Jut random things I write

started and continued, story - 3

Warnings; none I don't think

I did this in my free time so I will try to finish it soon

When Ends Meet

Chapter 1 – Not a cult

We are the Watchers. We don't belong – can't belong – so we created a life for ourselves because no one else would because we are alone with no one. No family. No home. No idea what to do. See we are orphans and none know we exist. And you would think that we don't have an education or are starving, but actually we go on to be some of the smartest people in the world - when we can make a life for ourselves – and when we get hungry (which isn't often) we have ways of obtaining food, stealing, hunting, and buying it. Plus we go to trash schools that don't know who goes into or out of their classrooms, so we get away with it. And no we are not a cult. We are.......well I don't actually know what we are but I'll do my best to describe how we work and what we do so you can come to your own conclusion.

There are about 25 of us in the boathouse where we live near the docks. It's a bit cramped but we built a makeshift 2nd floor with hammocks, and there's a massive fireplace in the middle of the back wall. We don't have any coal but we get kindling and fuel so we find our own ways to light it. On cold, wintery days we are especially grateful for its comforting light and warmth. Those are the best days when we sit around the fire, the mouth-watering aroma of cooking fish wafting tantalizingly through the air whilst we tell stories to the Babies. But they never last long because with spring comes the arrival of bears and other fish eating mammals who greatly diminish the supply of fish reaching the sea.

So that's us- the Watchers- and who we are but I still haven't told you our purpose. We may be insignificant however we are the thread that holds the very timbers of this world together; without us humankind would crash and die and the world would be bombarded with terrors that are of unimaginable size, strength and ferocity. They would tear down the world we humans worked so hard to create in minutes, leaving no trace of our once grand empire. We are the Watchers. And we watch.

Chapter 2 – Lost hope

Charlotte Sway

Scarborough, 1867

Charlotte pauses to take in the sweet scent of freshly made bread and pastries. It is so early in the morning that not another sane soul is out; only a mad man would walk in the streets of Scarborough at this early time. So early in fact that there was still a chance that yesterday's leftover bread might still be ok to eat in the bins. Just a chance. Slipping round the side of the building her breath came out heavily and her pulse raced. She had never done this before and as far as she knew it was illegal. The cool night air shifted slightly and was replaced by a harsh, bitter wind. There were, in Charlotte's experience, 5 kinds of cold- the cool breeze you could barely feel, a cold that made your cheeks go bright red and your arms covered in goosebumps called the shy cold, there was the slightly meaner kind that could take the skin of your hand if you let it, that was called sharp cold. And there was the bitter unfriendly cold that tasted like cold, burnt toast; bitter cold. And then there was blind cold. That cold definitely would take the skin from your hand, and many other places, whether you liked it or not. The kind she felt now was shy cold just sharp enough to be noticeable but not sharp enough to bite you fiercely.

Rounding the corner of the brick building, she crept mouse-like towards the bins, well aware of the light in the window above her. She heard music and booming laughter creeping through the cracks in the doors. This was not how she had imagined she would be spending her Wednesday night- but desperate times called for desperate measures; she had a family to feed. Balancing perilously on the edge of a bucket she was just tall enough to see over the rim of the towering bin. She reached into the unknown smells, groping around until her fingertips brushed against something that felt an awful lot like bread. But there was only one way to find out. Suddenly Charlotte was snapped out of her moment of giddy triumph and her attention was grabbed by a small boy staring unwaveringly up at her. ''Mama!'' he yelled still blinking up at her. Frozen in a single moment of panic it took Charlotte only a second to decide what to do next. She grabbed the bread and ran off into the night as an overweight woman with piggy eyes and an incredibly high voice poked her head out of the window and called to the boy, ''Lorenzo! Time for dinner!'' in a sing song voice. All she saw was a fleeting glimpse of Charlotte's wispy brown hair flying round the corner. ''Young ragamuffin,'' she whispered darkly.