Status: Active
Run From Me
A Caricature of Faith
“Are you sure you don’t want to take a rest or something?” Myra’s boss inquired nervously. “No one else likes getting up there. Besides, I’m fine now. Just a little sore.” They were walking towards the stage 20 minutes after the fall. “Yeah, but I’m sure one of the venue’s technicians can do it..” Myra just glanced at him in disgust. “Timmy, I like you, but you obviously don’t know me very well if you think I’ll let someone else do my job when I’m perfectly able. Just drop it, please? There’s a possibility that we’re making a scene.” He bit the inside of his lip and retreated in indignation.
Myra forced herself to keep walking normally. She couldn’t let her crew members know that she was in any pain. Eyes watched her every move, she could feel them searing her flesh. Her shorts dug in to the bruises that were forming, but her black t-shirt was big enough to stay off her skin. It was not every day she was thankful for her nonexistent breast, but the breeze around her chest where a bra would have been was nothing short of a miracle to her. Faith was off to the side drinking a coffee, her blonde hair pulled up, revealing a long scar along her neckline. They glanced at each other, and Myra threw a genuine smile in her direction.
After the excruciating procedure had been accomplished, they sat in relative silence (save for the moaning Myra was doing under her breath). “We should get back to work. You’ll be fine. Maybe put some ice on it.” Faith said tonelessly. “Dislocated shoulders are no big thing. Not that you’d step foot in a hospital, anyway, huh?” Myra’s head turned sharply, a bad move as her head was still spinning from before. She had cradled it with her good arm, but it still took a beating. “What are you talking about?” She demanded, holding her head.
“It’s none of my business. You keep to yourself. Everyone thinks you’re a nice kid. This isn’t the circus, we’re not all freaks, but.. it takes a certain kind of person to be here.” Faith’s hands itched to light a cigarette. “Yeah..” Myra looked back at the woman who had helped her, “I guess everyone has a story.” The older woman nodded slowly, staring at the sky. “Some day I’d like to hear yours.” Myra continued.
“Don’t hold your breath, sug.” The bruised brunette grinned, “Alright, then.” They shifted uncomfortably on the wooden table, their feet rested on the bench attached to it. “Come on.” Faith stood up and offered her a hand, “I need some caffeine.” Myra ignored the outstretched hand and stood on her own, “Think I’ll find some painkillers or something.”
Myra continued up to the rafters after collecting the tools that someone had graciously returned to their box. Her sides ached and protested, but she did not stop her work until a, “Dinner by the buses!” was called out below. Meal time meant it was close to opening up the venue for fans. She gathered up her things and headed out. Her stomach churned too much to think about eating. Timothy noticed her from under the tent and waved her over.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” He asked, when they were seated together at a small table. “Annoyed. We can’t keep getting pizza. I think I’m getting scurvy.” They laughed together, “We’ll order some with oranges on top.” He pushed the plate toward her, “I can go get more.” She shook her head, “I’m feeling a bit queasy. I think I’ll wait until later. Speaking of,” she pushed the plate back towards him, “do you need anything else from me before striking the stage? I want to take a rest.” With his mouth full, he indicated a no. Myra smiled and kissed his forehead before heading out.
Across the tent, in a small group, Brian watched the tall brunette leave for sleeping quarters- a large van. Zacky’s comment on the tour bus had irked him. He didn’t like feeling predictable. And this woman wasn’t his type in the slightest. Shaking off the obsessive thoughts, he returned to socializing a mentally prepping for the concert.
Myra forced herself to keep walking normally. She couldn’t let her crew members know that she was in any pain. Eyes watched her every move, she could feel them searing her flesh. Her shorts dug in to the bruises that were forming, but her black t-shirt was big enough to stay off her skin. It was not every day she was thankful for her nonexistent breast, but the breeze around her chest where a bra would have been was nothing short of a miracle to her. Faith was off to the side drinking a coffee, her blonde hair pulled up, revealing a long scar along her neckline. They glanced at each other, and Myra threw a genuine smile in her direction.
After the excruciating procedure had been accomplished, they sat in relative silence (save for the moaning Myra was doing under her breath). “We should get back to work. You’ll be fine. Maybe put some ice on it.” Faith said tonelessly. “Dislocated shoulders are no big thing. Not that you’d step foot in a hospital, anyway, huh?” Myra’s head turned sharply, a bad move as her head was still spinning from before. She had cradled it with her good arm, but it still took a beating. “What are you talking about?” She demanded, holding her head.
“It’s none of my business. You keep to yourself. Everyone thinks you’re a nice kid. This isn’t the circus, we’re not all freaks, but.. it takes a certain kind of person to be here.” Faith’s hands itched to light a cigarette. “Yeah..” Myra looked back at the woman who had helped her, “I guess everyone has a story.” The older woman nodded slowly, staring at the sky. “Some day I’d like to hear yours.” Myra continued.
“Don’t hold your breath, sug.” The bruised brunette grinned, “Alright, then.” They shifted uncomfortably on the wooden table, their feet rested on the bench attached to it. “Come on.” Faith stood up and offered her a hand, “I need some caffeine.” Myra ignored the outstretched hand and stood on her own, “Think I’ll find some painkillers or something.”
Myra continued up to the rafters after collecting the tools that someone had graciously returned to their box. Her sides ached and protested, but she did not stop her work until a, “Dinner by the buses!” was called out below. Meal time meant it was close to opening up the venue for fans. She gathered up her things and headed out. Her stomach churned too much to think about eating. Timothy noticed her from under the tent and waved her over.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” He asked, when they were seated together at a small table. “Annoyed. We can’t keep getting pizza. I think I’m getting scurvy.” They laughed together, “We’ll order some with oranges on top.” He pushed the plate toward her, “I can go get more.” She shook her head, “I’m feeling a bit queasy. I think I’ll wait until later. Speaking of,” she pushed the plate back towards him, “do you need anything else from me before striking the stage? I want to take a rest.” With his mouth full, he indicated a no. Myra smiled and kissed his forehead before heading out.
Across the tent, in a small group, Brian watched the tall brunette leave for sleeping quarters- a large van. Zacky’s comment on the tour bus had irked him. He didn’t like feeling predictable. And this woman wasn’t his type in the slightest. Shaking off the obsessive thoughts, he returned to socializing a mentally prepping for the concert.