The night air like tiny needles bit at my face or perhaps it was only the sting of Vaughn's fists lingering still. Shoulders bowed, my shirt stiff with sweat and soot, I eased the door to our house open, hoping no one was awake. I was wrong.
A candle burned low on the kitchen table, its flame wavering in the air. Mama sat beside it, her head resting on folded arms, her gaze fixed on nothing. The pots and plates were clean, neatly stacked. There was no scent of cooked food, no trace of a meal in sight. My chest tightened and the scuffle of the night came back to me.
It was a free beer night at the tavern. I wanted just one miserly drink to warm my insides before heading home. The place was crowded more than usual, smoke and laughter in the air. I kept to a corner to savour my drink and count my coins knowing they would not be enough.
Then I locked eyes with Vaughn, Cal, and three other rogues whose names I couldn't recall. The whole town knew them for being troublemakers and avoided them. Cal grinned slowly, whispered something to the rest and they stood, and moved toward me.
I ignored their verbal jabs and left the tavern. They did too. I didn't want them to follow me home so we settled our differences in an alley.
I tasted blood before I felt the pain from their fists that came faster than I could swing mine. They pushed me into the dirt while Cal rifled through my pockets taking the few coins I had earned working my fingers raw at Archie's forge.
“No, please,” I managed, blood running down my temple as I gripped Vaughn's ankle.
He kicked my hands away, laughing. “Next time, you better have more or don't come to the tavern at all,” he said as they left me there.
I lay in the dirt a while staring up at the narrow slice of dark sky between old walls. The streets were deserted and somewhere above, a window slammed close and I never felt more alone.
My thoughts turned to my dear Papa. His death felt like someone ripped off my skin and ever since, I'd swore to care for my Mama and Jeremy, no matter the cost.
Yet the cold kitchen, the tired look on Mama's face told me differently—I had failed.
I had to change that….
I hope you enjoyed reading this Dicken's style short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "patent lie".
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