Hilarious

Kitten

Australia

"Have I gone mad?"
"I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret....all the best people are."
- Listen, Smile, Agree, And then do whatever you wanted to do anyway -

Message from Writer

Constructive criticism of any kind is welcome and reviews are adored. I'm also spontaneous and am not a fan a cliche romance. I write pieces about friendship, tragedy, and chance because, in all honesty, no one seems to value friendship as much as they should anymore and we don't seem to appreciate the chances and opportunities we have. We can't choose the cards we're dealt but we can choose how we play them and who knows, maybe if you chance it, you'll get the royal flush of hearts.

A Runaway's Thoughts

August 28, 2015

FREE WRITING

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My feet were buried deep in sun-baked sand, the wind billowing gently around me as the childish force of nature played with my hair and clothes.  I allowed it to do what it wanted.  Nobody could resist the wind, no matter how hard they tried.  Waves crashed gently on the shore, rolling up the banks in a feeble attempt to reach me.  It never did, no matter how many times it tried.  It was persistent though.  The sun beamed warmly down upon me, the warmth a welcome blessing.  A sigh escaped my lips as I watched the blissful serenity, longing to be a part of it yet unable to.  My lip curled in an attempt to smile.  Smiling was a foreign thing to me never having a reason to most days unless it was at one of my lords’ failures.  I guess I could say it hurt.   
 
I glance down at my wrists, disgust and hate etched harshly into my expression, a stark contrast to the serenity that surrounded me in a mother’s embrace.  My hands, manacled, bloodied, bruised and sore as they remained in the clutches of unbreakable dark, heavy shackles.  The chain, about the length of my foot, had been snapped and now hung uselessly at my side.  The rest of my body wasn’t much better.  It was just as purple and blue as my wrists and hands although my hair had undergone an impromptu free dying and stylising treatment, going from long, smooth and black to mangled, choppy and dark red.  Sun dried and looking good huh?  Sorry, I’m known for my morbid humour by…myself really.  Haven’t met anyone who would actually have conversation with me yet, odd for someone living in the year 2068.    
 
Apparently, I wasn’t born at the time and I really don’t have much of an education, in 2016 some young scientist invented this lethal incurable disease while trying to find the cure to cancer.  It wiped out ¾ of the world’s population in less than 2 years until everyone escaped the danger zone and something or other happened that rendered the disease extinct or something like that.  Long story short, the same guy still had some remaining and managed to seize control of society through fear and rebuilt the feudal society with empires.  This time though, technology was included.  Slaves, peasants, king (one ‘royal’ family), nobles and all.  Anyway, my parents didn’t want a child and at age six I was sold to a slave trade and…well you can guess from my current predicament how well that went.  I’m 16 now and only three hours-was it three hours?  I honestly don’t know anymore. Ignoring my lack of sense of time, I have finally manage to escape the icy, pain riddled, labour filled prison that has staged as my home for the past decade and I’m now on the run.
 
I sighed again as I ran my fingers through my thick mattered hair, not even reacting to the sticky sensation.  The peacefulness of this place…it was something I could never be a part of.  I wasn’t someone who was allowed sanctuary, I had been taught that at a young age.  I was a slave, a servant and that was that.  Well, a disobedient, rebellious slave but that didn’t change the fact that this peace wasn’t mine to experience.  I gazed at the sun and allowed another sigh to escape my lips.  I had to keep moving.  This glimpse of serenity…it was wishful thinking.  I shouldn’t have come here.  This rest only served to torment me in ways perhaps just as cruel as the ones that I had experienced for a decade. 
 
I glanced down at the maid’s dress, formerly white now torn, bloodied and mattered.  I’d torn the material off at the knees and nicked a guard’s breeches and combat boots for pants and shoes before my escape but that was all.  I had to get moving again.  I turned my back on the serenity that I had intruded upon, bringing my problems to the water’s edge.  I brushed off my feet, pulled the socks and boots on before I took off, sparing a last fleeting, longing glance at where I wished I was.  I breathed deeply as determination hardened in my eyes. 
“Come,” I muttered to myself as I raced swiftly through the foliage away from the shore.  “Come and get me.  I dare you.  For I am the Runaway, the one who no one shall catch.” 

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