Lovesick Lunatic

"Chapter" 1

My name is Rilla. Rilla Vemond. I am a pauper in the streets of Libria. I am a Chosen One of Prince Linc. How is this possible you ask? It all began one lonely day, more lonely than the day before.

I was walking down the streets, cold and hungry, having been unable to steal anything that day, when a scream rang out. I rushed toward the sound, I may be poor but even poorer were those who had sold their service to the rich. I suddenly jolted back, my rags that were a poor excuse for clothing rubbing forward on my bare legs. I had arrived at a scene that chilled my bones. The baker, Mr. Striggs, who was known for his short temper and big mouth, was beating a boy huddled on the street in rags, clutching a loaf of stale bread to himself. My guess was this boy had seen Mr. Striggs throw it out on the street and had grabbed it before the baker was out of sight. A woman had rushed out and was trying to help the boy, grabbing Mr. Striggs's arms and pulling him back. The man had finally thrown her off to the ground where she lay now, unconscious, as she had hit her head on the cold street floor.

"Stop!" I yelled running toward them. I grabbed the baker's hand, stopping it from hitting the little boy. "It's just a piece of stale bread! You didn't even want it!"

"Get your hands off me, wrench!" he yelled at my face. I could smell alcohol on his breath. My every instinct told me to run, but I thought of the boy. He had looked so much like my little brother who had died two months earlier. I had promised my father I would protect him, though I had failed. Father, I thought, This one's for Michael. Mr. Striggs twisted my arm and spun me around to the ground. I hit the cement hard, probably harder than the woman had earlier. Blood started to make it's way down my forehead in a steady stream. My arm was on fire, well, it would have been if I could feel anything. Rather, my shoulder was on fire. It was all bent out of shape. Mr. Striggs must've pulled it out of its socket. I uneasily got to my feet. Remember, Rilla. You couldn't save Michael. Save this boy. This thought gave me new strength. I grabbed Mr. Striggs's whip and snatched it out of his hand.

"Why you little..." he began, and I'm sure he would've come after me if not for the hand that appeared out of nowhere on his shoulder.

"Julian, don't you have more important things to do than yell at this fair maiden?" the voice, noticeably male, asked. Mr. Striggs whirled around, getting ready to whack at his new victim. He was still blocking my view, so I had no idea what scared him.