Bastille Imagines

Minorities

The one thing you can't tolerate is when people are watching you, a million pairs of eyes judging your every movement, locked under their supervision. Particularly the intimidating glare of the guards that stand watch on the colossal towers at every corner. You don't have the privilege of privacy anymore. No one does. But it's just how life has been and always will be for you...for everyone. Only a miracle could change that.

You rush home after realising that you're an hour over curfew and that your starving family are relying on you to return with their meal. Dodging left and right trying to avoid the blinding spotlights scanning the town, you blend into the darkness as stealthily as humanly possible - although it didn't seem human as you had a dead turkey under your shirt. You know every shortcut, every alleyway and where it leads to. You've been doing this your entire life and it would take years upon years of training to succeed at your level of stealth which has came naturally to you.

The reason for this? Well...ever since the Smith family came into power and wealth among the poor and helpless, it seems that they feel obligated to take charge and steal everyone of their rights of freedom. And they're not entirely lenient. Everything you do leads up to them, you work all day and don't get a single penny's pay. They rob the poor to feed the rich.

The son, Daniel, used to be your best friend until his selfish father sacrificed his daughter to another towns leader for a significant amount of money and the promise of eternal power. He was taken away from you and left you to cope on your own with feeding and tending to the needs of the entire town. Now you believe he has became one of them: the snobby rich who have a serious addiction to power and wealth. 15 years later and now he's second in command behind his father. You're well aware of the addictive power that money can seduce people into without thinking; many of the towns richest brag about their superiority among indigent people and gloat over their possessions that not even half of the poor would dare dream of owning.

In your eyes you've lost him and the memories that you both shared together as children. You don't even think he would be able to recognise you in your filthy rags that you have been forced to wear because of a lack of material and equipment to make new ones. You wish things were back to the way they were.

You reach your family house of 4, your mum, dad and your younger brother who are all incapable of hunting for their own food. They welcome you back before sitting down and having your well deserved meal.

~~~~

The day is new and you're awoken by the town horn signalling the beginning of a long days work of manual labour. But your eyes snap open when another horn is heard, one that you haven't heard in a long time and admittedly scares you to death. It's a town gathering.

Usually town gatherings end on a bad note; someone's committed a crime and has to pay the consequences, new laws have been enforced or a demonstration. You hated demonstrations, too boring.

Everyone in town is heading in the same direction and slowly a crowd disperses in front of the town hall where a single microphone is positioned, perching high on the stage. You can't quite clearly see the stage no thanks to your diminutive height but you have no need to perch up on to your tiptoes as the voice is easily recognisable.

"Citizens," he begins, sounding harsh. Something bad has happened. "Last night, someone became a criminal."

The crowd soak in the information muttering as panicked expressions creep onto many faces. But not yours, never yours. Dan finally comes into your vision as you edge your way closer.

"A girl was spotted breaking curfew. We have no identity, but if you have any information to share then please, feel obliged to confront this criminal." His voice was soft and less harsh than his fathers. You can see his face clearly as the sun highlights his best features. God, how he's matured. He waits, watching over the crowd searching for a single hand to be risen in the air. To your relief, no one answers...that is until the farmer, Cameron, who everyone despises, reaches for the sky as if a star was within his grasp. Coincidentally the same farmer you stole the turkey from.