(no subject)
Their entrance won't be an obvious one. They're small and they're quiet, and so they blend into the background rather easily. There's two of them, which is the only reason they might be seen at all. A boy and a girl, but they're not twins-- the boy is younger, smaller, more frail.
"I'm Astor," says Astor, looking around warily. Too warily for an eight-year-old with a yellow rain slicker and her red hair in pigtails.
But not too long ago her father, high on who knows what (heroin or crack or both), beat her and her little brother with a chair, and then turned to their mother with a rage that landed one in the hospital and the other in prison. After that, who could blame this girl for mistrusting strangers? Or anyone, for that matter.
Five-year-old Cody, his eyes empty, says nothing at all.
Typist: Astor and Cody, from Jeff Lindsay's Dexter series. They are indeed much too quiet.
"I'm Astor," says Astor, looking around warily. Too warily for an eight-year-old with a yellow rain slicker and her red hair in pigtails.
But not too long ago her father, high on who knows what (heroin or crack or both), beat her and her little brother with a chair, and then turned to their mother with a rage that landed one in the hospital and the other in prison. After that, who could blame this girl for mistrusting strangers? Or anyone, for that matter.
Five-year-old Cody, his eyes empty, says nothing at all.
Typist: Astor and Cody, from Jeff Lindsay's Dexter series. They are indeed much too quiet.