Chapter Text
Gallo Belgrave sat on the porch of his childhood home, with a drawing pad in his hands.
It already had some sketches and a few square boxes on it, and he was trying to think of what to draw next when a neighborhood girl from down the street — Grace Morgan, whom everyone else on the block had already turned their backs on for being such a weirdo herself — popped by, noticed him drawing, and came to say hi.
"What is that?" she said, her shadow looming over him.
The thin-faced boy looked up at her. "Drawing."
She peered onto the sketchpad, where she noticed the title of his page. "Sorrow Comix," she read aloud. "By Gallo Belgrave."
Gallo said nothing.
"There's nothing in those strips."
"Hush," he said, pulling the pad up, almost out of her sight.
She pressed a finger to it, pushing it back down. "There's nothing wrong with that, you know. You're still working on it."
A bird chirped.
"Sorry I got to it before you could draw one," she said. "What do you think you're gonna write about?"
"Death," Gallo said. "And blood."
Grace twitched her doubtful eyebrows. "Okay. Will people read those death and blood stories, do you think?"
"They're not for people," Gallo said.
"Who are they for?"
"Ghosts," he said.
"Okay," she said. "Can I read one when it's done?"
He glanced around her, not quite looking at her. "Maybe."
There was a small clatter behind Gallo, and Grace said, "Well, I gotta go. But, I'll see you. Have a comic for me, I'll tell you what I think!"
Gallo watched her head off, as the house's door opened behind him.
His sister, Sable, bent down and grabbed his drawing pad and pen from him.
"Who was that, Gallo?" she asked.
"No one," Gallo said.
Sable headed back inside. "Come back inside already, it's too cold out here."
"Sable..."
"Just come on! You'll forget all about that little witch. And you won't even need to draw anything anymore, I promise. Alright?"
Gallo glanced out at the walkway in front of the house, and suddenly his hands felt very numb and his stomach felt very empty.