Young Writers Society

This used to be titled, "Kidnapping Freedom," but I didn't like that, so I changed it. I really need critiques on this because I'm giving it to one of my teachers. Long story. Thanks in advance for your help. I cut it into two parts because it was very long. Enjoy!

-Sea-

**********

I wrapped my thin jacket tightly around me in a pathetic attempt to protect myself from the relentlessly biting cold. Almost wishing I could go back to the warmth of my burning house, I made my way slowly down the crowded street without a clue as to where I was going. I must have been a miserable sight with my hands thrust deeply into my jacket pockets, my shoulders hunched so they almost touched my earlobes. The wind stung my topaz eyes until tears collected along the rims. When I blinked, tears streaked down my face, cutting through the thick layer of soot to reveal the chilled, red flesh underneath. To avoid the questioning glances of passing people, I concentrated on the sidewalk and the broken rhythm of my footsteps. Still, I felt very awkward and exposed. I needed to find a place where I could be alone to collect my thoughts.

I stopped next to a large, dense pile of old wood scraps and chairs that had been abandoned in front of a small shop. I lifted my eyes and glanced around nervously to make sure no one was watching. I backed up until I was standing beside the pile, got down on my knees and crawled behind the tower of wood. Taking deep breaths to calm myself, I pulled my knees to my chest and leaned against the shop’s front wall. So much had happened in the past hour, and I couldn’t make sense of any of it. My home was burning with my parents trapped inside. And all of those girls. I shuddered at the memory of their bodies lying on the floor in small crimson puddles. I rested my head in my hands and tried to think, but couldn’t. Whenever I closed my eyes, I could only picture the sneering man standing over my mother, his cold grey eyes glinting in triumph. Then several men dropped torches onto the rug and left as though it was nothing unusual, locking me, my parents, and the corpses inside. After that, I couldn’t see anything but the bright fiery light. I heard my mother scream my father’s name and a splintering crash as something plummeted from the ceiling, spraying a shower of glittering sparks towards me, but nothing else. I tried to call to them, but was choked by a billow of smoke. I grabbed a flower pot from the kitchen table and hurled it through the window above the sink. I crawled through the opening, carving deep patterns into my hands on shards of glass…

I shook the images out of my mind. I didn’t want to think about it anymore. Raising my hand to my neck, I pulled my pendant out from my shirt and fingered its smooth surface almost mechanically as I had so many times before, trying to comfort myself. It almost looked like a tiny, two ringed target – a thick white stone hoop circling a small, upraised red gem. I’ve got to figure out what’s going on. I said to myself, though part of me didn’t want to know and somehow dismiss all of this in some way. But I couldn’t. My parents were dead, and I wanted to know why! Letting the pendant drop back into my shirt, I tucked my legs underneath myself and sat on my heels so that I could peer through the spaces between wood pieces without anyone else noticing me.

What am I going to do now? I thought as I stared at the bustling forest of legs. They were all in such a hurry. To give myself something to do, I tried to imagine where they might be going – home, work, a shop. Then my thoughts were twisted back to my situation. I had to force myself to face the fact that I had nowhere to go. Most likely, there wasn’t a single standing wall of my house left, and I had no relatives or friends within several miles. The friendly jingle of a bell triggered by someone opening the shop door gave me an idea. No one would be in the shop at night, and it would be easy to hide somewhere inside until closing time. I would just have to leave before the owner arrived in the morning to open. Although it didn’t sound absolutely promising, it was my best option. I scrambled out from my hiding spot and composed myself into what I hoped was a casual stance. Trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible, I slipped into the flow of the crowd for a few steps then turned and entered the shop.

Immediately, the smell of cinnamon and scented candles reached me, and I sneezed in spite of myself. Miscellaneous knick-knacks cluttered a back wall full of floating shelves, drawing my eye immediately. Postcards and greeting cards sat neatly in spinning racks beside a basket of cheap silver bracelets, necklaces, and single earrings that were missing their partners. Several other baskets contained hills of candies, chocolates, and lollipops. To my left stood a small bookcase, displaying rows of dark sunglasses and five cups filled with bouquets of decorated pens. My eyes scanned the room in amazement. There were random objects everywhere that didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the store. Then again, no two objects belonged in the same category. In the midst of all the chaos was a small oak desk behind which was seated a large, snowy-haired man with bulky glasses, holding a crossword and eyeing me with skeptical curiosity. A little unnerved by his perpetual stare, I acted as if I hadn’t noticed him.

