Running Away
Amelia Simon sat on her bed recalling what had just happened ten minutes ago.
She had been reading her sister a story when her mother returned from what she called work. She was very strict about keeping the house in shape while she was gone during the day. She wanted everything to look perfect just in case a visitor stopped by. All of the children had finished their chores…all except Amelia.
"I told you to have your chores done before I get home! Your brothers and even your sister all have finished. Why is it always you?" her mother said heatedly. When Amelia didn't respond, she added, "I take care of this family, I am a working woman! Would it kill you to just do what I–"
"Working woman?You call what you do during the day work? It doesn't take much talent to do what you do, you whore!"
Her mother's eyes flashed dangerously and she slapped her, hard, across the cheek. Amelia sank to her knees, but didn't dare let one tear fall.
"You will have no supper tonight," her mother said coldly.
And so there she sat, while the rest of her so-called 'family' ate dinner. Amelia couldn't call it a family. She wouldn't call it a family. She didn't have any true brothers or sisters. All of her siblings, her three brothers and one sister, were half. Not one of them had the same father. First came Paul who was seventeen; then it was David who was fifteen; next was Amelia who was thirteen; then Jonathan who was ten; and finally Abigail who was only six.
Having only brothers to look up to, Amelia had become some what of a tomboy. She got dirty and rough housed with them. Yet, she still had time to play dolls with Abbie and read to her at night. Sometimes she felt like the outcast of the family. Her mother always seemed to have something to punish her for. She was the one Amelia truly couldn't stand.
She looked out the open window and sighed unhappily. She couldn't stay at that pathetic excuse for a house anymore. There was never a time to be a happy, normal family. They could never be a normal family; all because of her mother. Amelia brought her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on them. A normal family was all she wanted. She wanted someone to love.
She heard her brothers stampede to their room, signaling that supper was over. Amelia rubbed her eyes and spread her body out on her bed. Her younger sister Abbie opened the door to the room they shared. She walked over to Amelia's bed and smiled at her. She reached into her dress pocket, and Amelia noticed that there was a lump there. As her hand came out of it, she saw a warm roll.
"Thank you, Abbie," she whispered, and at the bread.
Later that evening, Amelia began to read a story to Abbie whilst in bed. But, as she read the fairy-tale, the more she realized that her half sister was the only reason she was staying at that house. When Amelia was almost done with her story, their door opened.
"Go to sleep," her mother said curtly.
"Yes, ma'am," the two girls said in unison.
They got ready silently, knowing their mother wouldn't be happy if they did otherwise. Amelia was lying awake in her bed, thinking. She gazed out the open window, so many thoughts and ideas swimming through her head. There was nothing to live for here. This broken family couldn't offer her the love she wanted. Her tired eyes looked over at the blonde girl sleeping across the room.
She will do fine here without me, she thought. Paul will take care of her. He won't let Mother hurt her…
Amelia waited for a couple more hours before she gathered a few belongings in her pillowcase. She took a deep breath, and lightly kissed her half-sister on the forehead.
"Take care of yourself," she whispered as softly as possible.
After taking one last glance of their room, she climbed out of the window without a sound. The moon was full and gave her a source of light. Amelia walked along a dirt road for hours, little noises frightening her. She thought she heard a rustling in nearby bushes. What was she thinking? She didn't even know where she was going!
No. Be strong. I know where I am going, and it's as far away from that house as possible. Nothing scares me.
It must have been very early in the morning when she found an abandoned tent. She looked up at the vast cloth. It flapped ever so gently in the light breeze. It was rather taunting. But her legs were about to give in from fatigue. Overcoming her fears, Amelia put her belongings on the ground and laid her head on them. The chirping of crickets was so peaceful…
The sound of voices woke her up. Amelia yawned and rubbed her eyes. She slowly sat up to find that it was morning. She whipped her head around once she heard yelling. Amelia crouched down and crawled to the opening of the tent. Her ocean-colored eyes squinted against the morning sun.
There was a group of dark-skinned men surrounding a white man. They were pushing him around, yelling profanities at him. Gypsies… From what Amelia could hear, it sounded as though the white man hadn't paid for something and he wanted to tell the authorities about something else... The gypsy men attacked him. She felt herself gasp. They were beating him furiously, mercilessly. Amelia felt tears well up in her eyes as she watched them maul the man.
She was frightened. What kind of world had she walked into? Why did she choose to leave the safety, more or less, of her home? A young gypsy man pulled out a jagged blade. Amelia's eyes widened. A few men held their prisoner down. She saw that his face was bruised and bleeding. The gypsy man slit his throat. She screamed. The dead body slumped over and the men looked towards Amelia.
