Post by August Davis on Jul 29, 2010 18:43:49 GMT -5
Perspiration made it's way from August's forehead, and down his hot, scruffy face. The sun beat down on his honey brown hair. He raked one of his large, rough hands through his hair, muttering curses about summer to himself as he walked from his parent's home in Queens to his humble warehouse. His father came down with some illness, and his mother, being his mother, thought the worst and sent out to all six of her children, telling them their father was in his last days and they needed to come immediately. How his mother found him, he would never know. But, he packed what little he had, told his pickpockets that he had to leave, and put Chance and Street in charge. Then, he headed back to his childhood home to say goodbye to the Davis patriarch.
He was surprised that all of his siblings were there, but, his mother did seem frantic in her request that they get there as soon as humanly possible. August wondered if she was serious about their father, or if it was an attempt to reunite their family. It turned out to be a little of both. His father was sick with some odd disease, and despite being worried sick over Paul, his mother enjoyed having everyone around. In a way, August did too. He realized he missed his family. But why? When he left home he was so fed up with everyone, and he wanted to prove his independence. He proved his independence, but he didn't want to admit to himself or to anyone that he missed his family. That made him sound like he was a ten year old schoolboy, that's what he thought anyway.
He was away from his other family, the pickpocket gang, for about a month. Mrs. Davis wouldn't let anyone leave, fearing that the second they stepped out of the house, Mr. Davis would die. So, they all lived together under the same roof, just like old times. In the back of August's mind, he was worried sick for his gang. Would they be able to function without him? He was sure they could, but what if something happened? What if someone died, or got lost, or got hurt? He wouldn't be there to handle it. Chance would be there, and if he wasn't there, then Street would be there. But they weren't him. He felt bad for leaving them. He didn't even tell them why, he just said he had business to attend to, and left. Some would get mad if he said he had family affairs to deal with. In his mind he did the best thing possible, or did he?
August was on his way to the warehouse at that moment, he was exhausted from not sleeping the night before, and walking in the heat. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. Just that morning, the doctor said that Mr. Davis had fully recovered from whatever he was sick with. He then said goodbye to his parents and siblings and was on his way back to make sure everything was okay with his gang.
He slowly approached the abandoned warehouse, and opened the door to the dark building. He walked in quietly, and looked around, no one was there. He could have guessed that, it was the middle of the day, they were all out picking pockets. That's what they should be doing, anyways.
August breathed in the musty air before he walked over to his "bed", threw this stuff down, and collapsed on the pallet. Very different from the lavish room at his parent's house, but it felt like home to him. Or did it? Something didn't feel right, but he couldn't put his finger on it. What was it?
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Words;; 649
He was surprised that all of his siblings were there, but, his mother did seem frantic in her request that they get there as soon as humanly possible. August wondered if she was serious about their father, or if it was an attempt to reunite their family. It turned out to be a little of both. His father was sick with some odd disease, and despite being worried sick over Paul, his mother enjoyed having everyone around. In a way, August did too. He realized he missed his family. But why? When he left home he was so fed up with everyone, and he wanted to prove his independence. He proved his independence, but he didn't want to admit to himself or to anyone that he missed his family. That made him sound like he was a ten year old schoolboy, that's what he thought anyway.
He was away from his other family, the pickpocket gang, for about a month. Mrs. Davis wouldn't let anyone leave, fearing that the second they stepped out of the house, Mr. Davis would die. So, they all lived together under the same roof, just like old times. In the back of August's mind, he was worried sick for his gang. Would they be able to function without him? He was sure they could, but what if something happened? What if someone died, or got lost, or got hurt? He wouldn't be there to handle it. Chance would be there, and if he wasn't there, then Street would be there. But they weren't him. He felt bad for leaving them. He didn't even tell them why, he just said he had business to attend to, and left. Some would get mad if he said he had family affairs to deal with. In his mind he did the best thing possible, or did he?
August was on his way to the warehouse at that moment, he was exhausted from not sleeping the night before, and walking in the heat. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. Just that morning, the doctor said that Mr. Davis had fully recovered from whatever he was sick with. He then said goodbye to his parents and siblings and was on his way back to make sure everything was okay with his gang.
He slowly approached the abandoned warehouse, and opened the door to the dark building. He walked in quietly, and looked around, no one was there. He could have guessed that, it was the middle of the day, they were all out picking pockets. That's what they should be doing, anyways.
August breathed in the musty air before he walked over to his "bed", threw this stuff down, and collapsed on the pallet. Very different from the lavish room at his parent's house, but it felt like home to him. Or did it? Something didn't feel right, but he couldn't put his finger on it. What was it?
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Words;; 649
