White Ravens

Chapter One: A Head of Fire.

"You didn't have to kill him!" The same tape kept replaying within his head like some infernal stuck record. He kept revisiting that night. Suddenly, the gloomy penthouse flat he occupied was a harbour. Around him went the wailing of loud sirens, the mischievous call of seagulls, the mechanic sound of fork lifts and the occasional grunt of working men. 

There he was himself, clad in navy blue overalls, thinking excitedly of the night to come. Had he not needed that final pay, he would have stayed home that day but no matter how chilly and dark the weather, he needed to work those few hours and collect his final stash. The night would be promising he told himself over and over again but as he blinked once more, he was back in that dark room, sat upon fancy duvet, staring down at his bare feet and the pieces of male apparel which laid strewn there on the floor. A red colour flashes in his mind. Her story needed telling before his could be told...

The fiery haired girl! Who was she? Well, she was Ruth Clark, common street rat as plenty called her. She had been unlucky enough to be born to an immigrant mother and an alcoholic and abusive father. All she knew of her mother was that little bit of information and of the night that last fight occurred. She was merely fifteen when it happened. Father had been drinking, heavily. He had been neglecting his duties again which meant that for the second consecutive month, the rent had not been paid. 

"Marcus, the landlord will be here by morning! What do I say?" Mother had looked so worried then as she tended to him, carefully placing his broth before him along with a slice of bread. Father sat there, attempting to grope mother, wanting her to sit upon his lap. As always, he needed to be drunk in order for him to actually show mother any affection.

"You worry too much, woman. Let him come, I have money aplenty!" Of course, that had been his idea of a joke. 

In the corner, Ruth sat watching this sad spectacle. Mother tried to feed father since he could barely find his own mouth. He was grateful for that but Janet knew that this would not last.
"Honestly, Marcus. What do you expect me to tell the landlord? What if he kicks us out? It's cold out there..." 

"Didn't I tell you not to worry? Think I'd let my woman and my girl live a rough life?"

But mother kept worrying. She worried throughout the entire evening. She voiced out her worry and it angered father. Feigning that everything was normal, mother sent Ruth to bed. Despite her protests of it being too early or not wanting to sleep alone, she obeyed. She was a teenager after all.  Sleep did not come easy though for as she laid in bed counting sheep, she heard the commotion that went on in the kitchen. Father was angry now because mother had said too much and she had denied him something. The walls of Ruth's room could scarcely muffle father's insults and mother's sobs. It went on for what seemed like hours. 

When she could no longer sit there and mull over her thoughts or just sit and listen to it all, Ruth got up from the bed and stuck her feet in her slippers. It was quiet now, eerily quiet as she made her way out of the room.
"Mother?" She spoke softly, her steps slow and careful as she moved through the corridor. There was no response though, only the silence weighing in heavy on her ears. It was pleasant in a way.

Standing there, she examined the room she was in, taking in every little detail. Around her was the clatter of broken glass, dusting the floor in tiny smithereens. There had been a fight, a harsh one and mother had left. She could deduce that from the fact that she had threatened father that she would leave him before and also because the door stood ajar. 

Father laid there huddled in the corner, reeking of cheap vodka, sweat and dried blood. He was breathing, just unconscious. Whatever mother had done to him had knocked him out cold. Scratch marks covered his cheeks and his clothes looked torn through at various places.That was it. That had to be her exit. Her chance to leave as mother had done. Her eyes moved over father one more time, he would be out for an entire day if mother had done what she suspected her of doing to father. What she did was her only way to gain a moment of respite from him.

Ruth sighed deeply, she needed to be quick. She knew that there was nothing holding her there. If mother had left then she could too. No one would miss her. Who would miss the little red haired witch daughter of Marcus Clark and Irina Clark? She made her way through the house, grabbing what little she possessed; a few bits of clothing, some toiletries - all this she dumped in her old worn out duffel bag. A quick run of her fingers through her hair, throwing the slippers off and replacing them with her pleather boots and she was done. A faint smile was the final ingredient to add to her beauty. With the duffel bag over her shoulder, she made her way out. Grabbing a handful of bills from the small commode in the lounge. This would be enough for now.

That was it. She was actually leaving the house. She was about to leave behind the dreary mockery of a life she had been born into. She turned to the moving heap in the corner and looked at her father. She was fond of him, or she used to pretend that she was. She stepped closer to him, bending down just so she could stroke his cheek very lightly.
"Toodles, father. You single handedly pushed the only two people who cared about you out of your life," she leaned in, placing a soft kiss to his forehead. He stirred a bit then, groaning in his sleep. 

Ruth stood up, smoothing down her dress. Oh heck, she was still clad in her night dress. True, it was not a night dress per se, it looked a lot more like sundress meets negligee but that was what she wore at night. And now, without daring to look back lest she ended up waking from some dream, she stepped out through the open door. Leaving in wake a mess that would be discovered soon. But for the moment, her story needed to begin.