Born a Kook, raised a Pogue. Mally Davis knew her way around the Cut before she knew her times tables and she created havoc wherever she went. She found herself some troublesome friends at a young age and was subjected to a life of petty crime and h...
THE SUN always rose early on the Outer Banks no matter what season or month it was. It was every residents wake up call, the bright shine that scattered through the thin curtains covering the windows that were always open. There was never any escaping the sun and it's rise into the sky, it was a reminder that it was time to get up, time to work — a new day to do face.
I didn't want the sun to rise today, not as early as it did anyways after the night I had endured. My eyes were sensitive to the bright light that pooled into the shabby house I found myself waking up in — although it was hardly a house, more like a fish shack. It was however a home away from home and I'd spent most of my years sleeping in this house. The bed I woke up in though was not what I was accustomed to, I was used to the futon with the dodgy springs sticking into my ribs, not the comfort of a bed.
I opened my eyes only to shy away from the light and close them again. I used my hand to shield my eyes before rubbing them in an attempt to wake myself up. I hadn't even lifted my head off the pillow and I could feel it spinning, my stomach growled angrily as it reminded me of how empty it was.
"Oh.. god." I groaned lowly, rolling over in the bed. I peeled one eye open to look at the clock near my head for the time.
7:07am
I dropped my head back on to the thin pillow I was sleeping on and exhaled loudly, pinching my temples in between my fingers in a bid to nurse my headache away. My dad would've left already for the docks and there wasn't any way I would catch up to him before he set out to the marsh for the day.
My dad, like half of other men that lived on the Cut, made a living out of fishing. He went out early and he came home late, it had always been the same and it was something I'd grown used to since moving to the Cut. One thing I was grateful for though was that my dad never left the island for longer than half the day. He wasn't one who joined a group of fishermen out on a week's sail around the entire OBX or ventured across to the mainland and back. He went out, stuck to what he knew and he caught his haul and then he came home and sold it on for his profit.
That was life on the Cut, it was either you worked for yourself or you worked for someone on Figure Eight.
There was no point in me trying to go back to sleep now, the room was too bright and I could only sleep in the darkness, but I couldn't be bothered to get up yet. I stared at the wall of the bedroom I had found myself waking up in until I heard a startled yelp followed by a thud and the clattering of beer cans hitting the floor.
