Tim O'Rourke - Kiera Hudson 04.5 by Wolf House

Author:Wolf House
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-05-15T14:06:12+00:00

13

I moved from one town to another with little direction. I’d left Sophie’s life three months ago and hadn’t heard from her since. At each new town, I wrote to her. I told her how much I loved her, if there was only some way she could accept me for who and what I was. In those letters I tried to convince her that I wasn’t a monster. I’d give her my temporary address in the hope she would write back, or even better, come and see me. But I heard nothing. So on the very last day in each of the towns, I would check the mail, then move on again.

Even though I was only eighteen, I looked older and managed to get myself work as security on the doors of seedy night clubs. I worked in bars, picked fruit on farms during the summer months, and even had a go at being a short-order cook in some rat-infested motorway café. I kept pretty much to myself and didn’t make friends. I wasn’t there to make friends, just to make enough money to pay for lodgings and enough food to get by on.

I had no plan. I couldn’t go back to The Hollows and face my father and his ridicule. I’d have to listen to how I was a failure, a ‘big fucking disappointment’ as he used to say. But he was the disappointment. What had he ever amounted to? He spent his days sweating away in the mines beneath The Hollows, and most of the night too, if he could get the overtime. He was always so fucking angry at everyone and everything. And when he wasn’t working, he was pissed on root juice and slapping me upside the head and beating on my mother. My mother left in the end, leaving us both behind. I was fifteen, I think. Never saw her again. Maybe she was living above ground and I hoped she was happier than I was.

No. Apart from the rare visit to The Hollows to sedate my cravings, I couldn’t go home. I would rather die. So I moved on and on and on. But the work just became harder to find as the clothes I stood in began to look scruffier and dirtier by the day and my skin hung off my bones. Without money, I couldn’t find lodgings and spent many nights sleeping rough. I fell in with a travelling band of hippies for a while, helping them set up for gigs that they performed at summer festivals, but it was all drugs and women and I didn’t want anything to do with either. So I split one night and I took their van with me. I got about sixty miles before the gas ran out, but it was a place to sleep for a night or two before the cops picked it up sitting abandoned beside the road.

But the winter nights were the worst. The winters can be unforgiving in the North

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