Hidden Life by bravefire43 and kouen.ninja (phonics story books .TXT) 📕

It was raining. Above, the clouds shook with thunder while lightning ignited the sky. On the ground, puddles dotted the street, soaking the entire city. A chilly wind scattered dead leaves and pieces of trash, and the cold drove the inhabitants of the city to the safety and warmth of their 30th- and 31st-century style homes. After all these years, the best way to avoid the November chill in Amrixta was still to nap in front of the fireplace.

But through the rain walked a lone figure. It was a small girl, with long, tangled black hair and ice-blue eyes. Although her actual age was around seven or eight, she was tiny enough to be mistaken for a four-year-old, yet her dainty young face showed the pain and experience of a girl of twelve. Her bare feet splashed through the puddles and the rain soaked her hair and thin, dirty clothes. She felt foolish, not to mention cold and wet, for wearing the spring clothes of a slave in the middle of a late-autumn rainstorm. But that was all her 'adopted parents,' Mr. Christopher and Mrs. Gwenyth Whitlow, would give her.

"Hey, Girl!"

The Girl halted and looked behind her to where the familiar, harsh female voice had come. Standing on the porch of one of the many gray, plain houses on her street was a middle-aged woman with long blonde hair. Even though she stood under an awning, this woman still held an umbrella over her head, and her expression made her look like a bit of rain and discomfort would surely kill her. She wore too much make-up, which, combined with a permanent look of disgust, ruined her beautiful face.

With a sigh, The Girl called, "Yes, Mrs. Gwenyth?"

"Don't forget, only the best

apples can be used in the pie for Ingrid's birthday! Buy the best, or else!"

The Girl looked down at her bruised arms and shivered. The implication was obvious. If she brought back anything that displeased Mrs. Gwenyth or Miss Ingrid, she would be punished. No, not just punished. Beaten

.

"Yes, ma'am!" And with that, The Girl dashed away into the storm.

She ran past rows and rows of the kind of same gray, undecorated houses, but with every new street she came to, the houses would become bigger and bigger. She was headed towards the center of town, and the richer people lived closest to the Great Palace of the ancient ruling family of Amrix. Also closer to the palace was where all the more expensive shops were, the ones who would have the highest-quality apples for Miss Ingrid.

In one part of town, people in dull-colored coats still bustled about, buying and socializing in the many stores. The streets were filled with zoomers: sleek, aerodynamic vehicles in a variety of metalic colors that hovered above the streets. Seeing so many zoomers in one place made The Girl nervous; she had never been allowed to ride in the Whitlow family zoomer, nor Ingrid's smaller one.

The Girl walked quickly on the sidewalk, grateful for the protection from the rain that the awnings provided. She could feel the stares of the city people, looking at her dingy clothes and diminutive figure. She could almost read what they were thinking by the looks on their faces: What is this tiny slave girl from the suburbs doing here?

The Girl never met one of their critical gazes, but just stared at the sidewalk as she made her way to the fruit store.

She looked up to see the flashy façade of the Fantastic Fruit Store across the street; this supermarket was the best place to buy produce in Amrixta. Without looking, The Girl bolted into the street towards the shop. She was almost to the other side of the street, when...

Bam!

The next thing she knew, she was on the ground, and her head throbbed with pain. She hadn't even had a chance to scream in surprise. Something warm and wet was running down her forehead. The Girl reached up to touch her head. A bump was forming that was tender to the touch, and when she looked at her hand, her fingers were covered in blood.

"Hey! Get outta the road!" An angry yell and a sharp honk startled The Girl. She looked up to see a pale green zoomer floating right above her. She scrambled to her feet and turned to face the driver.

A stocky man of about 50 poked his head out the side window of his zoomer. "Hey! What d'ya think you're doin'? I'm already late!" he roared. "Stay out of the city, little slave urchin." The zoomer's engines hummed to life, and The Girl was barely able to leap out of the way before she would have been hit again.

She stood on the curb and watched the zoomer speed down the street. It was still raining, but lighter now. I hope the police catch him for speeding,

she thought with an angry sigh. And it was his fault I got hit.

