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Story Idea: Chapter 12, part 3 |
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He stood from the chair and went over to help her. She waved him away a couple of times but he was persistent to help. He found the bowls, cups, spoons and plates and started to set the small table. She looked at him, and he saw complete confusion on her face. He turned towards the table and smiled. He felt happy to help but didn’t want her to know. He tried to get rid of his smile but couldn’t. Soon he started to laugh. She looked at him again. She asked him if he was alright and he managed to say yes through the laugh.
Once it slowed to some giggles he sat on the small stool. The girl walked over to him and told him to sit on the chair. He told her that he was staying where he was and started to giggle more. She stared at him. When he finally looked at her, he suddenly was frightened. His happiness left him as he started to cower away from her. He moved quickly behind the chair and hid.
“Don’t you get it yet,” she yelled.
“W-w-w-what, get w-w-what,” he stuttered.
“You’re the master, I’m the slave. Why are you treating me differently?”
“I-I-I-I don’t understand.”
“You killed him now you own me. Did he give you a compass?”
“Y-y-y-yes”
“Did you ever open it?”
“N-n-n-no”
“Well try it!”
“Only if you stop yelling at me,” he screamed.
Peter was shaking. He felt very angry at her for yelling at him, yet terrified for yelling at her. He heard footsteps walk around furniture. He hid within himself, waiting for the worst. He started to remember when he fought back against the bullies in the city. They would beat him. Once they beat him until he nearly had to crawl home. No one helped him. Some laughed at him as he tried to get home that day.
He heard the footsteps stop right in front of him. He tightened his body, ready for whatever punishment she would give. He felt a hand gently touch his shoulder, then move to his face. He relaxed a little, letting his muscles loosen. His river blue eyes looked into hers. She seemed more relaxed than before.
“I’m sorry Peter. I….how can I get you to understand that I’m your slave.”
“You p-p-promise not to hurt me, ummm…you s-s-still have n-n-no n-n-name.”
“Yes, I promise not to hurt you Peter,” she said as she hugged him.
“T-t-then I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you that you can never get me to understand.”
“What, why?”
“Because…Sophie, I will never treat you that way, and never expect me too.”
“Ah! Hmm…I like that name.”
Peter held her tighter. He smiled as a tear formed in his eye. He hadn’t felt as happy as that in a very long time. They sat there in each other’s arms for a long time. They hadn’t realized that the sun was beginning to set. Finally Peter spoke.
“Sophie, the last time I felt this way was the last time I saw my father,” he said softly.
“Oh it mustn’t have been that long ago.”
“Well, actually it has been fourteen years since I’ve ever felt joy.”
“Fourteen! But why that long, isn’t he still alive?”
“No he died when I was five. Some say he died for nothing, and I believe them. He died for all the bullies that have been hurting me for years. That’s who he was protecting. Not me, his son, them!”
 Rosalinda Plaisance · Wed Oct 01, 2008 @ 02:23am · 0 Comments |
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