took a train to new york city
#2
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Arkham found it odd that so much time should pass so quickly. He didn't know how he could be spending his days that they should disappear so quickly. The city had been an easy place to distract himself from everything, and while he had never really been an escapist, perhaps he simply hadn't faced the troubling things he faced now. Or maybe he was just making too big a deal out of everything. His brother was dead. They had never gotten along to begin with, and Arkham knew, knew that he had deserved it. Whatever he had done, it had to have been horrible. So why did it upset him so? Was it just because he was family? Just because he was one of the closest relatives he had had since their mother and father both abandoned them? Or perhaps it was his sister's near-rape that was bothering him? Particularly because the would-be rapist had been their half-brother?



Why was his family so fucked up?



Today, he had forced himself from the old library and the stories that had nothing to do with him, those stories that had perfectly sane people and happy endings. The coyote wasn't a pessimist. He didn't know what he was, but it was hard to be optimistic when his deepest fear seemed inescapable. He couldn't help but feel like he was destined to be like the rest of them. It was in the blood, they'd all said. His family was mad. They were all mad. So he would be mad too. In fact, he was probably driving himself mad thinking about how mad he would be. Hilarious, really.



The pawn shop was not a conscious choice. He just walked in. His hood was down and did not cover his head. Today, he didn't care. He walked in and a little bell rung.


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