, hold on a second!” My head jerked up, my eyebrows at the sudden interruption. “Running away? Where the crap did that come from?!” A kid asked defiantly from the back third row.

The auditorium was silent as I let the question hang in the air. “Well perhaps if you would shut your face and listen, she would tell you, now wouldn’t she?” A female voice answers from the opposite side of the auditorium.

“But she has no idea what she’s doing! Why not stay right where she is for as long as she can?”

A wave of protest made it’s way through the crowd. “Alright hang on, guys.” I replied, motioning for silence by waving my hands. “As a matter of fact, he’s completely right. I had no idea what the crap what I was doing…well, I guess I had SOME idea of what I was doing, but I didn’t know how to go about it.” I replied, running a hand through my hair. “Now, if you’ll be so kind as to shut your face young man, I’ll continue…No I won’t, my feet are killing me, hang on a sec.” I nudged my right shoe off with my left foot and repeated the process for the other. “Now where was I…”

My lower lip trembled from the now throbbing pain. I pull a tissue from the box lying on the shelf next to me, and raised it shakily to my lip. “…What the hell did I just do?” I ask my reflection numbly. A pair of huge, dark brown eyes stare back at me, shifting to my lower lip. I did the one thing I’ve wanted to do my entire life-get a lip ring despite my mother’s wishes. So why didn’t it feel good?

I shift my weight to my right leg and managed to walk out of the light of the bathroom into my parent’s study. I run my free hand over the smooth wooden desk. My mother had sat here today, paying bills for the salon. My father had stored his books in the very bookshelf off to my right. My eyes catch on a particular slip of paper that had caught them earlier.

My parents had a knack for making things seem alright when they really weren’t. I knew that our family was a little bit behind on our mortgage, but I had no idea that we were on the verge of getting kicked out of our home in less than a month. I know I should’ve been angry at my parents for keeping this from me until the very last minute, practically irate, but at this point, I couldn’t feel any measure of animosity towards my parents whatsoever.

I slowly lower the tissue from my mouth and dropped it into the garbage can next to the desk, my other hand drumming on the desk quietly. Everything looked so natural, so serene it was almost scary. So much had happened in a mere three hours, and yet this town would have no idea until the morning.

“…Morning. Right.” I mutter, shaking myself from my reverie. I sneak a glance up at the wall clock above my head; 2:47. I yank the rubber band from the end of my waist long braid and untwisted the long strands. My mother would be rolling in her grave right now if she knew what I was doing. She would, that is, if she wasn’t still in that coroner’s box down at the police station.

The scissors gleam in my hand as I walk into the light of the bathroom. I take one last look at my reflection, golden blonde hair spilling around my shoulders and down my back. I give a small sigh as I slice a thin lock in the front to barely grazing my shoulders. It drops to the floor in a long, thick strand. And then I really get to work.

By the time I’m halfway finished, I am startled by the phone ringing in the opposite room. The scissors fall from my hand and clatter into the sink, as if I’ve done something wrong. I shake my head and continue chopping away at my long locks. “Alice, doll, it’s Aunt Deliah.” I freeze mid-cut as I hear the rings change to voicemail.

“You’re probably asleep so I’ll just let you get this in the morning. I just got the call from that police man your father knows. I’ll have Morty bring the jet around, so I’ll be over first thing in the morning tomorrow, around 9. Love ya.” The phone clicks.

Yeah. Great Aunt Deliah comes from my mother’s side of the family, and is kind of filthy rich after inheriting a large oil pipeline company in Texas. My mother’s mom didn’t want anything to do with a gigantic mass of wealth, and as a result, this side of the family is poor. Anyway, Great Aunt Deliah only visits when we’re having money troubles, and it isn’t always fun times in our household. “Doll, you’d be so pretty if you’d let your hair down once in a while.” and “Oh, this place reminds me of my summer home in Ponte Vedra!” Happens to be a few of her few remembered quotes from my childhood.

