I DON'T OWN ANYTHING CANON
Some people would like to look at love as a practical thing. You fall in love, you get married, and you have kids. The cycle continues and if it didn't, we wouldn't have any new generations.
But sometimes love loses its practicality and everyone wonders 'Why is that still going on?' What do we do then? Do we repress it all because it isn't 'right' or 'proper'?
Or do you drudge on because love is all we, as human beings, want to do? We were born from love, born to love.
Is it ok to die for love? The kind of love that no one will understand?
People always look down at us workin' kids. 'Poor newsies, hardly a place for them to rest der heads at night'. I wish people would stop feeling sorry for us and just buy a goddamned pape. It'd sure be better than their pity.
Mush Meyers
Mush Meyers doesn't know much about his parents. His mother was a poor maid who had been working her entire life; his father was a womanizing young man who caused mischief wherever he went.
They met at a party that Mush's father had attended…uninvited and that Mush's mother was working at. Mush's mother tried to serve him one of those dainty foods they serve on doilies but Mush's father decided to wink at her and then pinch her butt when she walked away instead.
She thought he was hilarious.
He thought she'd pass the time until morning.
They snuck off into a closet, or a bedroom, or an alleyway.
And that's where Mush came from. Now this would have been fine if Mr. Meyers had married the mother of his child or helped her to raise him.
But…Mush's mother was black. And Mush's father was not. Suddenly, she wasn't worth his time because of that very fact, and he left her to fend for herself.
They were so poor that at seven, Mush began to work just as his mother had to. Hawking headlines for a dime a day and picking up all sorts of slang.
Mush's mother was guilt ridden. She promised herself long ago that she would not bring a child into this world until she was ready. But she had no other choice.
When Mush was ten, his mother died from influenza, or pneumonia…he couldn't even remember anymore. All he knew was that she was gone.
And the family tradition of fending for yourself continued.
Someone once told me I say what everyone's thinking…but is too afraid to say. I never asked for that talent. But here I am, with my big mouth.
Coin Carrigy
Coin Carrigy was born in what could only be described by someone with any amount of money as a shack. Four walls and a roof and it held the entire Carrigy clan. It was cold, inside and out, but everyone seemed content.
But adults can never be satisfied. Coin's parents said all the clichés: Ireland was wet, Ireland was poor, they were starving, and the most important one- America was better.
So they packed all of their belongings (which were a bible, some pots, a kettle, and some blankets) and Mr. Carrigy had his last pint at the pub. There were tears and prayers and it played out like all the stories. The family leaves their beautiful countryside for the hustle and bustle of America.
Everyone did it. It seemed like no one was staying on the oppressed island. But for the Carrigys it seemed as though they were all alone in their journey. When you do something so…life altering…you think it's only happening to you.
Because who else would want to go through that much change?
They resided in Manhattan. Mr. Carrigy sought out a job. Mass every Sunday, iron your skirts for school. Say the rosary. Say it again. One more Hail Mary. Read good books, sing pretty songs. Jump rope and hop-scotch. Be a good little girl and we'll give you sweets.
To be a good little girl again.
At age eighteen, it was all Coin wanted.
Coin is having another multi-chaptered story even though she hasn't updated her others in ages?
Of course not. That was just a figment of your imagination.
Screw Mary Sue comments. Coin's name is not Mary Sue. It's Anna Coin Carrigy.
Feedback is appreciated and helpful.