Help My Memory (ON HOLD!)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

You know that feeling you get when you know something bad is about to happen? Well I'm feeling it right now, and it keeps swirling in my stomach like a whirlpool; which, according to my parents is deadly.

I pick up half of my skirts and press myself against the building, feeling the brick road scrap my thighs and hope that whatever is coming after me will be too stupid to actual find me. I clutch my bag tightly in my hands, getting ready to strike if necessary.

'Oh why did they make the roads out of brick?'  I ask myself angrily, leaning against the castle wall.

Well, I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Rosalia. I'm 17 and you can guess by my name I am indeed a girl. Shocking I know. Right now we are in England and we are at war. But this isn't just any war, oh no; this war is about surviving a corrupt world with a corrupt government. I'm here to observe the English and report back to my agency in Italy which at this time is going crazy with all the threats being thrown their way.

To me, everything happens for a reason and when things happen, you have a choice. My choice is to try to stop Nottingham's Sheriff from raiding other countries and causing destruction. I don't want to be the one cowering in fear, hoping that someone will come to the rescue. I live and breath for the thrill of almost being caught.

I especially love it when I'm able to use my bow and arrow.

My bow isn't the greatest, it's cheap and always needs to be repaired every other night. It also always leaves horrible splinters in the palms of my hands, causing me to not be able to pick up anything for a good two months. My arrows aren't that great as well. They always break and can never go in a straight line. That's why I don't have it on me.

See, there is another reason why I'm here and it involves two words.... Robin Hood. I've heard so many stories about him and how he saves the poor in Nottingham by giving them food and money and supplies that he got from the rich. I just have to find him...maybe he can give me a new bow.

Well enough about me... you're probably bored of me anyway...

I hear loud, heavy footsteps slowly making their way towards me. I close my eyes tight and hope that if I can't see them then they can't see me.

"Well well well, isn't this the little lady we were searching for. " A deep voice asks, getting closer and closer until I could feel his tobacco breath against my neck. And one thing came to my mind.

'Well,  this guy is moderately stupid.'

He grabs my face, forcing me to open my eyes. The man is probably no taller than 6' 6" with a shaggy beard that hasn't seen soap in a while. His menacing green eyes are bloodshot and you can tell he's been smoking for quite some time.

"Where is it? " The man whispers, "WHERE IS IT!" He screams when I hesitate.

"Please, I'm begging you, st-"

"Silence you filthy wench!" The man spits out, connecting his foot to my rib cage. I scream out in pain only to be muffled by a dirty rag that has a strange smell to it. I grab my shoulder and with a horrifying realization, my bag and my weapons are missing. I cautiously try to look around for it and find it laying against the wall, the flap open, but out of sight of the man's eyes. I try not to breathe as I feel my lungs about to explode.

"Look, whoever you are, you have the wrong girl." I say muffled trying my hardest to not breathe as much.

"Oh really?  Well, I know that you are trying to kill the Sheriff. I was told that a young girl would come from Italy to kill a man and looks like I'm right. " Glaring, I pretend to faint and the man slowly removes the rag. As soon as I feel his grip lighten, I slip away and try to run as fast as I can. But my numb legs make it painful to run and soon the man catches up to me and grabs me around the waist and slams me against the wall. As I try to gain consciousness, I feel the man tighten his grip and puts his arms around my neck, blocking my airway. Quickly I struggle to get a hold of his large beefy hand, feeling hopeless as I feel my lungs start to burn.