The gun hastily shoved into her pocket, the outline clearly visible through the fabric. The shop lady didn’t say a word as Vicky marched to the back store to pick up Charlie, eyes empty and a blank expression plastered onto her face. One escorted her out of the alley, while the others slid the body under some empty sacks to dispose of him later. Someone must have called the police, for at some point three coppers showed up in her line of vision. Victoria crumbled down, tearing her stockings and scratching her knees on the stones. The handgun felt like a white hot iron in her hands, yet she wouldn’t let go of it. Warm, sticky droplets splashing onto her face, getting into her eyes and mouth. The first bullet aimed for his right hand, the second clean through the forehead, poor bastard didn’t even have time to scream. Her body turning around, teeth gritted, feet braced on the floor. At least there they could afford the tranquillity of walking around without fear of feeling a gun barrel pressed against their backs. According to Polly, the market was well within their safe radio, and they didn’t need an escort to protect them. It seemed that in every stand he found something new catching his eye, and no matter how firmly Victoria kept a grip on his hand every now and then the little rascal managed to slip away, closely chased by his aunt, her legs fuelled by the fear of having Tommy hang her by the thumbs. Poor boy would go crazy when they were out, exposed to sounds and smells and objects he’d never seen in Arrow House. Charlie was starting to get fussy being locked up in Tommy’s bedroom all day, so every time Victoria went out to get the shopping done, she’d take him with her.
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They wouldn’t even let her help around in the shop, yet had saint Linda taking telephone bets. While the Blinders busied themselves with their plan of laying Arthur as bait, Victoria was still stuck at home looking after everyone, since they were too useless to do so themselves. The busy streets where the market was placed provided ample protection against lurking enemies, but little safety against running children.
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a beige that welcomes feelings of isolation even amongst loved ones, a beige whose joy is often followed by guilt, a constant cycle of longing to love and to be loved.
#Sevyn streeter shoulda been there pt. 1 zip skin#
what is it about the autumn, with its changing leaves and shorter days, that leaves me nostalgically yearning for a part of my soul and self that has never existed? beige being the colour of my skin that longs for the gentle embrace of the july sun the colour of being drawn into bed, hoping for a sleep that won’t be greeted by another day. the changing of the seasons leaves me feeling unbalanced and unsure of myself in a way that i can’t dwell on for too long before i’m completely devoured by these feelings of loss and insecurity. beige meaning that there’s something inherently fresh and warm within, but it’s stuck in a perpetual state of unproductive comfort. beige seems to represent a new beginning that doesn’t know which direction it would like to finally decide on. I’ve been feeling quite beige recently beige in the sense that i feel a certain light trying to dimly glow through yet still dull and unfamiliarly old.