France
Her feet ached, her knees are about to give way, her headache is blurring her visions, her heavy panting and gasps were sending sharp throws to her chest. Her silver hair threatening to give way under her hat in the wind, and despite the winter's breezes and winds, she felt hot and sticky all around. She didn't know if she was in France, she only knew she was far, far away from what she once called home. Sucking in another breath, which sounded like the wind was pricked with sharp glass, she started running again.
Oh, how she long for a rest. How she long for warmth, a proper meal. How she even long for that tight corset around her, at least it was something she was used to. With the shirt so loose, she felt, naked.
Looking around, she realized, she was getting closer to a nearby occupied place, meaning, I have to hide. Everywhere she ran, she'd always hear whispers of gossip, 'Of the witch that ran away,' or 'I bet she's not human.' Disgusted by this gossip, Alec would run farther.
It was nearly night, the violet on the edge was smudging in with the orange in the sky. She wish she had time to admire it, in the city, she could never see the sunset, or sunrise. It was clouded with steam. In front of her, were lights. Civilization. People. Danger.
Her running slowed down, enough to dodge behind a tree. She thanked the heavens for the night time, meaning she would less seen. It would have been too much of a risk to prance across villages and towns in day light. That was a death wish. She didn't question the thought of if they saw her, really saw her, they would shoot her right through instantly.
In the corner of her eyes, behind the shadows, were silhouettes of two children running with a tall woman, giggling and chanting nurseries rhymes in French. Paranoid, she duck deeper into the dark branches that gave off a dark hue.
When they finally left, she allowed herself to let out that breath she didn't realize she was holding. Slumping down on the ground, far enough that the darkness of the trees hid her from sight, she thought to herself, Why? It was a simple, one word question. But behind it, sits a thousand words. Why did this happen to me? Why am I enduring it? Why am I running? Why am I trying? Those questions screamed at her, and she cringed, her most inner thoughts were usually one of the utmost painful truth.
"Lord, send down angels to guide me through," She plead under her breath, it was barely audible, but it was loud, loud to her ears.
And as silent as her prayer, she heard a silent answer.
If she wasn't quiet, she wouldn't have heard it so. But there it was- steam, like angry, anxious steam shooting out- from a train.
Bolting right up, her head snaps up, and it was true- there was steam, smoke in the air, clotting out the beautiful sunset.
And she ran.
She ran fast, despite her protesting knees and lungs. She ignored the knees threats to give away, she gave no attention to her lungs screaming at her, stop, stop stop. She realized the train couldn't have been far, but it must have been far enough for the usual screams and screeches of the train's whistle to be barely audible.
But she had to run, she was racing a clock, a clock of her limited time, a clock that stop working any moment or smashed.
She knew she could have been faster on flat grounds, such as the town she was in, but she felt safer, in the dark of the trees.
She recalled back to fairy tales, which seemed so far to her before, now like crystal planted in her mind. She thought of the characters lost in dark forests, almost killed, or chased by evil witches.
But I am a witch, aren't I.
She could see the train clearer now, it was in front of her, she wanted to reach out and grab onto it, but she still had some distances to run.
Run, run, run.
She thought of Mrs. Wellington, her tragic death. She thought of Nicolette, her plump face streaked with horror. She thought of Mrs. Belrose who's face was always creased in lines. She remembered the thin china, and the thin glass she slept next to. She thought about how she wanted to throw all those memories into the river, and start over.
But all futures depended on the past. The past of others, the past of ourselves.
As if the surge in memories woke her up, she ran, faster, and faster, the weight that was on her chest crumbled down, and she felt, alive.
And there she was, in front of the dark, black train.
Her eyes glazed over the train, in hopes of finding an open door. And there it was- the luggage rack, the door wide open and welcoming her.
And so she took the welcome.
Jumping in as fast as she could, in hopes of no one noticing a girl in men's trousers leaping into the luggage rack of the train. She duck behind crates, large, large crates, that cast down large shadows where she stood. Beside her were several bags, of all sizes, suitcases, large bags and tiny ones.
Too busy taking in her surroundings, she didn't notice two large men step in. Seeing their silhouettes, she duck in deeper, until she was against the walls, too frighten to breath.
"Where are these bags goin' to eh?" The muscular man spoke in a way that made Alec cringed. She disliked, no, despise when people didn't use proper grammar, it irks her to the bones.
"To the edge I think, of France. They headin' up England on boats." The second one grunted, tossing carelessly a few more bags, one hitting Alec square on the head, and she had to slap a hand over her mouth to stop herself from yelping.
But her mind was on something else.
The train was to take her to the edge of France, onto a boat, to England, London.
So the heavens did answer her prayers.
YOU ARE READING
Defiance (BEING REVISED AND WRITTEN INTO ANOTHER GENRE)
Mystery / Thriller'I am a walking fatal sin. If you intend to know me, you would have to intend to know Death as well, I hear that he's charming.' -Alexandra Dalfroy. She's beautiful. She's an orphan. She's peculiar. She has silver hair and violet-blue eyes. She i...
