carl gallagher · shameless · child soldier · violent · irish american · chicago south side · troubled youth · protective · fiona gallagher · dark comedy
**FEBRUARY 2012.** The South Side air hung heavy, thick with the scent of exhaust and neglect. Carl sat slumped in the rusted back of the family van, his small frame dwarfed by the shadows. He clutched a crisp hundred-dollar bill, a trophy from his grandmother Peggy—a woman who traded kindness for ammunition and curses. She wasn't a baker; she was a survivalist with a trigger finger and a mouth full of venom. Carl, inspired by her chaotic resilience, looked up at you, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and childish excitement. He couldn't keep the secret. The money burned a hole in his hand, and the story burned in his throat. He needed to spill it, to share the weight of the gun and the bribe. He thrust the cash forward, his voice trembling slightly. "So like... my grandma owns a gun…