1608
"Aye, what a pretty lass we've got here, boys," the man yelled, pulling the blonde into his arms.
Rebekah grimaced in disgust, as she pushed the man's dirty arms off her body. "Do not touch me." She pulled herself away from him, trying to escape the horrific odor that radiated from his un-washed body.
He grabbed her, harder this time, and pulled her struggling body up against his own. "I do not think someone in your profession should be turning down a paycheck, my dear," he whispered in her ear.
His breath caused her to shudder, as the stink radiated from his rotten decaying teeth into her nose. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the feel of his rough arms wrapped tightly around her. She turned herself around, and looked into his lust filled eyes. "And exactly how much are you willing to pay me, kind sir?"
Spittle flew out of the man's mouth as a guttural laugh escaped his lips. "Aye, this one is quite the businesswoman, boys!" he yelled to the crowd of drunken men. His lips curled up in a sneer, "What's a whore like you worth to me?" His eyes trailed up and down her body, "Pleasure me first, and then I will decide your pay."
Rebekah pushed the man away, elbowing him swiftly in the gut. "Get your hands off me, I would rather starve than succumb to the likes of you." The drunken men laughed loudly as the man fell to the floor with a thud that shook the entire building.
The man emitted a loud growl, and grabbed her ankles pulling her down to the floor alongside him. "Who do you think you are? You are a whore, and will do as I say, or starve." He pulled himself up, and kicked her swiftly in her sides, causing her to double over in pain. "Do not give me orders, whore," he yelled as he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her from the bar.
She yelped, as she felt him yank at her scalp and drag her across the dirty floors of the saloon. A loud coughing fit filled the air as she desperately tried to take in breath. She covered her mouth with her hand, and cried, as small rivulets of blood flew from her mouth. "Please," she whispered, fear welling up inside her. "Please, stop. I'll do whatever you want."
The man let go of her hair, and laughed as a clump of it fell on the floor. "Please," he bellowed. "The whore yells please." He laughed loudly to the patrons of the saloon, mimicking her plea. "Please me, you will," he croaked, kicking her in the head.
She felt a sharp pain against her skull, as a dull throb that started in the center of her head soon spread to every nerve in her body. The pain lasted but a second, and then a strange sublime feeling overtook her, as she began to feel lightheaded. She could feel the man pick her up, feel the coldness upon her bare skin as he ripped away her garments, but everything after that was a blur. She drifted between different levels of unconsciousness aware, but unable to feel, as the man ravaged her broken body.
~*~
1609
"Francis?" yelled the middle-aged woman, who sat knitting in a chair. "Francis, someone is knocking on the door. Would you check to see who is calling upon us?"
A young boy, about the age of twelve, peeked his head around the corner. He was a big boy for his age, with a large tousle of golden hair and piercing blue eyes. His mother often told him that he was the mirror image of his late father, but he had no memories to cement that idea in his head, as his dad had died when he was still in his mother's womb. "Yes, mum," he mumbled, starting to go.
She motioned him towards her, waving her well-manicured hands in the air. "Come here a second, boy."
He walked over carefully, not wanting to shuffle his feet or waste time. He loved his mother dearly, she was all he had left since the argument, but he knew better than to anger her. Her wrath could make grown men cry, and he learned early in life to avoid upsetting her at all costs.
She looked up at him, as she continued her needlework. "If they are here to beg from us, tell them I've not a note to spare."
"Yes, mum." He answered again, leaving the room quickly, thankful to be away from her stern glare.
He had been the recipient of that glare often in the past two years, ever since his mother and sister had fought. At the time, he didn't understand what had happened between the two, his mother refusing to give him explanations as to why his sister was no longer allowed in the house. Later, he had found out from the town folk that his mother had caught his sister sinning with a man, and being the deeply religious woman that she was, had disowned her. Since the departure of his only sibling, he watched his mother change. She seemed more withdrawn, and never smiled anymore. She yelled at him often now, finding faults with everything he did, but he loved her nonetheless. After all, he had no father, and now no sister. She was his family, and his entire world.
The person on the other end of the door knocked harder this time, and startled him from his reverie. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he mumbled, making time towards the door.
~*~
Rebekah wrapped her arms around her body, shivering in her soaked and torn dress. Her blonde hair hung limply against her head, matted and dirty from the grime of the streets. Barely unable to move, she mustered her strength and knocked lightly on the door, leaning against the house to keep her emaciated frame from falling into the mud. "Please, answer," she pleaded to the wooden door, moaning as a cool gust of wind tore through her. "Please."
She heard the faint rustling of footsteps on the other side, as she knocked again. Her head began to pound and she felt the blood rush through her head, making her feel weak. The world began to spin; her eyelids fluttered rapidly, her breathing became shallow, and bright lights seemed to come out of the sky and burn through her eyes. She passed out and fell into the cold mud, never hearing her brother's scream as he finally managed to make his way to the door.
