War Maidens pt 1

‘Death births it, hunger drives it. Man is the devil’s mother’

Course grey stone ground down the seams of the entrance, shutting out the final ray of sun. I slowly rose from the dirt and my boots shuddered with fear, taken off balance against the cold cloud of dust that awakened me.

“This is place is ancient.” I said to myself.

Other’s cowered in the dim candle light, a dozen girls all petrified and uncertain. It filled me with disgust, my stomach twisted, almost choking on the rage.

“Who would do this to us?”

“Oh thank god you speak English,” called a voice.

A note of relief overcame me. My neck twisted to see this blonde girl pushing through the crowd, unmistakably British.

“You’re from England?”

“Yes I am, and you’re American if I’m not mistaken?” Her manners impressed that of a prim and proper lady, like the ones from my books.

I couldn’t help but glance at her fine flowered hat and a classy green dress. “Do you know why we’re here?”

“I’m sorry but the last I remember was being at the opera with my parents, do you recall much?”

My last memory hit with a note of depression, taking me back to that much hated place. I recalled the bed at the children’s home, the mash of the newspaper still under my grey ragged clothes and little else after. “Nothing but the crappiest bed in Boston…”

“Forgive me, where are my manners, I’m Mary, Mary Anglicus, please to make your acquaintance, and you are?”

Her name struck me dumb with shock for a moment. “That’s my name too, Jane Anglicus.”

“Well Jane, do you think the others share our namesake?”

We both looked out into the crowd. Some screamed while others whimpered, trapped and uncertain as us. I heard many different languages, saw many different styles, and gazed on many different faces, but none that matched our own.

“They must be from all over the world, that one over there is wearing a damn cheetah skin.” My hand stretched out and pointed at the girl, twice my height with the look of a tribal warrior. “I bet she can handle herself.”

She saw me gawking through dark and took offence. In two strides I watched her stop short of my face with a look of pure murder.

Words can’t describe how terrifying it was for me. “Please! I wasn’t trying to start anything.”

She breathed heavy with anger, pointed towards me as if I was the one responsible.

“Anglicus?” asked Mary.

“Anglicus!” her hand tapped her chest and we all understood.

The name called up behind us like a chorus; one after another they pointed to themselves and spoke it out loud, ‘Anglicus’.

Author's Note

a concept I'm messing around with at the moment, and also an exercise in writing style, could do with some pointers from the novice and experienced alike. if you could follow it, or what you feel its missing etc, will continue with more every now and then, (flash fiction length chapters)

Reviews

[Lisa A from Colorado]

You've got conflict, and it's great! Better than some of the people in my writer's group. I've got to know why they all ended up there. I imagine they have been transported from someplace else, but are they time travelers?

[M.R Steiner]

I wrote it as more of an exercise and may do more eventually, if you're familair with the legend of pope Joan you will have a sense of what is :) kinda

[Lisa A from Colorado]

Ah. No, not familiar.