She shook her head and continued walking towards Fantastic Fruit.

The Girl had, as usual, been walking with her head down and her eyes on the ground in front of her, and now she hung her head even lower. She had barely gotten a few feet before she was stopped. "Uff!" she grunted when she hit something. She looked for whoever she had hit. "I-I'm sorry..."

"It's alright, hun," a warm, old voice murmured. The Girl looked up to see that she had run into an older, heavyset African-American lady. The lady was smiling, which made the many wrinkles on her face seem to be a sign of friendliness, not age. "Now, you come on outta the rain. You look awf'ly cold out here. Not to mention that nasty cut on your face. C'mon in, and Mrs. Sounders will fix you right up, y'hear?"

The old lady gestured towards an open door behind Mrs. Sounders that led into a small shop. Unlike every other door in Amrixta, this one was decorated with pictures of turkeys and men in strange, black hats. The decorations stood out in the dull, boring cityscape, one of the few signs of culture that has endured through time.

The Girl hesitated. "Well..." Mr. Christopher told me to never accept kindness from strangers; it's not safe, and his family can't afford to lose me. And Mrs. Gwenyth wouldn't want me going near a black person...oh, who cares about that stuck-up old woman, anyways?

She stepped forward cautiously. "Okay."

"Attagirl, c'mon in!" Mrs. Sounders was already halfway into the little shop.

The Girl followed, but stopped at the door. She looked curiously at the pictures. "Why...why is there a turkey on your door?" she asked shyly.

"Even after movin' from America to live here in Amrixta, my parents never gave up the ol' American traditions." Mrs. Sounders reapppeared from behind a counter inside the shop and stood beside The Girl. "It's for a holiday called Thanksgivin' that comes 'bout this time of year. A time t'be thankful for all we have." She looked around the inside of the tiny, inviting shop. "I sure

do have a lot t'be thankful for," she whispered.

The Girl nodded, then shivered; though the rain had ceased a little, the cold wind still blew and made her soaked hair feel like ice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, hun! Git in, git in!" Mrs. Sounders gestured for The Girl to come inside.

The contrast between the cold streets of Amrixta and the warm little shop was pleasantly startling. The Girl got her first chance to really see the entire shop. It was an inviting little place, with a fireplace on the far end of the main room. The walls were painted a deep, soothing chestnut, which made the room seem even more friendly and full of life. Also on the walls were rows and rows of shelves that held all kinds of food: a vast variety of fresh fruits and vegetables shone in the glow of the fire, as well as loaves of bread, packages of meat, and bags large and small full of things such as flour or sugar.

"Ummm..." The Girl wandered around the rooms, looking at the shelves. She stopped when she got to the fruit. There, on a shelf a few inches above her head, were apples bigger and healthier-looking than she had ever seen in Amrixta. If I bring these back to Mrs. Gwenyth, she might even reward me,

she thought. These are the best I've ever seen.

"H-how much are the apples?" she asked Mrs. Sounders.

Mrs. Sounders looked up from behind the counter. "Oh, you can help ya'self to those, hun. I don't mind."

The old woman's kindness suprised The Girl. "Thank you," she said quietly, then stood on her toes to pick out a few of the best-looking apples. "But, Mrs. Gw-um, my mother, would not like me taking anything for free."

"Ah, ya'can go buy yourself somethin' else on your way home," Mrs. Sounders replied with a wink. "Now, c'mon and sit down, hun." She pointed to a trio of seats on the other side of the counter.

"Yes, ma'am." The Girl set her apples on the counter. She struggled to climb up on one of the seats and cautiously sat down.

Mrs. Sounders leaned on the counter across from The Girl and looked at her curiously. "So, hun, what'd be your name?"

The Girl's heart pounded in her chest. How do I explain that I don't have a name, that I was never given one?

"M-my name's Ingrid," she lied. "Ingrid Wh-Whitlow."

Text: Cover art by ~nell-fallcard, deviantART
Publication Date: 12-29-2010

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