Post by snowkitty on Apr 22, 2007 14:34:57 GMT -5
Silver Set Her Free
It was a long time ago that he saw her.
The cages lined the marketplace, filthy and disgusting, like boxes of animals ready to be butchered. Some of the ragged people sat quietly, like they’d been through this a hundred times before – those were the good ones. They went faster, sold for more, and lasted longer. They worked hard as an ox for triple the lifespan if you were lucky.
But then there were others. They stared like animals and spit out curses at you to prove their humanity. In the end, no one cared; people passed them by like stubborn cattle and they were doomed to stand another day on the frigid line.
It was a menagerie, but it was finders-keepers.
He wasn’t really looking, at first. He was just walking, strolling, because he needed help anyway and he tried to come here often. It wasn’t because he liked it there. He hated it. The smell of rotten cabbages had always wrinkled his nose; the cries of traders offering wares always met deaf ears.
He just looked.
He saw her like he saw all the others – she was standing, silent, and her hands were clasped around the bars; her face was thin and her hair dull. It was not her eyes or skin or clothing that attracted him – he’d seen so much more, so much rarer, more exotic features that would have struck him as different.
No, it was the look in her eyes, the open window, the door of opportunity closed shut once more; it was the devastation and the heartbreak that lined her expression. It was the crinkle in her hopeful smile as he stopped in front of the steely box. It was the harsh but nearly inaudible sigh of regret – hiccupping, like she didn’t know she was holding her breath – when he retreated.
He knew she saw him, and knew how she saw him. His hands ran through an untamed mass of dark hair before he, too, sighed.
He knew her.
And in a sudden revelation, the boy knew – he felt – that he would never quite care for another human being as much as he did then.
So a pale hand touched a soft pocket and drew out a coin; the glint of the silver was enough to make the man’s eyes widen. He pressed into the calloused palm of a man twice his height and half his stature. The bars rose, the box – prison, jail – fell away, and he took the arm of the girl.
They walked away.
She was more confused than frightened; as they left the marketplace, the boy pulled away her slave’s hood and entwined his fingers in hers. He looked at her like he looked at the others and found he didn’t see the same thing; didn’t see the meek confusion and gratitude in those eyes; instead, he saw a defiant and rebellious expression.
His mouth made an ‘O’.
Soft-spoken words were meant to assure her that, no, he was not like that; he told her that he meant to set her free, and she smiled.
The smile made him smile, and she smiled again, and soon they were both grinning so widely that any passersby would see not a prince and pauper but a boy and girl who were, though immaturely, in love; they would not recognize the son of their Lord – he doesn’t smile, not even at the youthful age of twelve – nor would they find even the slightest trace of familiarity for the little slave sold for a fantastic sum less than an hour ago.
In this he forgot he was holding her hand, and in remembering clutched it tighter; in his mind he had become a brother to the girl, a friend, a guardian, really.
But there was, in the end, a purpose to this occurrence – as there is to every occurrence, such philosophers say – and they did separate.
He pressed a bag full of coins in her hands and told her exactly what she needed to know, who to be wary of – and she nodded, her face glowing because she knew he had just saved her life.
And then they said, “Goodbye.”
It was a long time ago that he saw her, and it will be a long time before he ever sees her again.
It was a long time ago that he saw her.
The cages lined the marketplace, filthy and disgusting, like boxes of animals ready to be butchered. Some of the ragged people sat quietly, like they’d been through this a hundred times before – those were the good ones. They went faster, sold for more, and lasted longer. They worked hard as an ox for triple the lifespan if you were lucky.
But then there were others. They stared like animals and spit out curses at you to prove their humanity. In the end, no one cared; people passed them by like stubborn cattle and they were doomed to stand another day on the frigid line.
It was a menagerie, but it was finders-keepers.
He wasn’t really looking, at first. He was just walking, strolling, because he needed help anyway and he tried to come here often. It wasn’t because he liked it there. He hated it. The smell of rotten cabbages had always wrinkled his nose; the cries of traders offering wares always met deaf ears.
He just looked.
He saw her like he saw all the others – she was standing, silent, and her hands were clasped around the bars; her face was thin and her hair dull. It was not her eyes or skin or clothing that attracted him – he’d seen so much more, so much rarer, more exotic features that would have struck him as different.
No, it was the look in her eyes, the open window, the door of opportunity closed shut once more; it was the devastation and the heartbreak that lined her expression. It was the crinkle in her hopeful smile as he stopped in front of the steely box. It was the harsh but nearly inaudible sigh of regret – hiccupping, like she didn’t know she was holding her breath – when he retreated.
He knew she saw him, and knew how she saw him. His hands ran through an untamed mass of dark hair before he, too, sighed.
He knew her.
And in a sudden revelation, the boy knew – he felt – that he would never quite care for another human being as much as he did then.
So a pale hand touched a soft pocket and drew out a coin; the glint of the silver was enough to make the man’s eyes widen. He pressed into the calloused palm of a man twice his height and half his stature. The bars rose, the box – prison, jail – fell away, and he took the arm of the girl.
They walked away.
She was more confused than frightened; as they left the marketplace, the boy pulled away her slave’s hood and entwined his fingers in hers. He looked at her like he looked at the others and found he didn’t see the same thing; didn’t see the meek confusion and gratitude in those eyes; instead, he saw a defiant and rebellious expression.
His mouth made an ‘O’.
Soft-spoken words were meant to assure her that, no, he was not like that; he told her that he meant to set her free, and she smiled.
The smile made him smile, and she smiled again, and soon they were both grinning so widely that any passersby would see not a prince and pauper but a boy and girl who were, though immaturely, in love; they would not recognize the son of their Lord – he doesn’t smile, not even at the youthful age of twelve – nor would they find even the slightest trace of familiarity for the little slave sold for a fantastic sum less than an hour ago.
In this he forgot he was holding her hand, and in remembering clutched it tighter; in his mind he had become a brother to the girl, a friend, a guardian, really.
But there was, in the end, a purpose to this occurrence – as there is to every occurrence, such philosophers say – and they did separate.
He pressed a bag full of coins in her hands and told her exactly what she needed to know, who to be wary of – and she nodded, her face glowing because she knew he had just saved her life.
And then they said, “Goodbye.”
It was a long time ago that he saw her, and it will be a long time before he ever sees her again.
FIN
April 21, 2007
April 21, 2007
Really? I'm glad.