He was seven years old now, and sitting at a stone table. In front of him was a plate filled with a greenish gruel that they called 'calorique'. He looked to his left to see the little girl. She smiled at him and tilted her plate up so half the food slid off and onto the floor. He giggled then a voice came from above, "What are you two doing?"
They both sat upright with their eyes ahead, the girl dropping her plate to the table with a clatter. He spoke up, "We weren't doing anything, Herr Johns..."
A stick came down and hit him across the back, causing his shoulders to spasm back with pain. He cried out in pain and was hit again. This time he managed to bite his tongue and barely let a groan escape.
"I see you still have a lot to learn," Herr Johnson said, shaking his head. He looked over at the girl, who was still staring ahead, "You should be a better influence. You're a star pupil. Or, if you can't be a good influence, pick better friends." He looked over at her plate and raised his eyebrows, "Looks like you lost some of your food. Never mind, we have plenty more." He motioned to the chef standing at the door, who came over with a large cauldron and spooned a pile of slop onto her plate. "There you go little lady. Enjoy." He cackled and walked off along with the chef. The little boy groaned.
"You shouldn't have said anything." The little girl whispered, "We're meant to be silent at this point. Especially if we're meant to be being subservient. Haven't you learnt anything yet?"
"I'm slow." The boy said glumly, and spooned up another serving of gruel and forced himself to swallow it. He felt like he was trapped in a glass box he couldn't get out of, and this one wasn't invisible.
YOU ARE READING
Mime Spent Apart
Fiction généraleIn a world where mimes are victims of abuse; one man dares to walk against the winds of circumstance to break past the glass wall of injustice. A work in progress. All comments welcome.
