Maeve

“If you wake up earlier, you’ll have a better shot of getting a real breakfast, miss.” Robbie was sitting on a crate, a thick canvas sail laid over his waist as he sewed a patch into it, the needle nearly as long as his hand.

I looked down at my bowl of cold sludge, which was the only way I could describe such a thing. It was oats, probably, with a hint of… fly. I picked the fly out of the bowl with my finger, wiping it on the crate I was perched on and ...