Desperate Times, Even More Desperate Measures
A young seadweller lays alone in a silent alleyway. She curls in on herself, trying to numb the unbearable pain all over her fragile body. She could be no older than 15, yet her usually gorgeous lavender eyes were dim with agony.
Your name is Jennah Cartha and you have just been beaten senseless for the third time this week.
Several members of the Felt had confronted and cornered her, seeking payment out of the $150,000 debt she owed to them. Granted, she only had about $250 on her this night. But they had still beaten her and stole what she had. Her head throbbed, her entire body ached, and her stomach stung and cramped. Her delicate hands pressed over her ribcage, where each and every bone could be seen and counted. Her knees pulled near her chest, the effort of the motion making her gasp and cry out in pain. Her hands pulled away from her chest, dripping with pale lavender blood. The sight of the hot, sticky, and near-royal blood coating her fingers made her head spin and become woozy. She was already dizzy from the blood spilling from the stab wound, and the fact that she hadn't eaten in nearly a week really wasn't helping the situation any.
It was time to give up. Hopefully if she went silently and without further fuss, her debt would be forgotten, and maybe they wouldn't go after and kill her lusus. She wanted so hard to believe in wishful thinking, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't convince herself.
Her shallow became even shallower and her heartbeat faded into a weak flutter. Her knee-length dark hair lay in matted tangles beneath her mal-nourished body as she finally laid her head down, her cheek pressed to the filthy concrete beneath her. Her lusus' lullabye echoed in her mind. A tear slipped down her cheek as a whisper slipped from her lips.
"One more chance. Please."
Her body then relaxed, her breathing ceased, and her eyelids slid shut. Her plea left hanging thick in the air.