Songs Of Sparrow

Songs of New Foundings (4)

Chapter Four

13 years, 81 days

"13 years, 81 days

"You little..." Missus Harton growled, and instantly I pressed my eyes shut and tried all my best to block out the derogatory names she always seemed pleased to call me. Repressing unwanted memories such as these had become instinctive growing up a slave, however a miniscule tear downright almost left my eye as I thought about my dead mama, and how she had been through a life-filled with torture, pain, and only God knows what else. I greatly missed her at times like this; her sweet voice which serenaded the night, her soothing touch which calmed the seas, her...

I was interrupted in my train of thought as Missus striked my left cheek with a crummy, wrinkled hand of hers. I was never gonna cry, I promised myself, from the touch of a devil again. Alls I know is, once I get my freedom, I was never gonna face no beating and no misery from evil-stricken people. So with her slap, the look of scorn and disgust from her and the look of carelessness from her husband, I happily told myself, not no more, Sparrow, not no more. And with that, I knew the path to freedom was however I close I pictured it.

* * * *

After all the nonsense Missus was blatherin', she decided it would be fine idea to send me back to Mr. Brigs to buy some more cheese. Even though I recalled buying two packets of fresh goat cheese, I didn't dare to utter a word, just one word defying her is all it takes to be sent straight to misery.

"Ya hear me this time, ya funk?" Missus spat at me, her wrinkled, rotting face looking at me with full, blown-out hatred. I nodded my head once, then twice, and with her dismissal, quietly walked out the front door.

I walked a couple roads before I saw the same boy whom had tripped me yesterday. And I couldn't believe my eyes when a little servings of Missus' missing goat cheese was cradled in the palm of his left hand. All it took was a little gasp to leave my mouth for his head to jerk over to me. At first, a look of fear poured over his features, then guilt, and then resentment.

"Ya didn't know?" he rasped, he started to wrap the rest of the goat cheese laying beside him with a dirty and worn handkerchief. At first, I was confused to where his point lay, but once I realized that he tripped me to pilfer Missus' food, I quietly pitied him.

"M'sorry," was all I uttered even though he stole, made me hurt. He was born into a twisted life like me, yet no one was kind enough to even give him a home no matter how wicked it may doggone be. "I didn't realize."

He grunted. "It ain't all that bad," he looked at me through his long eyelashes, I realized then that he had some really nice light, brown eyes. Really nice. "Mr. Briggs found me wandering St. Rosco, it's a place a twenty....towns from here. He grabbed me and took me 'ere. But he couldn't buy me, he wasn't a man for great livin'. I'm a street slave. I ain't got no record of birth. I ain't even got myself a name. Well, actually I go by Jonas but, I gave it to myself. And I ain't even know why I'm tellin' you all this, but I reckon it's cause I'm sorry I stole your nice cheese."

I smiled at him for a bit, never had I met a boy like him, like Jonas before; he was surely something else.

"Jonas..." was all I said. "Such a beautiful name. Where'd ya find it?"

He stared at me hard for a few seconds before grinning, and I almost let out a sigh of relief that he didn't seem angry with me. "I heard a man call his son Jonasis once. I was out by an abandoned storehouse, and I heard it. I was 6 summers old, I believe. Ever since, I favored the name, but I preferred Jonas even more, since it was easier to say. What's yers?"