Escaping Death Alley

Chapter One

I could see Brian standing in front of me, his sparkling blue eyes glittering as he smiled. "Hey there, beautiful."

"Brian," I whisper, his name like heroine on my tongue. "I thought you were back in the land where you belong."

"I am," Brian replied. "This is all just a dream, but it's a good dream."

"I don't want it to be just a dream," I sniff.

"Sometimes dreams can be reality," Brian suggests right before he leans in to kiss me.

"Farm girl!" I heard a scream, jolting me awake.

"I'm up, I'm up!" I insisted

"Go collect the chicken eggs!" Barks the old farmer man. "You should have done it fifteen minutes ago! And take your black girl with you!"

"I will," I promised, scrambling out of my old mattress and shaking Skai awake. The too of us practically run down to the chicken coops to do our duties.

Inga had been right, a village being close by. However, hardly anybody spoke English, except for a passing by farmer. He was in need of a farm girl, and I needed a place to stay. So, I excepted, despite the poor treatment I was given.

However, the farmer's old wife was as gentle as a butterfly, a marvelous woman. She was the one who invited me and the other workers to supper, and was glad to do it. I was always thankful for her to be around.

The farmer's grandson was always quiet, and couldn't be older than twenty-one. He was an enigma for sure, but I had nothing against him, always saying excuse me when he needed to get by me, or thanks me when I pass the bread. He seemed like a nice man, whose name was Viktor.

For his grandparents, I simply referred to them as Mr and Mrs Albinson,for it was the respectable thing to do for older folks.

I waved to the men attending to the potato farms like every morning before I creeped into the chicken coop. Carefully, but hastily, I snatched the eggs from the next and left as quick as possible.

I sprinted up the hill to the farmer's house and delivered the eggs to the cook, who was more than willing to make scrumptious omelets.

"Good morning, Linnea," I greeted the cook. "I have your daily eggs."

"Oh, Bailey," she laughed. "You startled me." Linnea was always bubbly. She was around 26 or so, auburn hair and porcelain skin. Her eyes were bright and airy, like those of a sprite, and her smile was captivating. She was glad to cook and let the stern treatment of the farmer roll off her back. It was like nothing brought her down.

"Here," I said, handing her the eggs. "I suggest making it quickly. Mr. Albinson is extra cranky this morning."

"Oh, don't mind him," Linnea cooed in a thick Swedish accent. "He is an old man. His bones ache. He means well, but life gets rough when you're older. It is quite alright."

"Well, I would like to think he means well," I mutter under my breath. "But is undying barks get the best of you sometimes. But I can't complain. He did take me in."

"He did," Linnea agreed. "He took all of us in that were struggling, some even from England when he lived there. He is a good man, just a stern one." Linnea laughs again.

I smiled. How can you not when you're around her? Linnea is simply a delight.

"Well," I concluded. "I'll let you cook. Me and Skai are probably going to attend to the pigs, whatever Mr. Albinson wishes. I'll see you around."

"Good bye, Bailey."

Skai grabbed a hold of my loose, white dress, one that was provided for me thanks to Mrs. Albinson. She could sew very well, and in her kindness, offered to make me newer and better clothes. How could I resist?