Private Property

Introduction

Hey guys! This is my new story that I've been working on! Tell me what you think!:)

        I felt the impact of the slimy, paste-like substance hit my arm and slowly roll down to my hand. I shivered as it hit me, because even though it certainly was below freezing in this cell, the “porridge” as they called it here, was still colder. The prison guard who threw it at me smirked and said, “Dinner is served.” I could hear him cackling as he walked away. I sighed as I tried to scrape my food off my arm, the thought of eating it again tonight made me gag, but I reminded myself that at least it wasn’t leftover from last night, though I really had no idea if it was or not. So I dug in. And if you’re wondering what it tastes like… it’s sort of a mixture between rotten meat and moldy clothing; and it only tastes like that because that’s the majority of what’s in it (Besides the few rats they throw in so we don’t get scurvy).

I look over to see my cell mate devouring his bowl of porridge. He sees me staring at him and he gives me a concerned stare. “You okay, kid?” He says in his usual deep voice that could intimate anyone. His name is Gusto, and he may look like a big scary dude on the outside, with his rippling muscles, his 6’8’’ stature and his arms full of scars and burns, but he is really a great guy. He used to be a blacksmith and he has five daughters at home that he adores. The oldest, Andrea, is seventeen like me, the two twins, Jessica and Jasmine are fifteen, then Caitlyn, who is thirteen, and his youngest, Abby, who just turned seven this month. All the girls have chocolate brown eyes like Gusto and long brown hair like his wife, Christine. The way he describes her light brown hair and her bright, blue eyes makes it sound like she is the most beautiful woman in the world, and I can tell that they were really in love. But Christine died when she was giving birth to their stillborn son. The girls live on their own with their crazy aunt, Sarah, who just lays around while the girls work all day just to keep their little shop running. If it wasn’t for Andrea’s fiance, Damian, there would be no shop.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking about how disgusting this food is.” I say biting my tongue because I know I will get a tongue lashing for this comment.

“Alex, what have I told you about the outlook of things? You can’t go moping around, complaining about how bad things are for you. Somewhere in this world, someone has it worse than you, just be grateful you are alive and you actually have something to eat, even if it isn’t classified as food,” Gusto tells me again for the millionth time. I know he has a point I just don’t want to believe it. It’s not like I’m better off than him, he’s actually got a family that cares about him and loves him. I’m the girl who has been alone all her life. I’ve been alone for as long as I can remember. I knew I would end up in a dungeon sometime, but why Gusto?

Gusto is a kind hearted man, so why is he here? What did he do that was so awful that put him in this cold, mildewy cell with me? So i decided to finally ask him, something I’ve been putting off for the two months he's been here. I took a deep breath and looked at him straight on. He hasn’t shaven in while, well since he’s been here actually, so he has an unruly beard making him all the more intimidating. His dark, brown eyes were framed with long, black lashes and his eyebrows were thick and bushy. All and all he was very handsome for his age, even with the scars on his arms he received from the amount of time he spent working metal over a hot flame. His facial expression changed from one of anger and annoyance to confusion as I approached him. I sat down on the cold floor next to him as he finished off his food.

“Why are you here?” I said bluntly, trying to get to the point. He quickly swivelled his head around to meet my gaze and gave me a hard look. “Why do you think?” he replied as if I just asked the stupidest question in the world.

“I meant what did you do to get thrown in a dungeon,” I said returning the hard look; he knew what I meant the first time, and I wasn’t just going to drop it like he wanted me to.