Freakshow - Chapter 2
You know you can’t afford a free ride
Freakshow was started by J. Curtis of Tiny Worlds, because his mind just works that way. And several of us are on board to take up the story. Have fun:
, , ,List of FREAKSHOW Chapters (will be updated as they are released):
Chapter #1: FREAKSHOW - Chapter 1 by J. Curtis
Chapter #2: by Ann Kimbrough (You’re here now.)
Chapter #3: FREAKSHOW - Chapter 3 by Keith Long of Loser’s Fiction
Chapter #4: FREAKSHOW - Chapter 4 by C.S. Mee of The Deep
Chapter #5: FREAKSHOW - Chapter 5 by Paul R. Pace of Paul Runs His Mouth
Chapter #6: FREAKSHOW - Chapter 6 by Pablo Baez of Chrome Hearse Express
Chapter #7: FREAKSHOW - Chapter 7 by Jon T/Ferns of Columbo
Chapter #8 - FREAKSHOW - Chapter 8 by Sandolore Sykes
NOW… Freakshow continues! Are we ready?
She would disappear. But first, a little fun. After all, the Mission District was urban dense, and fog hugged its dark corners like silk. Shouldn’t waste good fog.
The locals called the fog Karl. She called it friend.
It hid all kinds of dangers—like her.
A delicious idea formed. One that made her laugh. It’s the little things that made skating through her freakshow livable.
She slowed to let him catch up. Dang, but he was slow. It seemed cruel to let him think he’d done something right. Something he could report back to S.R. Detectives. It wouldn’t last long.
Cutting to the left, she took the stairs down. They led right into the bowls of a basement record shop. The Record Cellar had weird hours. It never opened during the day, but it was open on the darkest nights when Karl clogged human lungs.
She went right to her favorite section, stopping at a category sign that read: Sleazy Music. The best homemade Lofi, grimy rebellion that only sounded good on vinyl. Indie Sleaze. And waited.
He finally caught up. Within a few feet, however, a cloying sensation tingled over her skin. Seared down her spine. Tightened her senses. Figured. Some people she could read across the room. What was it that made their lives drag along like a limp shadow?
He puffed out his chest and stepped close, still unaware that she’d let him. “Your father wants a word.”
She thumbed through the albums. A worn cover for Crystal Castles caught her eye.
“Does he wanna buy some illusions?” she asked.
Feet shuffled. Staggering. The breath in him turned to molasses.
Maybe that would do it. Maybe her father would get the message. The warning. Not that he deserved one.
The idiot he’d sent just stood there, lost. She handed him an album. Not the Crystal Castle, but a discounted Depeche Mode. He held it, not understanding. Not knowing he’d lost because she’d tugged at his mind. Twisted bits of him inward.
“Don’t run toward me,” she whispered, “run from me.”
“Hey!” The record store clerk noticed first.
The backside of the Depeche Mode album… was on fire. The flames licked up, over the top, right there between his hands.
It never got old. She blew him a kiss and walked away.
But he didn’t follow.
He couldn’t.
They never could. Not once they got that close.
They were never the same.
Because she was untouchable.
Music to read by:
Vanished - Crystal Castles YouTube
I like this chick
I wouldn't want to run into this chick in a dark alley . . .