Blind Faith
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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sat, Mar 15, 2014
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Fiction
Action and Thriller
It seemed to Adessia that General Caius never properly looked at anyone or anything just at where the sound was going from, though he did everything himself he it seemed as if he wasn’t really… focusing on anything. And as a silence erupts something changed in his eyes. It was almost a look of fear and embarrassment. Adessia coughed and the General’s eyes snapped back to her. “Well… I guess I should be going…” She muttered, shuffling up. Caius blinked. “No- stay… just a little longer.” There was another silence in which the General glanced around turning a little red, Adessia sat back down. “I guess…” She muttered, the General’s confidence returned. “It’s only fair, the rest of… them… had 10 minutes as well.” He nodded. Only eight minutes to go… Adessia somehow finds herself in the General’s mansion along with nine other girls- though she does arrive late and receive a lot of annoyed look. A dark brown, rather posh looking letter is the only thing that bought her here- and the letter was clear and blunt. The General must marry one of the 10 girls he gets sent. Unlike the others, all Adessia wants to do is get back out of the mansion and to her crummy little flat in the west of the village. Each girl gets ten minutes. But Adessia doesn’t know one very small detail. The General is blind.
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#19
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***Completed: I had written out a wedding scene but didn't feel like finishing it*** You stood with your back against the lamp post, trying not to break down in the middle of the street. Based on how dark it was out, it was probably around three in the morning- nobody would be able to see if you started crying. But it didn't matter to you. Because Greasers don't cry. They're not supposed to- it doesn't meet their personality, their stereotype. "You okay, kid?" You could recognize the voice who asked those three simple, infuriating words. You kept your head down and balled your fists, wishing that he would get the hint that you didn't want to talk. "Go away, Winston." "Come on, kid, I just want to make sure that you're okay." You could feel him place a hand on your shoulder- a gentle touch that gave a sense of genuine care. "Like hell you do," you reply, shrugging your shoulder so that his hand fell away. "None of you dumbass Greasers care about nothing but girls and cars and smoking pot behind the cops' backs. You guys are self-centered, righteous assholes. I can see why the Socs hate you losers so fucking much."

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