Her stomach dropped.RUN! her mind screamed at her. And so she ran. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her. The men were advancing on her. She let out a cry and ran faster. A root tripped her. Amelia went facedown into the ground and slid a little bit from her momentum.
One of the men grabbed her by the wrists. She instantly kicked him where she knew it would hurt most. He immediately let her go and she ran again. There were too many of them. Another gypsy grabbed her; he was much stronger. She struggled, slowly losing her energy. He carried her over to a large cage and opened the door. Tossing her in the cage, he muttered a few rude things.
"We can't have some little girl knowing about this. Bad things could happen. We wouldn't want to lose our main attraction, now, would we?" She heard a few of them talking.
She hated herself. She was locked in some cage in the middle of nowhere. Her face was scraped and dirty from falling down. It hurt. Amelia began to sob uncontrollably. What are they going to do to me? How am I going to get out of here?
"Why are you crying?" a timid voice asked quietly.
She looked up, confused. After glancing around the cage, she said, "I– I don't know where I am…"
Then she saw him. A scrawny, dirty boy with a burlap sack over his head was sitting on the other side of the cage. Old trousers were his only clothing. Amelia looked at this odd boy. There were holes in the sack for his eyes to see through. She noticed that his eyes were dark brown. They sat in silence until he spoke again.
"It's a traveling fair, run by those gypsies," he said, sounding as if he flinched on the last word.
"They can't just lock us up like this," she replied, looking at her hands.
"I deserve to be locked up," he said sadly.
"Why?"
His long finger pointed at the sack over his head.
"I don't get it."
"Forget it."
"No, tell me." she asked earnestly.
"My–"
A gypsy walked in the tent. The two fell silent. He went over to the cage, unlocked it, and pulled Amelia out. He was grasping her arm. She didn't try to escape, but she made sure her body was as far away as possible. He took her to a room and locked her in it.
"What is going on?" she asked, confused. The gypsy cackled on the other side of the door.
"Only people who pay can see the Devil's Child!" She stared at the door for a moment, then sat in a corner and waited.
While she was sitting in that room, she'd heard distant screaming and laughter. Later, another gypsy came to the room and took her back to the cage. The boy from before was curled up in a corner. She said nothing and pulled her knees to her chest. That man must've been referring to this boy when he said 'Devil's Child.' So many thoughts came to her mind. Why does he have a sack over his head? What is his name? Why does he deserve to be locked up?
Her clear blue-green eyes looked over at him. There were raised red marks on his back. She cleared her throat. The boy turned his head, saw her, then turned completely around.
"Why?" she asked softly, continuing their conversation. Amelia could hear his ragged breathing.
"My–… my face," he said barely audibly.
"What's wrong with it?" she asked meekly.
"It's not… normal."
This conversation was rather uncomfortable for both of them. She finally spoke up, starting new conversation.
"My name is Amelia Simon," she said. The boy looked up at her.
"The gypsies don't think I should have a name. They get angry if I say it… I don't want you to say it and get in trouble."
Amelia stared at him. His face couldn't be that bad, could it?
"I won't say it," she told him. The boy's head turned from side to side, making sure there were no gypsies near. He crawled over to Amelia and whispered in her ear. A smile crept along her lips after he told her his name.
"I like that name," she said.
It had been a month since Amelia ran away from home. Half of the time she didn't even know what city they were in. But every time it was the same; a gypsy would lock her in a room while they tortured that poor boy. But in that month's time, she kept her promise: she never spoke the boy's name.
One night she returned from the room they locked her in. When she saw the boy, she gasped. Instead of having the usual red lashings, some places were bleeding, and others were badly bruised. She crawled over to the spot where he was sitting.
"What happened?" she asked breathlessly. Her fingers touched a bruise on his arm softly. "I tried to get away," he said hoarsely. "I couldn't stand it, so I tried to get out." Amelia's eyes were filled with pity. How could they sleep at night knowing that they had beaten him?
His hand was holding his stomach. "What is it?" she asked gently. She took his hand and slowly pulled it off his stomach. He lay down and groaned from the pain. Amelia examined his stomach. It had a gash, but it was not very deep. Her soft fingers ran across the sides of the wound. She was trying to see if there were any bumps in his skin; fragments of who knows what could have gotten into the laceration. He sighed. She thought for a moment, and then ripped off some cloth from the bottom of her dress. She wrapped it around his body, covering the cut.
She sat next to him and took his hand. "Thanks, Mia," he said softly. Giving him a small smile, she ran her thumb across the top of his hand. His breathing became slow and even. He had fallen asleep. Yawning, Amelia lied down next to him and also fell asleep.