“Can I help you?” He asked warmly after a few moments. At first, the sound of his voice startled me. I hadn’t expected him to actually talk to me. He frowned slightly and tilted his head to one side, his pale blue eyes shining.

Why is he looking at me like that? When I remembered that I was probably covered in soot, I almost laughed. I must have been a very odd sight indeed.

“No thank you,” I replied. “I’m just looking.” When he finally averted his eyes, I sauntered over to a stack of magazines, picked up the one on top and pretended to read it. Hiding behind the magazine, I glanced to my left and right in search of things I could use later. A large bin of decorative pillows caught my attention and I wondered how comfortable I could be sleeping on a pillow smothered in glitzy beading. I would have to make do. A mixture of apples and unripe bananas lay in a small barrel as if someone had dumped them all in there without giving them a second thought. I had never been partial to stealing, as it always left me with a sense of paranoia and unease. But I didn’t have any money and knew that it would be impossible to ignore my hunger forever, so my eyes repeatedly focused on the shelves of bread loaves and the assortment of jellies. The man behind the counter cleared his throat.

“Are you going to purchase that magazine, or just sit there and try to make me think that you’re actually reading it?”

I looked up at him, my lips parted silently in shock. What should I say? I thought. All I could manage were a few senseless noises. I was much relieved when the owner smiled at me and returned his concentration to the crossword that waited patiently on his desk. Hastily, I replaced the magazine and wandered around the store, half-searching for a safe place to hide, and half-looking for something to keep me occupied. A large case of shelves enclosed with glass drew my attention. It stood alone in a corner, set about a foot away from the wall.

This is perfect. I said to myself, pleased. I’ll just wait behind here until it’s time. The case was full of old pictures and small paintings. I scanned them quickly, starting with the top shelf and moving my eyes in a zigzag motion down the case. When I got to the end of the third shelf, something stopped me. I looked back over the pictures on that shelf, more slowly this time. Something had caught my eye, but I couldn’t seem to find it again. Then I saw it. One of the pictures showed a happy couple sitting on a couch, smiling amiably at the camera. Behind them was a painting on the wall of a large, powerful white eagle in flight. I would recognize that painting anywhere; it hung on the wall in my living room, though it had probably been burned to ash by now.

I didn’t hear the bell announcing the arrival of another customer, so the sound of a new voice startled me.

“Morning, Otto,” the voice said. I snapped my attention to the front of the store. A boy about my age stood just inside the door, taking off his coat and tossing it onto the tall, wooden coat rack. He shook his head a few times to shake his black hair back into place after having been whipped around by the wind.

“I’ve got Eli’s order for this week. We need another set of candles, a carton of milk, and a loaf of that cheese bread.” He said, reading from a sheet of crumpled paper. “Oh, and I almost forgot. He also needs a new paintbrush to replace one he lost. It was the one with the wide, long bristles. Eli said you would know which one he needed.” The boy strolled up to the counter and handed the owner, Otto, his list. After briefly glancing at it, the man nodded and leaned over his desk.

“Mr. Hunt. I need to speak with you.” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “There’s been another burning.”

My thoughts swam around aimlessly in my head. Certainly he was referring to my house, but how did this man know? I decided to get a little closer, so I crept around a row of empty baskets and crouched down so as not to be seen.

“Where? Are you sure?” The boy seemed extremely concerned. As if something had suddenly knocked Otto out of his previous calm, he appeared jittery and nervous.

“It was the small house on the corner of Kingston and Fifth. Police said it was just an accident, but-”

Mr. Hunt shook his head solemnly. “I’m not sure, Otto. I’ll take it to Eli immediately. I’ll come back for his order later. Anything else you need to tell me?”

“No, but I warn you that the police are swarming the streets. Take care on your way home.”

************************

Part 2 is floating around somewhere if you want to read it. Oh, and if her thoughts aren't in italics, I'm sorry, but my computer doens't want to allow them for some reason.