【ｆｅａｒｌｅｓｓ】p. jackson

⚡𝒐𝒏𝒆 - 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆⚡

𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒐 . . . "𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒓𝒌 (𝒕𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏)" 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒕

𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 (𝒀/𝑵)'𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒗

I RUB MY EYES AND LOOK AROUND. I'm in my alley---the one I had claimed as my own...sort of.

Let's back up.

My name is (Y/N) Scarlett, and I am twelve years old. I live in an alley because I'm quick, good at fighting, can steal food easily, and then hide.

I have no friends other than this cat that comes to my alley and lets me pet it. I ended up naming the cat Betty, because why not?

So how did I end up in this alley? Well, let's start at the very beginning.

I was raised by a wealthy woman named Emma Marjorie who was not that nice to me. She gave me a room and stuff but treated me like Cinderella if Cinderella was a nine-year-old girl obsessed with Egyptian mythology. Oh, and if Cinderella was raised in North Carolina.

When I was eleven I decided to leave that hellhole for good. The only problem was that I had nowhere to go. So I just ran north and hoped for the best.

So that brings me to where I am now: somewhat settled in and reasonably happy.

I stand up shakily, using the alley wall to steady myself. Betty is curled up in the very corner of the alley, as she was last night. Her head jolts up at the sound of my footsteps and she stands up, stretches, sits back down, and starts grooming her ruffled pelt.

Betty is a black cat with thick fur that always has some kind of meat scraps in it. Her whole pelt is black except for a few little gray spots on her back that look like God tried to season her. Her eyes are a striking yellow color that's always creepy when she prowls into the alley at night and I'm trying to sleep.

I pick at my jagged, broken nails, thinking about what to do next. I've been in this alley for several months now, and I'm not even sure what city it's in.

A tiny voice in my mind says, "Jersey City!" 

I question what that voice is, but listen to it. I guess I'm in Jersey City. And if I studied the map of America in my third-grade classroom right, it would be about three or four miles to get to New York City.

I look at Betty. "So...you wanna go to NYC?" I ask the cat.

She mrrows in agreement.

I walk quickly out of the alley, Betty following me, trying not to draw attention to myself. I search faces on streets, thinking, What are the chances that Mum would be downtown?  Telling myself that that's pretty much impossible, considering that my real mum is dead, I think about my other mum. The one Emma Marjorie said was missing.

I get so distracted in my thoughts that Betty has to nip at my ankles to get me to not walk into oncoming traffic.

"Thanks, Betts," I tell her, and I must look crazy talking to a cat because six people turn and stare at me with a look that says, Um, are you mad? That's a cat.

I giggle and give them a look back like Silly me! even though I am fully sure that Betty understood me.

They all go back to their walking.

I notice almost everyone in this city that is probably Jersey City has a business suit and a briefcase. It's a little sad because the pops of color that I see are either little kids or seniors walking around, touring the place.

Betty bites me again, and I realise that I'm straying a bit too close to the road. I whisper a thanks to her and this time people don't stare at me like I'm crazy.

An hour later I've booked a train to Long Island, New York, and am waiting beside a cloaked figure at the bus stop. Rain is coming down hard and Betty is staying as far away from the edge of the shelter as possible.

The cloaked figure hasn't said a word to me, and it's clear Betty is a bit freaked out by the figure because she keeps hissing at it.

The figure's head turns to me, and it's a man. He has pitch-dark sunglasses on, scars across his face, and a buzz cut. I look at his hands and he's clutching a motorcycle that wasn't there before.

The man laughs dryly. "Hey!" he says. His voice is gravelly like he's dehydrated or something. "If it isn't Scarlett, my niece!"

I frown. "My name isn't Scarlett, old man. It's (Y/N) Scarlett. Get it right. And I'm not your niece."

"Alright, you got me there, punk. Not my niece, per se. Just, like, honorary niece. Plus, I'm younger than other guys I talk to, so I wouldn't just throw around names like that." The man laughs again and presses hard on his motorcycle horn. As expected, the loud airhorn sound fills the air and I cover my ears.

"Oww," I say. "You didn't have to put on the horn."

The man chuckles. "But I did! See, punk, you aren't from here. I can tell."

I make a sour face at him and pet Betty. "So? I'm from North Carolina, you sack of soft grapes."

The man snarls. "Not like that, punk. Don't insult me. But I can tell you don't belong where you're going. So I suggest shutting your stupid little mouth and going back where you came from." 

He jumps on his motorcycle, does that stupid "I'm watching you" hand signal (you know, the one with the two fingers and the eyes and the pointing), and drives off, the motorbike leaving a trail of smoke behind it.

Betty sits down beside me, a lot calmer now that the man is gone. She starts grooming her pelt and cleaning out the meat scraps that are stuck in her fur.

"Who do you think that man was, Betty?" I ask her. She looks up at me curiously, paw still in the air, and tilts her head.

I don't know, says a voice in my head, but it seems fake, like it does actually know. Don't ask me!

I roll my eyes and turn back forward, just in time to see the train pulling up. I hope they take cats on the train...

I scoop Betty up in my arms and walk up the steps to the train, ignoring the conductor when he says, "Hey, you can't do that!"

I give him my ticket and rush down the aisle, getting a seat in the very back of the train. Thank God it's a single seat.

Betty looks at me disapprovingly and jumps out of my arms, curling up under the seat.

The conductor's crackling voice comes over the P.A.: "Good evening, folks! Let's get this train moving, and for some of you, welcome to New York!"

☾𖤓

𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒆'𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇𝒇 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅! 

𝒊 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 <𝟑𝟑 

 𝑽𝑰𝑹 (𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔) 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏: 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒔? 

 𝒕𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒇 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 𝟓 

 𝟏𝟏𝟔𝟖 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 

 ~𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒑 (𝒕𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏)