AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Not only going more or less straight edge when it came to substances, we all made our own choices when it came to spirituality, ranging from atheism to hardcore Judaism to traditional Irish paganism. Eoin was in this last group.
The streetlights were pretty sporadic but the moon was full, so that helped, as did high beams. There were no other cars on the road except for those owned by mad buggers with the brass balls to street park overnight.
“T’ere he is!” Eoin said, pointing emphatically out the window, to a man who was slumped over on the cobblestone sidewalk.
“He looks pretty rough,” I said.
“But he needs help!”
“He might slug me again.”
“Please?”
“Fine. Stay here.”
Easing the car over to the side of the road, I got out quickly, looking about me. The streets were so empty except for me and the smacked out junkie in the gutter, who happened to be our father. If one could even call him that, seeing how undeserving he was of the title.
“Swing at me and I’ll knock yer teet’ out,” I said, taking him by the shoulders.
“Feck off, ye wanker!” he said in reply.
“Love ye too, da.”
Bundling the mean old bugger into the back of my car, I drove back to the relative safety of our flat, Eoin glancing back at da as he slept on the backseat.
“He’s still t’ere,” I said, after the tenth time. “And this is the last time I’m gonna rescue him.”
“I know,” Eion said, looking me solemnly in the eye. “This one last time, for my eighteenth birthday. Thank ye, Gavin.”
I was glad he understood why I needed to be done rescuing our no-good father. I knew it was time to leave the house and the country I’d been chained to due to obligation. It had only ever been my concern for Eoin that was keeping me there, but now he was a man, according to the law, and Noel, next in line to me and three years younger than I was, said he would look out for the little mite if I wanted to go.
They all agreed it was time to go, like Patrick already had. Granted, he had moved to Israel to live on a kibbutz for a while and I was just planning to move to Hollywood, but it was the same principle. There was now really nothing stopping me from going there and perusing my dreams.
Chapter Two
Maggie
I was used to the jokes. It was really little more than an occupational hazard and part of being one of the chosen few creatives in a society of philistines and cultural vandals. My favorite line of bullshit was “Oh, I’ve been thinking about trying that when I retire!” Partly because I had come up with the perfect comeback by asking what the smart ass does and then saying I planned to try that when I was rich and had the time.
The look on the corporate lawyer’s face was absolutely priceless and kept me warm during the lean times, which were getting numerous as time went on. Then again, I was only twenty and had lots of time to learn and improve.
I had heard from a very reliable source that the most important step of a story is the first draft. It is the basis from which the rest of the story is crafted through editing. I’d also heard that writing actually comes out better when handwritten as opposed to type, the neuron-processes being very different. Not least because the process of handwriting is a lot more conscious and deliberate, so the resulting words tend to be a lot more considered.
It could take a bit more time than straight typing, sure, but not that much more, and because no one else needs to see your first draft, it doesn’t matter if you’re the only one who can read it.
My favorite place to write was at the park, under a giant Yew tree by the duck pond. I just felt really calm there and more able to focus and write to best of my ability. It might have had something to do with the fact that my daddy was a Druid and I had grown up in nature and it reminded me of him in his wood smoke smelling clothes, but I couldn’t be sure.
The weather had turned pretty nice, so I was able to wear shorts for the first time in a while, which was great. Deciding to be brave, I coupled it with my badass T-shirt reading: Great Granddaughter of That Witch You Couldn’t Burn.
Clothed as according to the arbitrary rules of society, naked being by far my preferred state, I started to look for my bag, finally finding it under the front of the couch.
“Bye, babe,” I said, gently squeezing my step sister Raquel’s nearly bare shoulder as I passed the kitchen table.