She means well, of course. She used to be a history teacher before great great grandma died, but lately she’s been dwindling what’s left of her retirement fund on the slots, thinking that she won’t have to worry about her own life for much longer. Great aunt Deliah lives up in Las Vegas itself, but has lived in New Jersey for most of her life, hence the accent. Great aunt Deliah also happens to be the aunt who’s pushing eighty and drinks like a fish. I figure if I have to choose between living in Iowa or living in Sin City 90210, I’d choose Iowa.

So there’s where my decision lands me…which kind of turns into a paradox if you think about it. Running away to stay here. As I was lay on the couch not half an hour ago having my spastic fit, I realized that this might be my only alternative and that I’d have to be in disguise to escape from this town. It was crazy, but I couldn’t stop myself as I finished hacking away at my hair, fingering the choppy layers that now barely grazed my shoulders. It wasn’t enough. I would still be recognizable if I walked past the 24 hour convenience store on the corner, even at 2:30 at night.

Thirty minutes and a bottle of hair dye later, I stare in shock at my wet, now almost luminescent, cherry red hair. “…Dear god, what have I done.” I murmured. It felt kind of ironic knowing that the only reason why I had the dye in the first place was that my mother was a hairdresser. And my head did feel significantly lighter. I give a small nod, knowing that at least now, no one in this town would recognize me.

I sprint throughout the house in a blur, grabbing anything I might need for this trip. I figure a kid with a backpack might look less suspicious than one carrying any kind of suitcase, as if I was just getting back to a late slumber party at a friend’s house, because I forgot something at home; which would be my alibi if I was stopped. I swipe the stack of dollar bills off the office desk first, reasoning that my parents won’t need it where they’re going. I add it to my money remaining from my book store trip earlier that day and stuffed it into the bottom of the bag, away from greedy eyes.

Within the next ten minutes of packing and unpacking, deciding and painfully giving up, I had finally stuffed my book bag, once filled with my homework from tonight, to the brim with two t-shirts, my favorite tank top, two pairs of jeans, a pair of denim shorts, four pairs of unmentionables and socks, an extra pair of sneakers, a pair of flip flops, my tooth brush and hair brush, the family-sized bag of trail mix from the kitchen pantry and a box of crackers. I had managed to stuff as many toiletries and personal belongings in the front and side pockets as possible, including a small music box my mother had given me when I was young. I had replaced the jeans and black blouse I had on from before, and placed a dark brown zip up sweatshirt over top, despite the fact that it was 72 degrees outside. The less I had to carry the better.

I sling the bag over my shoulder and grab my electric violin case by the handle. I spend a few minutes saying my silent good-byes to the house. I realize that coming back here, to the home that was mine my entire life, wasn’t an option. Wanted ads would start popping up all over Palmoa right at 9 am, and I had to be gone. My one chance of getting out of here safely was leaving in twenty minutes. The freight train that runs all over Brookes County and breaks here for about twenty minutes every night. I had to be on it.

My hand lingers on the door knob for a few seconds after I pull the suddenly-heavy door closed. I draw in a shuddering breath. My legs seized up and refused to move for a few moments, but I eventually make my feet hop off the landing and slink along the paved driveway. I am slightly unnerved by the hiss of crickets and the eerie silence of the dead night. My heart beat quickens, pulsing rapidly within my chest, and I begin to run the familiar trail to my next home; the train yard.

Silence seemed to be a reoccuring theme as I arrive at the abandoned yard. I climbe over the chain link fence that proclaimed “DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE” that hadn’t been electrified for years. I land with a crunch of gravel on the other side, and slowly look up at my new home: Stock car 421-B. I step forward and reach my trembling hand out. I lightly graze my fingers against the cool, sea green metal of a rod extending upwards towards the car. I wrap my fingers around it hesitantly and pulled myself up onto the rusted platform with a huff. Nearly falling off the small stretch of metal, I wrench the wooden door open and forced it closed after I finally made my way on. This was a non-passenger train, so there was no hope of me getting discovered. I wasn’t exactly sure what this train transported back and forth every day of my life.

