Freakshow
You know the cat is going to eat the canary
Stories in the Tiny Worlds Sketchbook are like a pencil sketch with words; loose, unrefined and not wholly a thing. But I like them and think there’s something here you might like, too.
Chapter 1: You’re here now
Chapter 2 by
Chapter 3 by
Chapter 4 by
Chapter 5 by
Chapter 6 by
Chapter 7 by
Chapter 8 by
Chapter 9 by
BART was crowded and hot, everyone packed butts-to-nuts in the dank underground.
She brushed past the man and couldn’t help but smile — that Cheshire-Cat-that-ate-the-canary kind of smile.
It was like electricity when it happened. Faster than a cranked-up electron. Instantaneous. The wave pulsed from her shoulder, up into her neck and down her spine.
She’d had the touch since she was a kid, but it wasn’t until high school that she honed it—made it a silent skill. The wave would lift everything she needed, like a pickpocket of thoughts. And with one touch, she knew everything.
Unlike an average thief, her skills didn’t require misdirection, sleight of hand, or prestidigitation. Sure, she could lift a wallet—like she just did—but she always came away with much more.
New York, Chicago, Atlanta, Austin, Phoenix, and now San Francisco — she’d been everywhere. She didn’t look back anymore. Every city was just one more layer between her and the names that used to whisper freakshow in school hallways.
She exited into the Mission and let the smell of piss and bums wash over her. This wasn’t her neighborhood. She never led a mark close to her place. She’d double back, skim the city until she was sure it was clean. The Mission made that easy — plenty of people, plenty of bars and dives to disappear into.
Rosamunde was dim and half-full. She dropped into a seat and ordered a La Fin Du Monde with the cash she pulled from the wallet.
Her mind flipped through the contents faster than her hands: library card — used once; Chase bank card — PIN two-six-one-eight, his lucky numbers; medical card — two prescriptions, migraines and Viagra; driver’s license — expires on his forty-fifth birthday.
The layers of information sat right in front of her eyes, the cards just background noise now.
It’s a gift, she thought. A horrible fucking gift, but one she couldn’t do without.
She reached into the back pocket of the wallet, behind a wrinkled receipt for a frozen burrito. That’s when she saw it — a cheap business card.
S.R. Detectives. Scribbled on the back: Maria Karas, Lower Haight.
Her thumb froze on the edge. He’d been looking for her. He’d almost found her.
They hadn’t been this close to him in years—and she planned to keep it that way.
She stared at the card a beat longer. If only he knew—if her father understood that with just one touch, she could read him better than a book—would he feel any different about finding her?
She drained the last of the beer and slid off the stool, tucking the business card into her jacket pocket.
Outside, the light had gone soft and gold, bouncing off windows and pooling in the cracks of the sidewalk. She slipped into the street, head down, hood up.
A flash in a darkened window caught her eye. Glass doesn’t lie.
A man. Two paces back. Holding a phone, but not reading it. His steps matched hers a little too well.
She didn’t stop. Didn’t look again. Just let her feet find the flow of the crowd.
The street swallowed her whole — bodies, voices, headlights flaring in the distance.
No panic. Just motion. Just instinct.
She moved like water, fluid and unseen.
And beneath it all, that grin tugged at the corner of her mouth.
She hadn’t been chased in a while.
And she still remembered how to disappear.
Chapter 1: You’re here now
Chapter 2 by
Chapter 3 by
Chapter 4 by
Chapter 5 by
Chapter 6 by
Chapter 7 by
Chapter 8 by
Chapter 9 by
I love an outsider
Intriguing!