Chapter One

This is where Rebecca first meets another of the main characters, Charles whilst leaving the hovel which she has been staying in.

My name is Rebecca Grace Parker and I watched my family die five years ago. I was ten then. I’m fifteen now. I escaped and went to live in the nearest city. I move every week. Five years ago, the rebel army swept through my country and destroyed most of the towns. Now they’re not the rebel army; they’re the ones in power. Thankfully they didn’t keep track of the people that they murdered or they would know that I escaped.

The alarm goes off and I stagger out of bed and walk towards the box in the corner of my room. The box contains all the supplies I will need for a week, before I move again. I move every week, not because I think that the authorities are searching for me but because I’m afraid that if I stay in the same place for too long I’ll have the time to dwell on the past. I try to ignore the past and look to the future but when the future seems so bleak, the only thing I can look forward to is when this all ends. Either when someone finally takes them on or when I die. Whichever comes first.

I grab a piece of stale bread from the box and begin tearing it off. I sleep in my clothes so that I’m ready in case I have to move quickly. Today’s moving day. I’ll pick up my box and walk out of this dump and go somewhere else. I don’t know where my next stop will be. I guess I’ll just find a road and walk along it until I find somewhere cheap to stay. After a while, you forget that the bread’s stale and that you’re constantly hungry. You just get used to it. Apparently in the days of plenty, people used to starve themselves to be beautiful. I wish I had the luxury of having the option of starving myself or eating a full meal. Right now I’d kill for something other than stale bread but it’s all I can afford.

I sigh and get to my feet, throwing my blanket into the box. There. Packing done.  I pick up the box and   walk out of the door and down the rickety stairs, pulling a pair of holey gloves on as I walk.  The guard dog raises his shaggy head as I leave but he’s too hungry to do anything but look. I haven’t paid the bill for the place but, since the landlord isn’t up, I guess I won’t bother. Why pay someone who’s too lazy to get out of bed? I always get up early on moving day in the hope that I’ll be able to avoid paying. After all, the authorities think I’m dead so what can they do?

A group of drunken men are walking home on the other side of the street. I try to blend in with my dilapidated surroundings.

“Heya, sugar, it’s pretty cold out here, you wanna warm up with me?” One of them calls. Inwardly, I swear, but outwardly, I pretend not to notice.

“Aww, come on darling, don’t be so uptight. Come play with us.” Another calls. I fix my eyes on the ground and hurry forwards. Bam! Suddenly I slam into something that reeks of alcohol and something else. I look up. It’s one of the men. I turn around. Another’s behind me. I look around. I’m surrounded. I swear.

“You know, you shouldn’t use that language, sugar, I might have to punish you.”

I shudder. I’d rather die first. I scan around, praying for an escape route, hoping that someone will walk past. The men are closing in. They’re getting closer. I can smell their reeking clothes and alcoholic breath. I try not to gag. I count them. There are five. Each one of them probably weighs at least fifty kilograms more than me. I can’t escape them using physical force so I’ll just have to outsmart them. They don’t look particularly intelligent.

 One of the men, the one with black hair, reaches out to grab my arm. I skitter away like a nervous horse.  He laughs. The big blond one inches forwards. The black-haired one grabs my arm. I pull my arm back and knock him in the face with my elbow. Starvations given me elbows like knives. For once my poverty’s helped me. I laugh quietly to myself. Blood from the man’s face spurts over my clothes. He swears but right now he’s trying to staunch the flow so he’s in no position to touch me. The other four, however, are furious that I dared to lay a finger, or elbow, on their brutish friend. The blond one charges forwards. I sidestep him and he charges into one of the others, knocking him into the wall. He seems to be unconscious. The blond one lies on top of him for a few seconds before getting up, ready for another round. One of the others grabs me from behind. The blond one kneels down and attempts to pull my jeans down. I lift my leg up with all the force that I can muster into his drunken face. He groans and falls backwards, not moving. I fling my head back into the chest of the man behind me. He laughs and calls for the only other man standing. He lumbers forwards and tries to grab my legs. He goes the same way as the blond one. Four down. One to go.

“Quite the little fighter, aren’t we?” He says, his lips near my ear. I gag, the stench of his breath is overwhelming. He laughs. I jerk my elbow forwards, freeing one arm. Before he has time to grab it again, I twist around and bring my knee into his groin. He bends over, clutching the place where my knee made contact with his skin. I stamp on his feet. He groans again. I bring my leg up and kick him in the groin again. He falls over onto the dirty pavement. I begin to hurry forwards before they can try to stop me. I guess I’m not such an easy target after all, huh?

“Very good.” Says an amused voice, “Textbook stuff.” I jump, raising my fists, ready to flee or fight, depending on the size of the owner of the voice. I glance around wildly, looking for them. “I must say, I thought they were going to get you.”

Finally, I find my voice. “Who are you?” I call, my voice shaking slightly.

“Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself.” A man walks out of a nearby alleyway, holding out his hand, “Charles, Charles Grey, but everyone calls me Charlie. And you are?”

“Er…”

“It’s ok, you can tell me.”

“Rebecca Parker.”

“Well, Rebecca Parker, I have a place where people like you are needed.”