“…Huh. Now I know.” I muse, staring at crate after crate of canned fruit through the partial light of the slats above me. I lean against a crate and cradle my bag in my lap. I gaze skywards, watching the moon tower overhead through the slatted ceiling. “This place isn’t going to be very good for rain.” I murmur, resting my chin on my bag. “But at least I know what to do from now on.”

“Well well, lookie what I got here.” A voice cackles from within the shadows.

After all that had happened, I couldn’t help myself: I let out a scream. A short, yet horribly high pitched and girly yelp of surprise. I catch my breath and attempt to keep my heart from hammering it's way out of my chest. “Jesus, girl you nearly gave me a heart attack!” The voice gasps.

“That makes two of us then!” I snap angrily, my hands balled and raised in defense. “So just come out and show yourself!”

There is a long pause after my statement, and is answered by a light chuckle. “Woohoo,” the man’s voice cackles once again. “Looks like we got a fighter here.” With that, I see a form emerge from the shadows. A tall, thin man steps into the moonlit area of the car, a toothy grin on his grisly, unshaven face. From what I could tell, he seemed to be old, his silver hair hanging in greasy strings from his head gathered into a ponytail. “Now now, I ain’t about to do nothin’, just tryin’ to be friendly.” He replies, holding a hand out in front of him.

My eyebrows raise in surprise, and I let fatigue take over my actions. I take his hand and shake it. “Friends call me Ike.” He declares, shaking my aching arm.

I look away, trying to think of a false name I could use in place of my own. I wasn’t sure if I could trust this guy or not, he could be just one more person knowing I escaped. “…A-alice.” I finally concede, unable to think of any other name.

“Much obliged, ma’am.” Ike replies with a nod of his head. He drops my hand as his eyes narrow. “…Well, ain’t you a little one. Yer a little young to be out here jumping trains by yerself, ain’t ya?”

“I’m 19” I lie, looking him straight in the eyes. Considering I only came up to his shoulder, you can see why he knew I was young.

Ike looks me up and down with serious eyes that melt into a grin. “Nice try, girlie. You’ve got a great poker face, I’ll give ya that, but there ain’t no way yer older than 16. Am I right?”

My posture goes rigid, as I’m about to tell him off for thinking I’m lying, but it occurs to me that I AM lying. I nod, my mouth receding into a flat line of discouragement.

He chuckles once again and turns around. “Aw heck, don’t be sore with me. Only reason why I know is I’ve people-watched my entire life from this very boxcar.” Ike sits down in his original spot, and pats a spot on the floorboards in front of him. “You know Old Maid?” He asks.

I nod and take my place on the wooden floor, my legs crossed on each other. Ike roughly shuffles and deals a set of cards between us. He gives a deep sigh and fans his cards in front of him, arranging pairs with pairs. “So what are ya’ doing runnin’ away?” He asks casually, as if discussing the weather.

My eyebrows knit in frustration. “I never said anything about running away.” I mutter, laying down a pair of nines.

Ike smiles behind his fanned cards. “Ya didn’t need to. You’ve got this kinda look that all kids runnin’ away have; Stuffed back pack, yer timid, jumpy. Plus yer on a cargo train in the middle of the night, which ain’t exactly normal.”

I sigh. “Is it really that obvious? To be fair, I didn’t know anyone would be on this train. What are you doing?” I ask, changing the subject.

He snickers and takes a card from my deck and lays a pair from his cards down. “Now, don’t give me none of that, I can actually know how to take care of myself out here.” He sighs and leans his cards against his chest. “Look, I know bein’ a kid’s hard and what not, but I’ve lived my entire life on my own. Trust me, it ain’t no life to live.”

I shrug. “I don’t exactly have anywhere to go.” I mutter, my eyes boring a hole through my cards.

There is a silence while I stare at my cards, looking anywhere but at my host. “…Ya sound like yer on the lam or something.” Ike says, pulling something from the dark brown vest hanging from his shoulders. He pulls a cigarette from a box and places it between his lips. “Don’t mind, do ya?” I shake my head. He lights up and takes a long drag, exhaling the smoke through his mouth. “Ain’t none of my busy no-how, but...let me ask ya somethin’, what’s yer plan exactly? How much money you got?”

