Emi

United States

Christian
American
Biracial
Ravenclaw
Lunar
Rider of the Rohirrim
Narnian
Prydain citizen
District 7
Chef
Gardener
Baker
Bibliophile
Writer
Artist
Seamstress
Musician
Homeschooler
Romantic
Nerd
Archer
Rifler

Message from Writer

¡Hola a todos! My name is Emi and I love writing. I try to write positive, happy things to make people feel better or laugh, but you will find serious work here too. I try to keep away from anything depressing or angry-sounding because I think we have enough sad stuff in this world.

"I choose joy!"

Joined May 13, 2020

Thanks to all my followers from the United States, Qatar, India, Ireland, Australia, Belgium, Nigeria, South Africa, the United Kingdom, Brazil, Singapore, Puerto Rico, Sri Lanka, Maldives, Ukraine, and Canada! You guys are amazing.

Defiant Youth

August 1, 2020

FREE WRITING

3
    Aryanna eyed the soldier looking her up and down as she swung the book bag over one arm. Is he looking at me suspiciously? Or is it something else? She didn't know which she would prefer. Being, for all intents and purposes, the only girl in their small band of rebels, she often felt the uncomfortable notice of the hated Banur occupying soldiers as she crept through town to achieve a mission.
    "Where are you going?"
    The voice startled her, and she glanced to the side to see the soldier raising an eyebrow at her. He was young, nearly as young as Davon, but that didn't help her to hate him any less.
    "The library," Aryanna said, emphasizing her twangy Larur accent and trying her best to sound as uneducated as possible. Banur men didn't care much for the rough Larur women. "Hicks," they call usJust cause we have a little dirt under our nails and our faces are freckled. "Got to take some books o'er, sir."
    "Sir, huh?" asked the soldier, smiling like a self-satisfied cat. "Let me see your books."
    Dang. This ain't gonna work. As soon as he sees those sedition papers, it's off to the re-education centers for me. Aryanna wriggled defensively, instinctively moving her hand to her hip, where her pistol was hidden under her tattered jacket. The soldier noticed, and at once his hand was around her wrist, not very harshly, but tightly enough to make her nervous.
    "Now, what's a pretty young thing like you getting all jumpy for?" he asked, moving closer—too close for Aryanna's skittish sense of personal space; she moved the bag a little bit behind her back. "Just let me take a look."
    "A look at my girl! Hey!" a sharp voice bellowed right behind them. Aryanna felt a looming presence behind her, but breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the bag being slipped out of her hand and replaced with another.
    The soldier turned, and might have paled as he saw the tall, gangly teenage boy nearly red with scowls. Davon might have been the perfect picture of the stereotype the Banurs put on young Larur men: freckle-faced, skinny as a fencepost, with big, rough farming hands, and the typical fury of affronted honor. The soldier must have swallowed it; Aryanna was not surprised. The Banurs liked to think that Larur women were all docile and innocent, and that Larur men were bombs waiting to go off at the slightest offense.
    "I was simply doing my duty," the soldier replied rather superiorly "I must search her bag."
    "Yeah, well, you keep your filthy Banur paws off my girl or I'll sling you around a telephone pole," Davon snarled, and Aryanna hardly held back a chuckle. And he always said he was horrible at acting.
    The soldier tried not to look like he believed it, but he took Aryanna's bag with shaking hands and quickly glanced through the contents. Books, as expected, mostly about such topics as cooking and sewing.
    "Don't you Larur women ever think about anything but housekeeping?" the soldier snorted, tossing the bag roughly back at Aryanna. "You girls need to be liberated."
    Not by you, Aryanna thought, wondering what the man would think if he knew she had a gun around her waist, same as any other Larur, male or female, who cared about their life in these times.
    "Hey, move it, soldier boy, and quit telling my girl funny stuff," Davon said, and the soldier edged away quickly, returning to his post red-faced, before he resumed keeping a lookout for another girl to ogle.
    Aryanna had to skip to keep up with Davon's long strides, until they were around the corner and he slowed, his face redder than a ripe tomato as he handed Aryanna her book bag back.
    "'My girl,' huh?" Aryanna asked a little teasingly. "Wait until Myles hears; you'll never be rid of his jokes."
    "Don't you dare," Davon groaned. "And not a word to my mother, either. She'll have us set up in a heartbeat."
    "You played the part of a stereotypical Larur boy well."
    Davon glared at her, before flushing again and looking at the ground. Aryanna smiled a little. My shy boy. Ain't afraid of a fight, but put him in front of a crowd of girls and he'll be cowering on the floor.
    
"Come on," Davon said. "Kimly's waiting to get these distributed."
    They slipped back through the quieter roads of town, roads that had once run past family-owned bakeries and small stores, before the Banur government had shut them all down in favor of a central distribution center. They passed what had been the Walkers' produce market, and Aryanna felt a little sick, as if someone had died. She had worked for the Walkers. She had set the plums and peaches and strawberries and apples out in their seasons, and smiled and greeted customers as they bought the delicious fruit. Now she didn't even know where the Walkers were. Probably a re-education center. Or dead, she thought, her heart heavy as her eyes drifted over all that was left of her former job: empty stalls with Banur soldiers' graffiti plastered over them, and the broken windows from the Banur gangs who had moved in once Larur families were thrown out of their homes.
    Davon moved in behind her, and rested his large hand on her shoulder. "Hey, I reckon they probably got away," he said in a husky voice. "I bet they scooted out over the border and are living with Mr. Walker's cousins in Mejico."
    "I hope so," said Aryanna, feeling strangely comforted even though she wasn't sure she believed him. "It's just hard...wondering who'll be next."
    "That's why we've got to deliver these papers. Come on. Kimly will send them all off to the folk deep in the mountains, and then we'll have more than just a little group of teenagers fighting the Banurs. We'll get our people to rise up together, and fight."
    Fight. It would be a long, hard, fight. Aryanna was sixteen; she'd been fighting for three years. She would fight for many years more. 

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