Power of the Pen: Prompts & Short Stories 2013-2015

The Price of a Life

7th Grade
The Price of a Life

By michmeoww

Prompt: Some things are not for sale. Write about one of them.

Time Given: 40 minutes

I looked hungrily at the freshly baked bread from the downtown bakery. Steam rose from the dough and muffins outlined the birthday cake on another display table.

I fingered the few coins that I had just earned from my sewing career. It was too much. I couldn't afford it. I came here for food that was a normal, stale, and cheap, not some high quality treat that I couldn't even afford.

My shoeless feet led me to the marketplace.

"Tomatoes for one ero a pound!" A merchant selling fresh fruit and vegetables screamed in my face. I chose a ruby red tomato and sighed, I was not worthy for fresh food like this. Fingering the coins in my pocket, I walked away, rough stone puncturing the sole dog my feet.

"What?!" Stepmother screeched, "What do you mean, you didn't get anything to eat?" her hand came flying towards my cheek. My fingers touched the place where she hit me and winced. "Do you know what this means?" My stepmother stepped towards me. "Do you? This means we get no dinner, and you're going to get the shit slammed out of you!" I sighed as she glanced at the beating stick strung against the wall and pursed her lips.

I could never afford anything, and I never will. I watched as Stepmother unraveled the straight and caressed the fine wood with her fingers. "Prepare to die," she snarled.

My back ached, my legs numb, my bruised hands were sore, and my whole body was beat to the bone. Prepare to die. Her words stung my heart. I was just a girl. I could die, right? No one would get hurt. Hunger spread throughout my body. Stale, moldy bread. That sounded so good. My stomach screamed for something, even water, to digest.

I should get some water. I should. I stepped out of bed and fell face first into the floor. I blacked out and all was gone.

Epilogue

Chester Chimney-swift, a local reporter, fingered a bone from the ruins of an ancient household. He kicked aside a piece of rubble and sighed, moving to the next building.

"How unfortunate," he mutters, "it seems like someone died there." The reporter smirks and leisurely walks down an empty alleyway. "If only one could buy another life," he says. "yet life has no price.

The End