I eye him warily. I’ve heard about men like him. They prey on homeless girls like me. I do not wish to become one of those girls. I turn around and walk off in the opposite direction. He laughs.

“No, it’s not that sort of place.” He says, “Look, here’s a card with my number on it. Give me a call.”

He hands me a card. It’s made from plain white card and has the words: occidere occidi printed on it in bold black lettering, along with a contact number and Charlie’s name. I stuff it in my pocket. I look up but Charlie’s gone. I shrug my shoulders and trudge on.

I walk until I reach the end of the street then I turn left. I have no idea where I am going; all I know is that I have to move. I know that the rebel army think I’m dead but, moving is a habit. Moving keeps me busy. If I didn’t move, I’d start to remember. Remembering is worse than forgetting so, I lock away my past and throw away the key. The past is unnecessary for the future. THUD! I’ve walked into someone. I look up. A tall, muscular man is staring down at me. I mutter an apology and continue walking. I don’t want to be noticed. The man opens his mouth as I scurry off but before the words are formed, I’m gone. Keep your head down and your mouth shut. That’s the only way to survive.

I turn left at the end of the next street and continue walking. People avert their eyes when they see me. This is the nice part of the city. I do not belong here. I walk straight through a crowd of shoppers. They part to let me through, drawing their well-made clothes away from my worn and dirty ones. Their eyes dart over me. They think I’m here to pickpocket them. As if! If I was caught, I would have to tell the authorities my name and they would know that I’m supposed to be dead. It’s odd the world thinking that you don’t exist; it gives you a sense of liberation and a sense of overwhelming dread. If they knew that I was still alive, they’d kill me. No one was supposed to witness the burning of my town. The government’s trying to erase their bloodthirsty past already. They’re trying to pretend that it didn’t happen. They want people to think that they brought about peace when they were the ones who started the violence. They’re liars. Hypocrites and liars. I hate them but what can I do? I am one person and they are several.

I have reached the nearest bus station. I’ll smuggle myself into the luggage compartment and get off at the first stop. I don’t care where I go, as long as it’s nowhere near here. I stand by the sign and wait for the next bus. I see the people nearby eying me distrustfully. It’s the same every time. I shrug my shoulders and put my hands in my pockets. I feel a piece of card and take it out. I look down at it. I’d forgotten about the incident of this morning. You see, I’m good at forgetting things. Below the man’s name is an address. It says: 21 broad street. Mortem Civitatem. Mortem Civitatem, that sounds familiar. I turn to the person on my left.

“Excuse me, do you know where Mortem Civitatem is?” I ask. He jumps back, alarmed that I have addressed him. He glances around before whispering:

“That’s the old name for this city.”

The old name? I wonder what the new one is.

“Where’s 21 broad street?”

“Go straight on and turn left. Don’t tell anyone who told you.”

I nod my thanks and walk on. I don’t know why I’m going to 21 broad street. It could be a trap. Maybe they have found out that I’m alive. Maybe they’re going to kill me. It doesn’t matter if they do kill me; at this rate, I’m going to starve to death soon anyway. I keep my head down and hurry on until I reach Broad Street. I look around. I don’t want to ask for directions. Something about the man at the bus station tells me that no one’s supposed to know what happens inside 21 broad street, wherever it is. I walk down the street, looking for a clue. Suddenly, I see a sign with the number 21 on it. I hurry over to it.

The sign stands outside a tall, rickety, unsafe-looking building. I glance around quickly before darting inside the walls which surround it. I walk up an overgrown path and place my hands on the door. It’s open. I push it and walk inside.

From what I can tell, I’m inside a hallway. It’s narrow and dark. At the far end of the hallway there’s a door. I can see light shining through a small crack in the door. I creep over to it. There are people talking inside. I listen closely, trying to figure out what they’re saying.

“We need to do something. We need to act now.” A man’s voice says loudly.

“Shhhh!” Someone else hisses.

The man lowers his voice, “But we need to act. We have agents placed in all the major organizations.”

“Did you get the girl?”

“I don’t know. I gave her a card.”

With a jolt, I realise that they’re talking about me. The man must be Charlie.

“Do you think she’ll come?”

“I’m not sure. We need her, though.”

“I…”

Suddenly, a large cloud of dust wafts up my nose and I sneeze. The doors flung open. I look up into the face of Charles Grey.

Author's Note

Rip it to shreds if necessary.

Reviews

[spitballing]

He glances around before whispering:

“That’s the old name for this city.”

That's a pretty odd way to do a character talking and it makes it a bit unclear.

That's the only real problem I saw. I have to give respect for you taking on a action set piece in this since it's very hard to make such a thing interesting and easy to follow in a story.

I think over all this is well handled. I like it so far. :) PS. Five bucks says Charles hired the drunks to attack Rebecca so he could see her fighting skill level and 'test' her.

[tashavoase]

what could I say instead of 'that's the old name for this city' do you think? I wasn't going to have Charlie hire the drunks but that's actually a pretty goof idea

[spitballing]

It's not that there is something wrong with that's the old name for the city. The flaw is you have a : before it and then the bit of dialog in the next line. It's not a very clear way to do a characters dialog. Not to big of a deal, just pointing it out.

[tashavoase]

ok thanks I'll work out how to sort that out

[Hannah hutchins]

Your actually pretty good.