"Aye, what a pretty lass we've got here, boys," the man yelled, pulling the blonde into his arms.
Rebekah grimaced in disgust, as she pushed the man's dirty arms off her body. "Do not touch me." She pulled herself away from him, trying to escape the horrific odor that radiated from his un-washed body.
He grabbed her, harder this time, and pulled her struggling body up against his own. "I do not think someone in your profession should be turning down a paycheck, my dear," he whispered in her ear.
His breath caused her to shudder, as the stink radiated from his rotten decaying teeth into her nose. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the feel of his rough arms wrapped tightly around her. She turned herself around, and looked into his lust filled eyes. "And exactly how much are you willing to pay me, kind sir?"
Spittle flew out of the man's mouth as a guttural laugh escaped his lips. "Aye, this one is quite the businesswoman, boys!" he yelled to the crowd of drunken men. His lips curled up in a sneer, "What's a whore like you worth to me?" His eyes trailed up and down her body, "Pleasure me first, and then I will decide your pay."
Rebekah pushed the man away, elbowing him swiftly in the gut. "Get your hands off me, I would rather starve than succumb to the likes of you." The drunken men laughed loudly as the man fell to the floor with a thud that shook the entire building.
The man emitted a loud growl, and grabbed her ankles pulling her down to the floor alongside him. "Who do you think you are? You are a whore, and will do as I say, or starve." He pulled himself up, and kicked her swiftly in her sides, causing her to double over in pain. "Do not give me orders, whore," he yelled as he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her from the bar.
She yelped, as she felt him yank at her scalp and drag her across the dirty floors of the saloon. A loud coughing fit filled the air as she desperately tried to take in breath. She covered her mouth with her hand, and cried, as small rivulets of blood flew from her mouth. "Please," she whispered, fear welling up inside her. "Please, stop. I'll do whatever you want."
The man let go of her hair, and laughed as a clump of it fell on the floor. "Please," he bellowed. "The whore yells please." He laughed loudly to the patrons of the saloon, mimicking her plea. "Please me, you will," he croaked, kicking her in the head.
She felt a sharp pain against her skull, as a dull throb that started in the center of her head soon spread to every nerve in her body. The pain lasted but a second, and then a strange sublime feeling overtook her, as she began to feel lightheaded. She could feel the man pick her up, feel the coldness upon her bare skin as he ripped away her garments, but everything after that was a blur. She drifted between different levels of unconsciousness aware, but unable to feel, as the man ravaged her broken body.
~*~
1609
"Francis?" yelled the middle-aged woman, who sat knitting in a chair. "Francis, someone is knocking on the door. Would you check to see who is calling upon us?"
A young boy, about the age of twelve, peeked his head around the corner. He was a big boy for his age, with a large tousle of golden hair and piercing blue eyes. His mother often told him that he was the mirror image of his late father, but he had no memories to cement that idea in his head, as his dad had died when he was still in his mother's womb. "Yes, mum," he mumbled, starting to go.
She motioned him towards her, waving her well-manicured hands in the air. "Come here a second, boy."
He walked over carefully, not wanting to shuffle his feet or waste time. He loved his mother dearly, she was all he had left since the argument, but he knew better than to anger her. Her wrath could make grown men cry, and he learned early in life to avoid upsetting her at all costs.
She looked up at him, as she continued her needlework. "If they are here to beg from us, tell them I've not a note to spare."
"Yes, mum." He answered again, leaving the room quickly, thankful to be away from her stern glare.
He had been the recipient of that glare often in the past two years, ever since his mother and sister had fought. At the time, he didn't understand what had happened between the two, his mother refusing to give him explanations as to why his sister was no longer allowed in the house. Later, he had found out from the town folk that his mother had caught his sister sinning with a man, and being the deeply religious woman that she was, had disowned her. Since the departure of his only sibling, he watched his mother change. She seemed more withdrawn, and never smiled anymore. She yelled at him often now, finding faults with everything he did, but he loved her nonetheless. After all, he had no father, and now no sister. She was his family, and his entire world.
The person on the other end of the door knocked harder this time, and startled him from his reverie. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he mumbled, making time towards the door.
~*~
Rebekah wrapped her arms around her body, shivering in her soaked and torn dress. Her blonde hair hung limply against her head, matted and dirty from the grime of the streets. Barely unable to move, she mustered her strength and knocked lightly on the door, leaning against the house to keep her emaciated frame from falling into the mud. "Please, answer," she pleaded to the wooden door, moaning as a cool gust of wind tore through her. "Please."
She heard the faint rustling of footsteps on the other side, as she knocked again. Her head began to pound and she felt the blood rush through her head, making her feel weak. The world began to spin; her eyelids fluttered rapidly, her breathing became shallow, and bright lights seemed to come out of the sky and burn through her eyes. She passed out and fell into the cold mud, never hearing her brother's scream as he finally managed to make his way to the door.