I look towards my bag. “127 dollars.” I reply, having memorized my budget before I left.

“That’ll buy ya either food for a week or two, or a night in a hotel room. Got yer workin’ papers yet?”

I sheepishly shake my head. “My parents never got a chance to file for them.”

Ike shakes his head quietly. “...Yer in quite a bit of trouble, girlie. Way I see it, you’ve got two choices.” He says, cigarette hanging from his lip. He takes another drag and exhales. “One: Sell yerself on the market someplace.” He smirks at my baffled expression. “An’ I figure yer too fragile for that.”

I cast my glare downward. “Option two?” At least now I can cross ‘Get financial advice from a hobo’ off my bucket list.

“What else is there? Workin’ under the table.” He pauses and I look up at him. Ike is looking off into the distance, as if trying to remember something. “I think I got just the place.” He says, pulling a scrap of newspaper from his vest. He hands it to me and I look it over. The name ‘Blackpool Gardens American-‘

“...A circus? Is it any good?” I ask uncertainly. My powers wouldn’t exactly do well at a place where people are displayed.

He nods wisely and closes his eyes. “You ever heard of Ringling brothers? Barnum and Bailey?”

I nod quietly.

He smirks. “They’re nothing compared to it. This might be the only true circus left in the world.” He leans back against a crate, his eyes cast skyward. “Menagerie, carnival games, pettin’ zoo, freak show, the works.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Freak show?” I ask waveringly.

“Yes ma’am. It’s a descendant from some of the best shows back in the day.” He sighs. “But enough about that. You should probably get to bed before the train takes off.”

I comply gratefully, completely exhausted. I shuffle a few feet away from the game and curl up, my hands cradling underneath my head. “Um…I’d hold on to yer bag if I were you. Lot of other guys sometimes get on right ‘bout now, and they ain’t exactly as well mannered as I happen to be.”

[aspired2inspire]

Woohoo!! The story isn't dead! I only found it two days ago I and I thought it was dead! ;D

.....*cough*

Hmm....Alice isn't going to be joining the freak show for her telekinesis is she.....?

[Amayasama]

D: Aw Ike is helping her out... I hope he doesn't become an evil backstabbing old man >> Kick his butt Alice! x3 But I'm excited to see what the circus is like, I'm sure they'll accept her as soon as they know she has special abilities ;3

[whisperer]

I'm really interested to see how this all connects - how she goes from runaway girl, to circus performer, to award-winning electric violinist. So far, I've been really liking the pacing. Keep it up!

[ycsdramagurl]

Just letting you all know, I AM continuing this story. I'm kind of on a involuntary hiatus at the moment because of schoolwork. But I do have an update in mind and most likely will update before the end of October. Thanks to those of you who are still with this story, albeit for reasons unknown.

[Amayasama]

^^ No problem dear, take the time you need <3 We all know the troubles of school work~

[natalie]

Great start!! Thats okay, take all the time you need. Big Hugs!!

[ycsdramagurl]

CLEAR!!!! *Uses a defibrillator on the story* Come on you, don’t die on me!!!! *Defibrillates once more, heart rate monitor pulses to life.* Yes! Hallelujah!

Okay, one year? That’s ridiculous. I’m so sorry you guys. I know what I’m going to be doing while I’m recovering in July. Here’s an update to compensate!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing I feel is pain, specifically the dull throbbing ache that emanates through my skull as it bangs against a wooden crate. “What in the-“ I start, jerking from my dreamless sleep. I rub my head and settle onto one arm as a startlingly loud train whistle blows from somewhere above me. I am temporarily blinded by the morning light breaking through the slits of the box car. I check my watch: 9:27.

I rub my head, glancing around at my surroundings. The next thing I feel is an overwhelming sensation of panic. I seize as I realize both my bag and violin case are gone. I leap to my feet, looking at nothing but boxes for the entire length of the car. I clasp a hand to my forehead, my lip trembling as my emotions take over. That’s what I get for trusting people. How could I be so naïve as to think a starving man wouldn’t steal a bag with food and $127 in it?

