• ~Apple
    Prisoner
    ISALINA     ~

    A room.

    Fabric, scissors, papers upon papers with pencils and pens laid over them. All alone in the corner of the room, a lone basket of fake, fabric, flowers stood in silent surveillance of the goings on.

    This is the room of misery.

    A dark cold place.

    The knife reflected the small face back to her, hovering over the fragile veins of her wrist. Light orange hair strewn around a pale face, the fading remains of an old bruise over the left eye. The eyes . . . Sad jade eyes, brimming with tears that would never reach the cheeks they longed for.

    She pulled the rim of her hat down to cover her eyes. She couldn’t stand to see herself. The silver blade glinted as the rays from the recessing sun hit its sharp edge, shining tauntingly through the barred window. She could die here, bleed to death on the floor and no one would know. She wondered: what will my father do when he finds me? Will he laugh? Will he call me good for nothing? Will he bury me in the family cemetery or will he leave me to rot until the neighbors complain of the putrid stench invading their homes?

    “But then again, I shouldn’t worry of the goings-on of this world after I’ve left it behind.” She murmured to herself quietly

    A loud bang downstairs.

    “Stupid girl!” Her father yelled in anger as he returned from the tavern. She cringed at his voice, despite herself, afraid of him.

    She dropped the knife and, as it clamored to the floor, ran for the door. Standing obediently in front of it like the well trained dog she was. He had been the first to call her that and nowadays never missed a chance to remind her of it. She heard the locks on the opposite side of the door slide open, but no one entered the room. It was his way of saying to get going and sell something, or else she’d suffer for it later. He was probably already halfway out the door back to his waiting mug. Only having left it after he remembered his money maker was still locked in her room.

    She brushed some nonexistent dirt off her dress. That man had bought it for her in some fit of fatherliness. Or maybe he just thought she would sell more if she had something nice on, she suspected the latter. The dress was lavender with white lace trimmings. A common style for the upper class in the walled city of Onio. That would be where she lived, Onio, the city of prisoners as the foreigners say. Ironic, that I’m the prisoner in the city of prisoners.

    Draping the thin cloak around her shoulders, she replaced the straw hat with an equally concealing hood and made her way into the hallway, down the stairs, and out the front door of the faded yellow house. She hunched her shoulders against the brisk wind that assaulted her the moment she stepped outside.

    I won’t be able to sell anything this week either.

    Women, with their perfectly curled hair pulled up into strict buns and heavy makeup whispered to each other as she passed. But, for the first time in her memory, the talk was not about her atrocious drunk of a father, or her hair hanging unrestrained around her face, or even the awful upbringing that had been hers after her mother passed; in fact it wasn’t about her at all.

    For the first time she did not feel their eyes boring into her back as she made her way to the bazaar, and as she passed by, she caught bits and pieces of the conversations and slowly pieced the big news together.

    “I think . . . very odd . . . merchant.”

    “Today . . . odd man. . .”

    “No hat . . . looks like the circus is in town. . .”

    Apparently a new merchant had shown up in the town the other day and had quickly become the focus of everyone’s curiosity. Someone odd, someone with no hat! –Which all men should wear if they valued their pride- and strange ideas on how to sell. New people were a rarity in Onio, an oddity only added to the excitement. Even the men she passed were gossiping like school girls about this new person. None of them wanted flowers.

    The high, stone wall surrounding the city seemed even more menacing as it groaned loudly in the strong wind. She could only see halfway up before the strong light blinded her, but it was still frightening with her knowledge of its weak points that she could she being repaired constantly from her window. It’s a wonder it hasn’t fallen yet. Onio doesn’t usually get wind like this.


    The bazaar was crowded as always.
    Peddlers and merchants were walled up in temporary stalls, or sprawled out on a blanket with their items. Most were men in top hats and women in bonnets and buns calling out their items as they lugged them, around. A pig; a dog; a cow; a kettle; a new line of clothing from the connoisseur of fashion Lady Nani being sold at the lowest price available-. Everything was the best available if you asked the seller.

    The hood shielded her face from the main brunt of the cold wind which even the tall buildings did not stop.

    “Would you like a flower?” She asked anyone who passed close to her. She was ignored, of course. The large crowd blew by her with the wind; she knew that they would not pity her. They would not give their money to a girl that they all knew would merely hand it over to her father to waste on drinks at the closest tavern.

    She asked a man whose wife clung to his side if he wanted one as a present for “the lovely lady”, plastering a false smile to her face, but the woman laughed coldly and pushed past the girl. The force behind the action pushed the flower girl down into the ditch that ran along the main street. She heard several people chuckle as they passed and she fought the flush that she felt. No one offered a hand to her. She pulled herself up quickly and examined her skirt for dirt; there was nothing that would stain thankfully. She had enough to worry about without the added fear of her father blaming her for the cost of the cleaners. Her humiliation would last a while longer than any mess.

