Glad you all like it so far! I'm going back to school soon, so updates might be farther between, but I promise I will try and not keep you all hanging!
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As I watched Damian walk away down the street, I heard someone calling my name.
'Aisling? Aisling O'Mahoney, is that yourself?' said a somewhat familiar voice.
I whirled around, curious who was trying to get my attention. I saw a man, black hair, crooked smile, green eyes, and the glint in his eyes of a betting man. I realised who it was immediately. It was none other than Ian Mulligan, an old acquaintance and drinking buddy of Dad's. I knew he was bad news, from what I'd heard, he was now off Guinness and had acquired a taste for
poiticin, an illegal drink made from potatoes that was rumoured to make the one who drank it, well, a bit not right in the head.
I stood my ground, not backing down, even as I felt myself shrink under his 6'11 stature.
'What do ya want from me Ian? Ye know as well as meself that my Mam and Dad are long since passed on.'
'Yer father owed me money from one night we spent at the bookie's.' said Ian gruffly.
'Well, I've no money, so I don't know how you plan on going about getting this debt you say is owed you by me Dad.'
'One way or another, I'll get what is owed me!' He was yelling, angry now.
'Ian, please see sense, I'm begging ye! I've nothing, not a euro on me! If I had it, I'd gladly give ya what ya say you are owed still.'
'Don't play games with me Aisling, I know you make a few quid from that fiddle of yours!'
'I've not played today, yet.'
'Ye are lying, and what about that lad I saw ya talking to? He looked like he'd a few euros on him!' he demanded.
'I just met the lad, we talked for five minutes, like.'
By now, Ian was so close that I could smell a slight aroma of whiskey on his breath, no doubt at the pub the night before. I was frightened, the crowds had dispersed, leaving me alone to face Ian's rage.
'You lazy, no good, little lump!' he yelled.
I knew how to deal with this, I told myself, Dad had lost his senses once or twice when he'd come home from a particularly late night. But Ian was different from my father. My father had never hit me, althouh he had yelled at me many a time before. Ian suddenly grabbed my wrists, seeming intent on hurting me, since I couldn't give him the money he wanted. I stifled a yelp of pain as he twisted my right arm behind my back, saying not a word, knowing it would egg him on even more. I waited for him to give up and let me go, bt he only yanked harder as I begged him to let me go, telling him I would give him all the money I made from playing the next day. I couldn't take the agony any longer, I let loose a shriek of pain, panic, and fear. With tears starting to run, I begged him,
'Please Ian, stop, you're going to break my arm!'
He just pulled harder in reply to my pleas.
'What do you think you're doing?!? Let go of her before I call the guards on you!' yelled a voice from the alleyway behind us.
I couldn't see who it was, since I was on my knees, hair over my face, and surely going to hit the pavement face first once Ian released me, if he was going to do that. My only thought was for the other person. I hoped he or she didn't get the wrath of Ian
as well. The person came closer, I could hear fast footfalls comign towards me. The person yelled again.
'Hey, I don't know who you are or what your problem is for you to be hurting a young lass, but you better scram now!'
With a hint of annoyance, Ian let me go, and I fell onto my arm, twisting it awkwardly and also managing to scrape the side of my face on the pavement as well. I cried out from the shooting pain in my right arm. The person who had gotten Ian to back off knelt by me, and helped me onto my back, and managed to get my arm out from under me. When my rescuer brushed my hair off my face, I was shocked at who it was.
'DAMIAN?!? I thought you left, you said you had somewhere you had to be?' I asked, puzzled bu thankful he had shown up.
'Yeah, I was walking to the Square, but I heard you talking, and you sounded scared, so I came back and waited to see if I needed to intervene, just in case. Who WAS that madman?' he asked, words all flowing into each other.
'That 'madman' is none other than Ian Mulligan, who was a drinking mate of me Dad's. He wanted some money he said me Dad owed him, but I have nothing on me at all. He got mad, and I guess he was a bit tipsy still from the night before.'
'What do you mean, 'was'?'
I sighed.
'Me parents are both dead, years ago. Me Dad died from sclerosis of his liver, from the drink, me Mammy from pneumonia and a broken heart from all those years of Dad's drinking, and of being a widow for a year.'
'That's terrible, so who do you have then, so?' he probed gently.
'Not a soul. The rest of 'em disowned me and Mam when Dad became an alcoholic. So now it's just me and my fiddle.'
'So that's what you meant when you said the fiddle was the only thing that keeps ya from being a beggar..' he said quietly, almost to himself.
'Aye, spot on.'
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ok, that's all for now, hope ya liked it; I will try and update soon! Sorry for the double post, that was an accident. Thanks for reading and your comments, I appreciate it a lot!