I then quirk my eyebrow in confusion as I feel a ball of crumpled paper in my hand. I unfold a dirty scrap of paper along with the newspaper clipping Ike showed me last night. A note is scrawled in crude handwriting on the paper;

“Alice: The crate farthest to the left in the row in front of where you were laying. Key to the lock’s right next to you. I had to get off on the early break, so I hid it…and you, sorry about that, so you wouldn’t get robbed. I left you the clip of the show, it should be a few hour's walk to the fair grounds from the port that arrives around nine and stays until night. Good luck. –Ike”

“…I stand corrected, that’s what I get for judging a book by it’s cover.” I muttered, feeling a sensation of relief, along with the thousand other emotions buzzing through my head. I twist the key through the lock and wrench the crate open, feeling a sense of alleviation and comfort as I see my belongings fully in tact.

I take this opportunity to change into my lucky tank top and a pair of denim shorts. Something told me I would need quite a bit of luck that day. While replacing the empty space with my clothing from the night before, my hand grazes something cool under a pair of pants. I pul out a gold chain with a locket with a picture of my parents in it. With a heavy heart, I clasp the necklace onto my neck, feeling a sharp pang in my chest. I sling the bag over my shoulder and, deciding that I don’t feel like feeling so much anymore, pull the wooden door of the train open and step out into the late morning sunlight.

The port looks surprisingly like the one back home a few hours away, the one exception being that I no longer see the Palmoa skyline peeking above the collapsed salt mine and forest just outside of the neighboring town of Culloden. I peer off into the distance, seeing a green sign proclaiming “Camden Train Yard. Greensborough, 6 miles.” I take in a deep breath and make my way out of the port, walking in the direction of the road.

I actually reach the center of Greensborough, or what I can tell from the various small shops that litter the street, in a litte more than an hour. The path to the town was straight foward enough that I knew where I was going . I receive a few brief glances as I walk down the street, guitar case in hand and bag slung over my shoulder. I give the bystanders wary glances back, though I think I’m safe. Greensborough is a small enough town far enough way that any news from Palmoa wouldn’t have reached it by today. For now, I’m safe. I must’ve checked the ad for Blackpool Gardens twenty times in the past ten minutes, yet I can only absorb so much information. “Blackpool Gardens American Circus, 4982 Center Street, Greensborough, Iowa. Hours of operation between 10 am and 10 pm, in town from June 7th to June 11th. Admission: $3 for children and senior citizens, $5 for adults (age 16+)”.

“Excuse me ma’am, can you tell me where I can find Center Street?” I ask a lady passing by on the sidewalk.

“Going to see the circus? Sure thing dear, you’re going to go up this road until you get to that fountain up there, turn left onto that road and follow it for a while until you see the tents.” She answers with a smile, pointing up the road. “Do you need money for bus fare?”

I wave a hand dismissivley, fingering my now short strands of hair. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Thank you ma’am!” I reply, transferring the weight of my violin case from my right hand to my left and following her directions.

------------------------

Even though I was originally from Palmoa, Iowa, land of the dairy cows, I didn't have what you would call a "deprived childhood". went to summer camp, visited my grandparents in their small cottage in Ohio before they passed on, went to more county fairs than I care to remember. Heck, I even vaguely remember going to the circus on a second grade field trip.

I wish I could say that the imagination and splendor I experienced during those days paled in comparison towards the feelings I felt when I stepped through the gate of Blackpool Gardens, but I was about to collapse at the weight of my emotions crashing like a waterfall. One of the most prominent feelings being hunger, considering I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning.

A gentle summer breeze wafts through the morning air, the scent of sour dough, popcorn and hot dogs hitting me like a brick wall. I shuffle my bag back onto my already sore shoulder and glance around. Being a Wednesday, there weren't very many kids around, but the area was still filled with hoards of people. My eyes land on a wooden stand advertising corn dogs, apple dumplings, and what I had most on my mind, Belgian waffles with various kinds of fruit, whipped cream, chocolate sauce, anything you could think of. My stomach gave a lurch at this as I pulled a few crinkled dollar bills from my pockets. The middle aged man running the stand gives me a cheerful smile as he catches my eye, beckoning me towards him. "Well hello there, can I help you with anything?"

