Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Ex Satus ❯ Molly! ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: Okay. I Ryiu, am not making any money on this, however. This is my work and I'd appreciate if you didn't steal it. I also have an automatic copyright due to the United States of America. Please don't bash me too much.

 

The romantic fantasy had over taken him, or at least however much it could move in to a healer. There was a war going on. He had to have a part in it. His brothers' were, even his little sister's lover was. Swordsmen, an honorable path? Bah! Michael, a healer, was far more honorable, giving life instead of taking such a thing. Also, something he neglected to tell himself, he was quite sloppy at swordplay.

He heard a whimper and a cry. It took his attention immediately. A small girl, maybe six, had scraped her knee. His slender body then moved on its own, to the pony-tailed girl and to his dismay, this meant away from the ration line. Yet, he was already away, no point turning around. Bending at the knees he looked at the wound. A few shards of glass had embedded itself in her knee. Almost healed over, that meant that this wasn't the first time she had scraped her knee in a bad neighborhood. “Little miss, hold still.” In this, he had to be delicate. If he made a mistake, it'd be the end of the little girl's life. Nevertheless, he removed his knife. It was a plain knife, wooden on the handle and metal on the blade, yet Michael being a perfectionist, sharpened it obsessively. It was one of the sharpest in all of Chase.

 

Though the girl shrank away next to the ration line, he performed the operation right there. She struggled and screamed for help but the Chasorians in that line just looked away and pretended not to hear, they were not going to lose their meal ticket. With the hand of a surgeon, that steady one that could never make one mistake he removed the glass, and sewed together her knee. When his work was done, he slightly stood, grabbing the girl by the collar, and heaved her onto his back. “Now, little girl, where do you live?”

 

After a moment of standing there, she mumbled. Nearly a whisper. “Lower town.” This city had been divided into five sections. The first would be Upper town. This would be where the politicians, royalty and sirs there. Upptown, would have the rich people in the town, like the business people and those whom were rich by blood. Then Mid-town, your average citizen. Worked hard, lived, but neither rich nor poor. Then Lowtown. A place where poor citizens lived. Then Lower Town. By far the worst. A place where criminals where brought to live. To “re-habilitate” them. Bah! Punishment to their descendants was more like it.

Nevertheless he smiled. A fake one, but one nonetheless. It wasn't like it was too far away, Just down the street. That was the problem with Lowtown. Too close to Lower Town. “Lower town, okay!” A pleasant voice, but a different undertone; one of sorrow. She was too long, far too young to pick up on it. Criminals or at least people that were driven to be criminals were living in low town. Poor girl. She had to live among them. She had done nothing but had to serve such a punishment.

 

His footsteps had carried him half way there without thinking. This dismal street had a way of doing that. Taking this world and making it whiz by. It wasn't as if you really wanted to stay in this place. It was usually too cold, too hot or too dirty. It was your normal poor place. As Michael ran further down Main, the buildings seemed to grow older, dirtier. The trees withered; even as you walked even the sky looked as if it decayed. Yet on a far side street, so far down, that you could barely see it. A rose seemed to bloom and the girl tugged on his other side to say the opposite direction was home. Michael turned from the flower and rushed in the direction she had indicating.

 

As he ran, the bottom of his jeans wet themselves. The rains had recently past and there were puddles on the ground. The water had splashed up on them. And it stung his legs.
It was far too cold. This fall had seemed to be far too cold. Maybe it was god looking down on the Chasorian Empire's war on the small democratic country of Roshet. However, his thoughts had wandered, for a miss step could snap his ankle. Still that didn't matter. The girl needed to relax and rest. Doctors always said that was the best medicine; rest. Then, once more the girl caught his attention. Tugging on his collar, to say he should stop now. Turning to his right, he stood at the foot of a small ramble, of which, at least from what he saw, was the mansion of Lower Town.

 

He approached the door. It was made of a thin piece of plywood. Pine? It was a light wood even though it took the light and made it appear more like a cherry. Then the knob, if that is what you wished to call it, was a small indent in the door, just enough to get a grip and pull it open. Thusly he did. The door however, was rough and cold. Obviously not the craftsmanship of a professional, the door seemed to fly open. After a foot in he spoke “H-hello?” A meek voice, but somehow, defiant and strong, as if a warrior was waiting to spring from the boy.

