Aug 7, 2013

Solidad - pt 1

Sharing a bit of my extra scenes from my WIP, Strella PAX, this month. Also looking for beta input, if this interests anyone.

Solidad is a character who, in my first draft, was written in a very stereotypical way. Maybe almost racist.  Getting to know her better, through her back story,  is my way of fixing that


She remembered a line from a old song she heard playing at the bar her aunt owned.  You grow up fast when you are poor.  Solidad wondered absently if thirteen year old girls in America made it a habit of stealing drugs from the cartels.  Probably not.  It wasn't even a Mexico thing.

Raul was talking to a few dealers.  They had a regular system here. Raul would talk to those selling the drugs, buy a hit of cocaine, all while Camilo hide nearby and used his powers to read minds.  Then they would return to Solidad, Camilo would tell them where the stash of cocaine was, and two hours later they'd go in guns blazing and steal the stuff.  No one suspected kids to be capable of that.

Once a month, Raul would hop on a bus out of Mexico City to a border town just south of Texas to sell what they had stolen.  It was a good, steady income, if a dangerous lifestyle.

Solidad had to keep the money hidden from her aunt, she never bought new clothes, not even the tribal shoes she admired so much, and stuck to things with a limited lifespan.  Food, mostly.  And she didn't eat it in front of Gloria.

Raul and Camilo were more open with their purchases. New hats, jeans, phones.  Just enough to be happy, but not enough to bring attention to themselves.  That was never good.  The cartels already wanted their heads, no use making a target out of themselves.

“What are you going to do with the money you save?” Raul asked one night as the three of them sat on trash cans out side of a resturant.

Camilo shrugged and then pulled out his notebook to write in. Disappear. Live in a nice house away from people. 

“Man, I want to be around more people! Voy a America.  Solidad?”

“I'm gonna build a place where people like Camilo can live without fear of their tongues being cut out.”

Camilo wrote again. You can have my money too.

Raul sighed. “Can this place be in America?”

“Of course?”

“Then lets all build it together.”


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