"Er, hi, can I get a Belgian waffle please?" I ask quietly, shifting my bag back onto my shoulder.

"You sure can! Our house special today is whipped cream and apple cinnamon, would you like to try one?" I swallow and nod my head silently. "One waffle with the works for the pretty lady! That'll be $4.25 please." I hand over the wad of bills as the man takes my money with one hand, arranging my plate with the other. He places the pastry on a paper plate, layering on powdered sugar, a caramel-colored syrup from a bottle, apple slices from a tin sitting in a warming tray behind him, and whipped cream, finishing it off with a sprinkling of cinnamon sugar and a cherry on top. My eyes must be as wide as saucers at this point because he gives a small chuckle, handing me back a few quarters in change. "You enjoy that, and enjoy your day here!" He says, sliding the plate towards me with a white plastic fork. I smile back, taking the warm paper plate into my hands and dropping my change into the jar sitting on the counter beside him.

I take a bite as I walk, nearly swooning from pleasure. The warmth of the buttery pastry spread throughout my body and the taste of the apple and cinnamon made my taste buds thrive. I settle down onto a nearby picnic bench and look around at the carnival, getting my first real glimpse at it. Ike wasn't lying when he said this place had the works: Multi-colored performance tents were centered towards the middle of the enclosed area, billowing in the light summer breeze. Nothing but carnival games and food stands lined the way for what seemed like miles. Signs pointed in the direction of thrill rides towering over the heads of the circus goers, creating a symphony of mechanical whirs to undertone the screams of overjoyed people. Like something out of a movie, a red and white big top was in the middle of it all, a sign in front of the opening proclaiming "Show runs from 5-9". My stomach dropped as another sign, off in the distance this time, caught my attention; Blackpool Gardens Sideshow. I knew where I was going to stay away from. I quickly averted my gaze and cocked my head as I see a ferris wheel towering above me.

Finishing off my waffle, I shifted my bag back up onto my shoulder and stood. I just wasted five of the $127 I had left, and I was going to make the most of it.

I spent the rest of my day meandering around the scene, riding the smaller carnival rides and playing whatever free games were offered. Later in the day, I came to a tent proclaiming Madame Rosa's Free Future Readings, with no line. Shifting my violin case from my right hand to my left, I ducked my head into the surprisingly spacious tent. "Nice." I chuckled, seeing a sign reading "Back sooner than you think. Please take a seat." I made my way inside, clutching my violin case to my chest as I glanced around. I sat down in a rickety wooden chair, slowly setting my bag on the ground. I cocked my head at the silver ball sitting before me, looking like that ball David Bowie had in that movie the Labyrinth, you know the one that he looked like he was balancing on his fingertips but some guy was really sticking his hands through his sleeves and doing the work? Just like that, only bigger.

I narrowed my eyes, stretching my finger tips to touch the ball. "May I help you, dear?" I jumped a foot in the air as a scratchy woman's voice sounded from behind me. I quickly placed my hands in my lap as an older woman dressed in classic peasant's clothing and silvery hair flowing down to her waist sat down in the chair before me.

"Uh, w-well...I saw the sign outside and I figured...well, I could use a little guidance." I said, rubbing my arm nervously.

"Yes, of course. Let us see what the ball has in store for you." She muttered, swirling her hands on either side of the ball. I blinked as the ball began to glow faintly silver, pulsating with swirls inside of it. Huh. Nice special effects. I thought, glancing around the tent nervously. "Oh my dear...it seems you've had quite the struggle the past few days." She says, looking up at me with worried eyes. My head snapped to attention at this point. There was something about that "past few days" that made me nervous. "But...it looks like things will get better. And then get worse to the point of your heart breaking, and then get better once more. A choice you will make in the future will affect those around you, so choose wisely. People are not always what they seem. Aaaand...no matter how bad things get, remember they could always be worse. That is all." I sat frozen for a few moments, and shook my head to clear my thoughts. I gave a polite thank you to the woman and hustled out of the tent as fast as my legs could carry me.

