Wishbone

o. Prolouge

  

✶

                        What's it mean when finding it in your sock drawers? I beg for you to tell me once again.. so it's like winning a lottery or finding god in your sock drawer. A blessing to get a good and privileged life as compared to another individuel from the ends of Outer Banks, finding places to work until their muscles are throbbing, very tender as well. But the thing is, how Charlotte envies those who could stay kind and financially literate. It turned her so bitter. With dirt under their fingernails, they aren't terrible people at all. Staying kind, as she would say.

Even when they would've loved to claim her as selfish, a few of them knows, she never has been. Her wishes bets on herself to stay kind to them (kooks) As it lets her anger be flared whenever enraged. Charlotte certainly is not strong enough to react if provoked by everything that's foolish for a reason to be. She tries to remain her kindness and torture in their stead, it does not cease her anger, which is so not fair, almost selvom of deserved.

So irony of all ironies here? She is a dumb Kook. But do mind this, she loathes to say it.

Since Paulina gives birth to a babygirl, naming her Charlotte, as everyone could've seen coming. Strange it was for a young girl to be faster than other kids at such early age. After all she cannot know a oneself thing, not about life, let me tell you. But losing her so generous father comes enough to 'know it all' for a child. As it everyone considers this to be one of the most tragic things: how could life allegedly be worse? Giving out and out as it never gets back to her, that is enfeeble to her. It's stupid and naive, more than she already claims.

Charlotte grunts and runs around with the soccer ball, mumbling words originating from her prejudiced father: "In a world you get what is given. It is not be up for trade, frequently won't ever be."

Yes, he hit the bullseye on that.

Scratching her wet neck from sweat, she carefully said, I have never given enough. If captured in the coating to her memory what layer of him should stay?

Blame's not gonna solve things out, surely. Charlotte is free to blame her mother but it only ever gives her a lumb by the size of a cherry in her throat— anything turned broken in her hands. Can be vileness, whatever, it made her covet to hold something not too long. If she does... Crack it'll say and the pieces stays in her palms. At good brisk— her babyhairs claggy from the sun's heat— she runs across the meadow, playing against something invisible because there's nobody present except for her. Layered with water from the sprinklers, the green is kept by them to not get bleached by the sun's casts of yellow hues down.

Bushes are whispering as the wind is hitting blooming trees to show all kind of peace from Outer Banks' nature and how pretty the concreted houses could actually become, only, when it does its justice.