Silvia and the Rising Moon [EDITING]

When Hope is Gone

Hope Howell had never been a fan of the insurance company she worked at. It was horridly drab. A single record player buzzed in a nearby office. She sighed, annoyed at the sound of Buddy Holly's voice. She had never been a fan of his music, and it disgusted him that people would allow something so unholy to infiltrate their daily lives.
Nonetheless, Peggy Sue had a catchy tune. It was always stuck in her head, and sometimes she couldn't help but sing along.
The room where she worked was dreadfully stuffy. A clock ticked endlessly for nine painful hours, as Hope flicked through the files to ad another paper to a man named Pepe Silvia's insurance file.
Silvia is a lovely name, Hope thought as she stuffed the paper in Pepe Silvia's thick folder. Rhea Silvia was the mother of the founders of Rome. Perhaps Pepe and Rhea are related. Hope had studied Roman history at the University of Wales. She sighed. No degree could have saved her from working in a practically dilapidated insurance office in Cardiff.
Hope stood. She was tall and had dirty blonde hair, which had carefully been brushed into a pageboy styled look. Her boss often complimented the smoothness of her hair, the wideness of her hips, and the thinness of her waist. Then, he'd flick his cigarette into his ashtray and smack her on the behind as she'd leave his office. She'd wince each time. All the girls were treated the same way. The man always chose the prettiest girls.
"Goodbye, Mr. Warchester," Hope and the other girls would call enthusiastically as the clock struck five. They each hurried out before he could put his hands on them.
Hope waited on a taxi outside. It seemed as if she had been waiting forever until Mr. Warchester appeared outside, holding is suit jacket and sucking on a cigar.
"Howell," he called. She jumped.
"Yes, sir?" she asked as he approached.
He put his arm around her. "Too pretty of a lady to be out here all by herself." He pulled her close and whispered in her ear, "I'll drive you home, sweet cheeks."
She pushed herself away from him. "No, thank you, sir. I think I'll just wait on a taxi."
Warchester grabbed her quickly by the wrist. "Oh, please, Hope, I'll drive you home," he growled. "It would be my pleasure."
"No!" she yelled, ripping his hand from his grasp. His cigar flew from his hand. "Please, no, I'll walk home!" She hurried across the street.
He picked up his cigar and put it between his teeth. "You can run, sweet cheeks, but you'll never find your way home like that!"
I'll show him, she thought as she turned to some trees behind a nearby house. How hard can it be? I've worked there for two years now. I know my way home.
The way home consisted of endless woods. Hope became frantic as the sun began to set and she still hadn't found her way there.
Maybe I should have gone with him, she though briefly. Suddenly, she found herself in a clearing.
The sky was turning pink. A few puffy clouds were suspended above her in the sparkling sky. They lingered over, like eternal guards, set out to watch over humanity until the end of days.
She sighed hopelessly, staring up at the painting like view. "Hope Howell, you're a fool," she said out loud, wiping a tear.
"Don't cry, sweet cheeks," a voice said from behind the trees.
Hope's heart fell. "Oh, please, no."
Warchester advanced. Hope ran backward, gracelessly stumbling and falling into the dewy grass. He stood above her now, ravenous hunger glowing in his eyes. She let out a blood curdling scream as he unzipped his trousers. Quickly, he got onto his knees and pushed Hope onto her back. She continued to scream even as he pressed his clammy hand to her open mouth.
Suddenly, a second man appeared from the shadows. He had been summoned by the sound of Hope's screams. "Ridikulus!" he cried.
Hope covered her eyes as a bright light filled the clearing. When she had opened them once more, all that stood before her was a field mushroom in the grass.
The man held out his hand to Hope. He was tall and thin, with a small frame, dark hair, and a thick mustache. She winced and quickly moved back at the sight of his hand.
"Please, don't hurt me!" she cried.
The mustached man let his hand fall to his side. "I'm sorry, miss. I got that mean man away from you. Please, let me take you to a hospital."
"Don't touch me," she said, wiping her tears. Then she looked up and noticed his hurt expression. "You saved my life."
He crouched down beside her, extending his hand again. "That man isn't going to hurt you anymore."