Finally, the moment of truth come when I visit the big top. The show lives up to the word that should describe most circuses; spectacular. A magical aura of suspense and enchantment seems to permeate the air, making every person feel like a kid again, including myself. Animals prance around the menagerie, including a set of ten brown and black Friesian horses and a gigantic elephant. Fire jugglers and sword swallowers provide death defying stunts, at the shock and awe of the crowd. Acrobats clad in silk fly through the air while clowns entertain the masses. All at the command of the Ringmaster, a middle aged man with seemingly gentle eyes. That gives me a pang of hope for what's to come.

The show comes and goes in a few hours, and I can't believe it's over already. After a standing ovation from the rest of the crowd and I, the audience files out. I have one more hour before I can talk to Ringmaster, so I might as well have a little fun. I make my way out of the tent, only to come to another tent, this one advertising a magic show running from 8-9:15. By the sound of the crowd, it seems like it isn't going to well. I shrug my bag back onto my shoulder, the strap cutting into my arm. I set my violin case down for a second to transfer my bag onto my other shoulder. I throw my flip flops into my bag as well, my feet stinging from the blisters of walking around all day. Suddenly, my case disappears.

My head snaps up, and I see a man with a sharp, skinny frame pushing his way through the crowd, my violin case in his hands. "Hey! Thief!" I shout, knifing my way through the crowd. I finally catch him by the arm, piercing my nails into his wrist. "Give me back my violin!" I yell, my face growing pink with anger.

"Sorry Red, if I can make a quick buck, I'll take it." The man hissed, wrenching his arm away and running through an opening. He yells incoherently to two more men, who block my path with two broad frames. I give a low growl, seeing red. I want this man out cold.

And suddenly, he is. By way of a falling lamp post. Electricity sparks through the ground as wires are uprooted, and I hear the dull thud of metal hitting bone. The man lies on the ground, unconscious. The people around us go silent.

I clasp a hand to my mouth and gasp. "I didn't mean to!" I exclaim.

One of the men holding me back steps away. "You mean you did this?" He asked, cracking his knuckles. The color drains from my face as the two descend upon me. In a flash, I duck between them, grab my violin case from the clutches of the thief, and run.

I can hear the two men on my trail, practically feel them on top of me. "You can run, girly, but you can't hide!" I disprove that theory as I duck into the shadows of a secluded part of the carnival, one that I don't recognize. I hide behind the curtain dark green curtain of an open stage, gasping for air. I can see a large winnebago parked behind the stage, the lights inside being the only ones for what seems like miles. I hear sounds of people talking and laughing not too far away. Maybe I can ask for help! The two goons pass by the stage, rage apparent on their faces. I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. "Safe for now." I mutter between breaths.

I realize that I spoke too soon when a dark shadow is cast upon me in the already failing light. My eyes grow wide, and I'm too afraid to turn around. I can't help but give a shriek as I jump from the stage, catching the attention of the men. "There she is!"

I look back at them, shifting my bag back onto my shoulder. "No, please! I didn't mean it!" I yell, seeing the two catch up quickly. "Someone, anyone help me!" I'm tired of running, but I take off anyway. My heart burns in my chest as I run, my head turned back to watch them. Why can't anything good ever come of this power!

Suddenly, I hear a thunk of metal, followed by an intense pain in my forehead. I blanch as I fall to the ground, twisting back around to see I had run into a metal pole. "Please, anything but m-my stuff. This is all I h-have!" I cry, clutching my bag to my chest and trying to back away. The two are standing over me now, menacing grins on either of their faces. I give a whimper, tears stinging my eyes. "Now we've got you, you little freak!" The first thug says, cracking his knuckles.

My vision is going blurry now, fading in and out. I can't help but notice a series of rhythmic thumps from behind me as a dark shadow falls over me once more. "You say 'freak' like it's a bad thing." An impossibly deep voice booms from high above me. The two thugs look up, their grins melting into expressions of fear. The last thing I see is the thugs backing away from me, their hands raised in defense as my vision goes completely black.