“Here, drink this. It’ll make you feel better,” Jazz instructed Jasper. He did as she told him. Immediately his exhaustion and pains went away.
“Now, why don’t you tell me what happened. Start from the beginning, why you were in that part of town anyway.” He nodded and launched into his story…
Jasper was only halfway to his destination of Jazz’s house when he ran out of food. He stopped at a place in the town that had it much worse than his part did. They didn’t have very much money and were living off the garbage of the richer. The streets were barren, just as his, but he felt a difference between the two. This place was colder, less habited. His streets you could always see movement, life, people closing their curtains, peeking out the window, shutting the door. This place there was nothing. As he kept walking, he spotted something he hoped to never see again. A place for people to be hanged and tortured. It was on a stage for all to see. There was a place for someone to be strapped in so, as Jasper assumed, they could be whipped. He shivered; glad his part of town didn’t have such a wretched place. He stopped at a store.
“Haven’t seen you ‘round these parts before,” the store owner said.
“Not from around here,” Jasper told him.
“Well then how do you reckon I’m supposed to know you ‘aint poor and are just tryin’ to steal my goods?” Jasper pulled out his coin bag in a huff and gave it a good jingle. The boy who had been sitting in the corner watching leapt up and grabbed the bag. Before Jasper could respond the boy bolted out the door. Jasper stood there in surprise-at being robbed and the boys amazing speed. He finally came to his senses and cursed under his breath before running outside himself.
Luckily, he saw the boy just before he dashed between two houses. He ran after him shouting to stop. Jasper instantly regretted shouting. In such a quiet place the noise sounded like a gunshot bouncing off the walls of the houses and stores. He stopped running after the boy knowing he would soon be running from a Saraka. He turned and ran down the street, hoping it would be away from the Saraka, not wanting to get stuck in an alleyway with a gang. That would have been better than what did happen though. He had picked the wrong way and skidded to a stop. Marching towards him were three rooky Sarakas, and they were coming quick. He tried to run the other way, but saw more coming. He was stuck. He tried to run down the alleyway as he should’ve done in the first place, but a strong, cold hand grabbed the back of his neck. The Saraka dragged him out to the street where the other five Sarakas were waiting. They probably have nothing better to do, he thought coldly.
“What do you think your doing, boy? Yelling and running around, causing such a ruckus?”
“I, well, someone took my money and I was trying to stop them to get it back.” The Sarakas all laughed.
One said, “that’s the worst excuse I heard since one man claimed he was screaming for a doctor for his pregnant wife!” Jaspers tongue seemed to have frozen with fear. The Saraka threw him to the ground. The strength of the collision sent pain shooting up his back. He winced in pain. The Sarakas hand transformed into a brutal looking stick. Jasper gasped. The Sarakas were getting deadlier by the batch. He raised his had to strike.
“Stop!” A loud clear woman’s voice said. Just like that, in midair, the Saraka stopped. His face frozen with a smug grin, his arm about to hit Jasper. The other Sarakas stood frozen in mid-laugh, not moving a bit. Jasper rolled away from the weapon and stood shakily to his feet.
“You may thank me now,” a smug voice scorned. Jasper turned around.
Standing there was Jazz.
“Jazz! You…I mean how…but…” Jasper stuttered. Finally, he bowed his head and said “Thank-you.”
“Follow me,” she said without another word. He ran to catch up with her. As soon as he was behind her, she snapped her fingers. The next step they took was in Jazz’s part of town. They walked in silence down the street where people were seen in every house crowded around the window to get a glimpse of Jazz. She was famous. A group of Sarakas stood on a corner, but stopped talking to glare at her. She didn’t hesitate to turn one into a frog, getting a laugh from those watching. Jasper followed like an obedient puppy all the way to her big, colorful house.
“Welcome to my humble abode!” She exclaimed.
“Nothing humble about this place,” he muttered.
“Quite grand, isn’t it?” He nodded. Inside, the walls were painted deep reds and oranges matching the roaring fireplace. Overstuffed velvet couches surrounded a coffee table. Jazz disappeared into a bright green kitchen and returned with a fowl smelling drink which she instructed him to drink.
“And here we are now,” Jasper concluded.
“Here we are indeed,” she agreed.