    She had decided to give up and to simply return home, when a voice behind her spoke in a silky tone, “I would like to buy one, if you would be so kind.” she jumped, turning around to face the speaker who had startled her.

    This had to be the one they were talking about. A young man leaned against the inside of his wooden stall. Baskets of bright red apples where everywhere, even littering the floor where he stood. He wore black tails, like a circus ringleader, the sleeves covered in hypnotic swirls etched with golden strings. They reached from the shoulder to the wrist and his cuffs were unhooked in a careless fashion. On his hands where clean white gloves that no sane merchant would ever buy, they would stain too easily. The oddest item of all was the silver mask that adorned his face, diamonds trimming the sides.
    Like little stars.

    He had black hair that fell just above his eyes and covered the top of the mask. It looked unusually clean, not many people had the money or time to waste on trivialities such as bathing.

    No ordinary merchant, not a chance.

    She stared at him, was this some fashion that the foreigners had? She could understand the people’s need to gossip.

    Right then a particularly vicious gust of wind ripped her hood back from around her face. Her expression must have been amusing because the merchant began to laugh. She felt a blush creeping up onto her face and she bristled. It wasn’t her fault he looked so peculiar.

    “It’s five Dodoquemins.” She stated, wanting to get away from this man quickly. She wasn’t sure why, but he made her uneasy. It felt like he was going to cause something . . . something big, like the feeling she got right before that man came home angry. She just couldn’t pinpoint what her thoughts were exactly. It must have been the mask, she don’t like that mask. He was too strange for her, and his expression was unreadable with cover. She could only see the smile. . .

    He tossed her a coin; she caught it and quickly pocketed the treasure before handing him a rose.
    Now I just want to run.
    I want to run away from this masked person
    I do not want to know what this foreboding feeling means.

    “Wait!” he called as she started to hurry away.
    He grabbed her shoulder and she had to resist the urge to scream for help.
    He bent down so that he was eye level with the flower girl, just inches from her face.

    “Would you like an apple?” He asked as his smile twisted into a smirk as he held up the item for her to examine. It was particularly nice looking, it had a perfect shape and a solid color. Not a bruise to be seen. She could almost taste the thing. Apples were one of her favorite foods and it looked very appetizing.

    Did he want his money back? She wasn’t going to give him the Dodoquemins that she’d just received.

    “I don’t have any money to spend.” She answered slowly, cautiously.

    The merchant laughed at her suspicious face.

    “No money necessary.” He patted her head and pushes the apple into her small hands. “It’s free. Consider it a gift.”

    “Then what do you want?” She asked. Nothing was free in Onio and she was not about to be conned into any sketchy business by a foreign merchant who dressed like a mad man.

    “Absolutely nothing” he assured her.

    “Nothing?”

    “Well just one thing really.”

    Here it comes. The catch.

    “Be ready Isalina. Your freedom is coming.” He leaned in closer and whispered softly: “Run home now.”

    And she did . . . run that is.

    ----o00o----

    She sat at the table staring aimlessly at the gift. She brought it closer and stared at it, as though she expected it to answer her questions. How did you know my name? The encounter had left her with shaking nerves and a feeling of unease that lasted the rest of the afternoon. A loud sound from outside informed her that her father had returned home early. The tavern must have cut off his supply of drinks. That meant he would be in a worse mood than usual. The front door swung shut with a force that shook the entire house and she heard his heavy boots on the stairs. They stopped moving halfway up and he called out,

    “Isalina! Stupid girl, where is my supper?”

    She jumped up quickly and let the apple drop onto the table with a soft thud. “Yes Father, I’m coming!” She called as she raced down the stairs to the kitchen to prepare something.

    It wasn’t quickly enough. After returning to her room she examined herself in a mirror, fingering the fresh bruise that now covered the left side of her face. He hadn’t specified whether it was that she was too slow in preparing the meal or he didn’t like what she had put together but something had displeased him. Her punishment was to go to sleep hungry. She knew that in his mind that meant the next dinner as well.

    She brushed against the table as she moved to go to bed and a bright object, disturbed by the motion, rolled into her line of sight. The vibrant red of the apple taunted her as she stared at it in hunger. Taking a small step towards it she threw a glance at the door. If he knew what she was considering he would beat her within an inch of her life. His rules were not disobeyed. She took the apple gingerly and brought it up to her mouth. A small voice warned her that she was in danger of being caught. But how would he know what she had stored up here?

    ‘I’ll only take a small bite’ the promised herself. She could swear that she felt that merchants eyes on her once again as she bit into the delicious fruit.

    Your freedom is coming, little prisoner

    An apple fell to the floor of the silent room. It was empty of any life but the stoic flowers who had witnessed the whole thing.

    “Girl, where are you?” A mans voice called from down the stairs. It was useless, the flowers thought, he wouldn’t find her in the room. She had disappeared the moment her teeth broke the apples skin.

    But the flowers couldn’t speak. And the room remained silent.