The Mute (Bradley Simpson fanfic) *Editing in progress*

Chapter 1

Cecilia's P.O.V

I stretch my arms, yawning sleepily. Another new day... a usual day. Nothing ever changes. I pull on my dark jeans and grey hoodie. Then i put on my sneakers. I suppose im a bit of a squatter, or something like that. I'm homeless and live in a garage thats apart of an abandoned house. Some of us homeless people decided to crash here... it won't be long till someone discovers us and we end up on the streets again. But it'll do for now. I kinda have the garage to myself. Though Maddie sometimes stays here. She isn't homeless and is fairly well off... but she seems transfixed with the trashy life of the homeless. I don't understand it. But at least she doesn't mind that i can't speak.

I run my fingers through my hair and grab my spray paints and art stuff, which i keep in a satchel. Pulling the hood on my hoodie over my head, i head out. The reason i have my hood up is so my face is hidden, or at least it makes it difficult for people to see the features of my face. So I'm not recognised. I go to a closed down shop and continue my painting that is on one side of it. I'm a street artist. Once I'm done i tag it. Time to move onto the next location. As i walk around town i try to look for a good spot to do some more street art. I cross the busiest road in town, full of wild hooligans and spot the perfect place to do my next piece. Its a building next to the road... a factory i think. It's a risky one.

Being the daredevil that i am, i begin to paint, using my spray paint. After a few hours i step back to look at it. Not bad. Now for the details, i pull out my paint brush and a small tube of paint. I generally use nearby bricks or pieces of wood as a mixing tray for my paint. Just as i begin adding more detail i hear a shout. I turn and see a police car pull over. Uh oh. Flinging my paint brush and tube of paint into my satchel, i flee from the area. Guess i won't be going back there for a while.

I head back to my garage and collapse on my bed made out cushions that i found.

"Looks like the mute had to do a runner. Ha wimpy much."

Urgh, it's Richie, coming back from another day of shoplifting. I watch him head inside the house. He's gone. I shove my hand in my pocket and feel something inside it. Something that i forgot i had. The one thing i had left to hold onto.

A photo of me and my brother.