Young Writers Society

Could I be any more brainless? All these strange [Comma here.] sharper senses… and for what? I don’t know how to use them correctly, and I still blunder on as I did before all this happened. My wits are not as quick as I had thought they were.

“I am friends with Amy,” I blurt dreadfully. “She once showed me a—a miniature picture of you, and it is a good likeness.” Outwardly I think I look convincing. Inwardly I’m furiously telling myself, very smart, Rachel Baldwin. Now he’s going to go and talk to Amy and ask about a picture that doesn’t exist!

He nods and takes it automatically. “My pleasure, miss. Are you sure I cannot give you a ride home? My carriage is just around the corner. I’ve just gotten [He's upper class and not modern and yet he's using a word that even some teenagers in this century cringe at. Try '...just returned from...'.] back from a dinner, you see, and I was dropping [No. Tut tut my dear, you can do better than this. Perhaps 'And I've just escorted a friend home.'] off a friend. I [s]had needed some[/s] had need of some fresh air so I went for a walk, and that’s when I saw you,” he babbles, clearly disconcerted by my odd behavior.

I’m already rushing down the street, ready to hail a cab. I don’t look back, but it occurs to me that I have no money. I curse aloud for the first time in my life. First, I need to settle on what I am going to do in order to survive. I have no money, I am having frequent spasms of pain, there are things after me, I have nowhere to go, and I am still covered in slime. Hide. I’ve got to hide. It’s the only thing to do, just in case Sudeep decides to come after me. I thank God that it [s]had been[/s] was night when I awoke, else the streets would have been alight and I would have been all too easy to pick out.

“Wait! Miss!” I hear Mr. Garret’s heels click against the stones as he follows me. But I am safe, hidden among all the shadows of London. I duck into a doorway [s]where loud laughter comes from[/s] from which loud laughter issues. Sudeep wouldn’t dare take me in here.

“Yes, that would be nice,” I answer. “I will just sit down in that corner there.” He sees where I point and nods, and he goes through a small [s]dorrway[/s] doorway that is, judging from the sounds [s]amd[/s] and smells, is a kitchen. [Hmm. Maybe it would read more smoothly as '...a small doorway, behind which, judging by the sounds and smells, lies a kitchen.'] I ignore all the gazes I feel on me as I manage to move gracefully to the table. I don’t take off the coat. I study my hands as I wait.

I see the depths of her liquid brown eyes. I know her secrets. I know her desires. I know everything about her [Comma here.] just as I knew Ashen Morrow[s]’s[/s]. Her father is an opium addict. Her mother is a prostitute. Her brother is here, among the men, and he is a drunk, like my father, like countless other men on this earth. She wants Ashen. She thinks he’s sweet and faithful. She wants him with every fiber in her being. She doesn’t know that she isn’t the only girl Ashen holds in his arms.

“How could you?” Wendy accuses. She is humiliated and is berating herself for trusting him. My mean [s]satisfactory[/s] satisfaction fades when [s]I’ve seen[/s] I see what I’ve done. I see that the girl will trust no man ever again now. She will most likely become bitter and remain the rest of her life alone and unwed. I close my eyes and I can see it in my mind: her upcoming hollow cheeks and her snapping at her brother more sharply than ever before. Somehow, someway, I’ve caught a glimpse of the future.

I’d thought myself better than him. [s]I’d shown[/s] I showed him that. Made it all too obvious, I see now. My emotions hadn’t been as obtained as I’d thought. And now, when I most want to, it’s too late to take anything back. It’s too late to apologize. He opens his mouth. Even before he speaks I feel his intentions. He’s going to reveal me, and show me how it feels to be under condescension from people.

I throw a remorseful glance to Frid, who’s standing open-mouthed, and I once again duck into the night. What a fool I am. I [s]should’ve[/s] should have just kept quiet and watched. Sudeep is right. I have impeccable stupidity. I run until my lungs should be burning, but they’re not. I don’t want to ask myself why. I’m tired of questions.

I do not know where I’m going. Though I can see everything, from the top of the highest building, and hear everything to far below the ground under my feet, I don’t know where I should go. I don’t deserve to have anywhere to go. I’ve just thrown away a free meal and a free night of shelter. I push my thoughts away; they’ve caused knots in my stomach. As I run, I study my surroundings. Perhaps I will need to know them in the future, for whatever reason. As I’m hurrying along I notice deep trenches dug along the sides of the street. Frowning, I wonder at the cause and reason of them, but further along I see that they’ve put up electric lights. It occurs to me that they are putting in lines for these new electric lights. My father [s]had[/s] predicted the change before[s] he’d[/s] he died. As with most everything else, [s]he’d been[/s] he was right.

Now look where I am. [s]I’d gone[/s] I went looking for death and I’ve found it. What had happened to me back there? When [s]I’d done[/s] I did that awful thing to that poor Wendy, [s]I’d[/s] I felt as if something was taking over, shoving the real me aside. Oh, sure, Rachel. How convenient to have something other than yourself to blame your cruelty on, I snap at myself. I turn my head a bit, and draw back from the wall when I see that something is written on it.

The script is written in a … red … ink. I reach up with one finger and touch one of the letters. The R in one of the runs. It chips, and I snatch my hand back. The words are so chilling and ominous that I scoot[s] closer[/s] farther down the wall to get away from it. Seconds tick by. I lay my head back against the brick wall. I cover my face with my hands, not letting myself have the relief of a good cry. If I’m lucky maybe I’ll catch pneumonia and die here. I snuffle into my grimy palms.

A giggle distracts me from my self-pity. I look up. Through an open window I can see a woman, smiling and half-dressed, backing away from a man teasingly. My soul becomes heavier, watching them play cat-and-mouse around the bed. So many times I have seen happy pairs. They had a glow around them, a [s]mischevious[/s] mischievous [Comma here.] secret smile curving their lips. I used to have it, once. I am certain that I will never again know that glow or that smile.

“I don’t see it,” I say stubbornly, hating to admit that he is right. He chuckles; the sound sends shivers down my spine.

“I will tell you everything later,” Sudeep states, “but not now. We can’t linger here any longer. The Necaz have discovered you are still [s]alve[/s] alive from your appearance in the city, and are angry. They’ve decided on a course of action. They will be coming for us soon. Come. We’re going back to my mother’s. The Necaz don’t know about her place.”