The Blue Danube [OLD]

- 𝔬𝔫𝔢. ﾐ

╲⠀╲⠀╲ ╲

⠀⠀╲⠀╲⠀☆⠀ ╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀☆⠀╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ★

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀★

november 1856

Paul McCartney really hated sunlight at that moment. 

The brilliant rays spilled right from the window facing their one bedroom, casting bright light directly onto Paul's face. Letting a groan escape from his mouth, the raven-haired boy slowly opened his sticky eyelids, elongated eyelashes casting shadows on his freckled, sunken cheeks, quickly sitting up to get out of the sun's rays. Rubbing his eyes while yawning, the boy stumbled up to his feet from the large, only mattress in the room, which made a loud creaking noise as Paul removed himself from it. Hearing rustling from the kitchen, he realised his father must be up and making their breakfast. As if on cue, Paul's stomach sounded with a grumble, and he huffed slightly, before making his way out the door and into the second room where the kitchen and single sofa was. He hissed slightly as his feet hit the cold, rough stone below, and he heard slight stomping above as the family of five that lived above them in the second storey of the rickety house moved about. Jane Asher was the girl that he first met of the family. She was the middle child, with a younger sister and older brother. She was a lovely girl, and Paul had developed a bit of a crush on her, but they have only known each other for about a month now. The McCartney's have only met the other members of the family in passing. 

"Ah, Paul, yer awake!" Jim's exclaimed happily, holding two (slightly cracked) plates with one slice of bread and two slices of cheese on each, placing them on the little counter they used both as a table and cooking area. "'Ere's yer breakfast. Call yer brother ova' now, would ya?" 

"Alrigh'. Bread an' cheese again, Da?" The fourteen year old groaned disappointedly, scratching his side and moving to call Mike inside from the back garden. To any outsider, even if the family dressed in royal-worthy clothes and pretended to live in a manor, they would be able to tell they were poor by their accents. Roughened and slurred slightly, due to rarely any education or proper teaching usually, everyone in this area had similar accents, and as you go further into the city, the accents of the residents grew more and more poshened and had wider vocabulary. 

"Mikey! C'mon inside, get yer breakfas'! We need ta hurry up, we'll be late fer work!" Paul leaned outside the doorway, the back door having fallen off and laying next to the doorway, ready to be fixed when someone finds time. They worked every day of the week, and today was a Saturday. They couldn't afford no work on weekends.

"Comin', wai' up!" Mike leaped up from amongst the overgrown grass, nearly knocking over the stack of tobacco from their harvest in the summer, speeding inside past his brother. On the side, Jim owned a small farm in their backyard which he worked on with the Asher family, though mainly the Ashers owned it. They grew tobacco, wheat, corn, and cotton. Cotton worked best for them, because it rains often in England, and cotton needs plenty of water.