 

Then a burly man stepped forth, a long knife in hand. Obviously a threat, although Michael had his daughter in hand. His dark eyes seemed to burn with hatred for the Michael. His, once thick hair had seemed to fade back towards the oblivion at the back of his head. “I brought your daughter, she had been badly injured. Pain was within her leg with each step.”

At this the man boomed with laughter. His laugh seemed as if it called from hell itself. Like through his bare feet, his body stretched to such madness to produce this laugh. “Molly? In pain? I'm `er `'ather. She'd had said something. Your a l'ar.”

 

Michael, obviously angry with the lack of appreciation he received from Molly's father, grimaced. This made him seem much older, much like he was twenty-five instead of fifteen. “Excuse me? Are you saying I don't know of my profession? Might you be implying that as a healer, I know not what is painful?”

Molly's father grip tightened on the knife. As if he was preparing to attack. “Are ya sayin' I don' know Molly?” The veins were beginning to bulge from his neck while Michael was keeping a relatively calm physical demeanor. “You're a basta'd, ya litt' punk.”

 

This steamed Michael. He was no bastard, nor did he take kindly to being called one. Dropping Molly ever so slowly, Michael smirked at the man. “Kind sir,” He spoke looking through his hair, making him seem menacing although, his hair was relatively short and couldn't look much like a madman staring. Yet this seemed to strengthen his resolve. Like by doing this, it made it written in stone. “I will now take my leave, if you do not appreciate my doings, then my wasted lunch was for naught.” He turned, as he heard another person move, much too light to be the man, but too heavy to be Molly's. Unconsciously his hand had moved to his knife, preparing to slash the throat of the enemy if he was under attack.

 

Turning he found himself face to face, with an apparently older woman. She had wiry hair that had started to change colors. From her blonde to her gray, her lips seemed to be old and overused, and her breasts sagged. Even though he had turned away, his anger still remained. “Yes, what do you want?”

 

She was frightened by his harsh voice. Just by her actions it was obvious that she was Molly's mother. “Sir, thank ye. Ben don't see it.” A grunt came from Molly's father, whose name had been revealed. He was angered by the independence but at this point, the woman. “Molly, have been lame since last bloom. `lease, stay for lunching.” At this Michael smiled. Thankfulness. However, he could see Ben getting angry, and this made him wish to stay further.

“Ma'am, it would not be proper if I stayed without knowing your name.” Such a suave way of putting it. He was merely asking her name but it made it seem so flattering. The way Michael was. A flatterer, but in a good way. He didn't over do it.

 

A loud scream had come out of Ben. “No. Heather. He hurted our daughter. Don't you even care?” He seemed more frustrated with his wife than angry at Michael. The veins looked as if they were about to detach from his body and fall to the ground.

 

Heather, composing herself still looking at Michael, ignored her husband. “My name are Heather. Now what are yours?” A smile had crossed his face. Is that how all couples acted? So detached from each other. Still the woman with wiry hair was by far more dominate. Most likely, it was the thing between her legs. Ben would probably do anything to get into the warm crevasse.

 

Michael picking Molly back up smiled. “The name,” A small hesitation. It was unnoticeable to anyone but him, but it confirmed his instinctive fear of the man referred to as Ben. “is Michael.” He by then had Molly on his back. He wasn't sure when Molly had fallen asleep, but she had. Her breathing was relaxed, obviously she hadn't been afraid. “Now, for Molly, where is a bed?”

 

He was quickly led to a small nook. It was a two by two square that went back. Like a tiny tunnel. However, it reminded him of the morgues of Upptown and Upper Town. What if before there were criminals, everyone had the same status? No. Crime had always been about.

 

After Molly was tucked in bed. He returned to the living room. By then sandwiches had been prepared. Tuna and butter. A disgusting combination but he really couldn't complain. They were, most likely, putting out all they had. The meal was somber and calm. Somewhat eerie. However, this house, this place, this part of town was eerie. So, decrepit and lonely. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the fulfillment his stomach received from his sandwich, while he watched the lovers stare at each other. It was a longing stare, as if Michael was gone they'd be making love on the very table he sat. Slowly he excused himself. “Thank you very much for the food, yet I should be going now.” He stood and took a long bound towards the door, well before they could wish him goodbye.

 

The woman spoke. “Thank ye and `ave a nice day.” He shut the door behind him, walking into the street. Through those thin walls, he had heard them beginning to shag. He knew that would happen. Yet, he walked toward the rose of the distance.