Wow, it’s been awhile. Between crazy vacations, youth camps, VBS and all that fun stuff in my summer, I’ve managed to add a ton to my book even past some pretty strange writing problems. Unfortunately all of this adds up to very few scribbles and even fewer prompt scribbles, which makes me very sad. But I’m back, at least for this time, so here’s my inspiration monday! Read up!
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“Don’t let them find me.” Her torn dress barely covers her skinny, abused body; but I am more surprised by the line of numbers on her forearm. The ones that say she’s not just another desperate girl off the street, she’s a slave, probably a runaway. Her eyes are dark like the night sky, deep blue and speaking volumes beyond just what she says.
I stare down at those pleading eyes, wondering if I could really help their owner. Would I regret it if I didn’t? God, what if I didn’t want to help the stupid girl? Did anyone ever consider that I didn’t feel like helping her? Of course not. No one ever thinks what I might want. “Why?”
That question catches her off guard. She hasn’t considered that I might now want to be of service. Just like no one else has ever considered that I don’t want to live on their terms. I don’t want to be polite. I don’t want to not be selfish. I want to live my freaking life already!
The eyes find mine and meet my gaze steadily, clear and blue, deep like the sea. “Please, just this once?”
“No.” I keep walking down the alley.
I can practically feel the fleas when she grabs me again. I shake her off my jacket, and keep walking forward. Her begging voice, ragged and broken, slows me for a second, “Please I beg of you just help me for a second. Don’t let them find me again.”
Frustrated, I turn and snap at her. “Why would I break the law for you?! A runaway slave who has nothing to offer me at all, what purpose is there for me to risk imprisonment?”
“There is none, my lord.” She admits, casting her eyes to the ground timidly.
“Good, now we’re clear. Deal with your own problem, I have enough of my own.”
She slips off down the next alley and I continue my way, until another stops me. This one a man in nice clothing, carrying a crop and a heavy purse of gold. He stops and surveys me, then asks in a hurry, “Have you seen a girl wander by? Brown, scraggly hair, blue eyes, pretty scrawny with a tattoo on her forearm?”
One look at his purse and I stop, holding his gaze steadily, “What are you willing to pay for information?”
He mutters a frustrated curse about killing the girl when he finds her, then pulls out his purse, “Ten gold.”
“She just walked by, headed that way.” I take the gold from him and watch as he stomps away to give her what she’s earned.
What do I care? I’m off to enjoy a drink now that I’ve got some coins to spare.