[Flashback, Solo] Cats And Bleeding Men

[Florence Lander]

Winter 20th 511AV(Agremmon Fields) Flo pulled her coat tighter around her, shivering beneath her clothes. The whole landscape seemed still, frozen under winter’s grip. The farms packed between the road and the hills were deadly quiet, not a horse whinnied or a dog barked. She supposed she was somewhere near Sunberth by now. She’d been walking all day, the winter pressing tighter around her the further she went. When she was younger, she used to love winter; throwing snowballs at passers-by then scampering away at her brother’s heels, watching her breath make patterns on the air and the frost glitter on the bare trees. Now it was just another threat, something that had to be defeated rather than enjoyed. She wriggled her toes as she walked, trying to get the blood back into them. She glanced around, searching for any sign of people, maybe a poor farmer’s wife who would take pity on a girl wondering alone through Mizahar. Flo practised her please give me food expression as she walked, her stomach growling: wide eyes, eyebrows tilted down and teeth gently pressing into the edge of her lip. That was the advantage of looking like a fourteen year old; she got more sympathy. Then again, it didn’t work very often, especially in these parts where farmers were almost as poor as her. Flo kicked a stone and watched it roll along the track. She supposed she’d have to steal something rather than look for sympathy votes. She couldn’t remember the last time reciting her sob story actually worked and the people round here were notoriously impatient, as hard as the weather. That was another advantage of her size, or rather, lack of it: she could easily slip in and out of places, through an open window for example. Of course there were downsides to being so small. People didn’t treat her as an adult, laughing at her determined expression rather than resenting it. Then there were the men who saw her as vulnerable, an easy target. She shuddered, remembering the way their voices crawled up her spine and their eyes licked up her body. She’s a pretty little thing, one whispered. Want to learn how to be a real woman, sweetie? If they touched her she’d slap them or bite them or whatever she could do, but they would just wander away, laughing at her scowl. She turned the corner towards an old farm, hoping its occupants were out or perhaps deaf, that would work just as well. There was a cat sitting on a crumbling stone wall, watching her walking down the track. Flo eyed it with suspicion, but it was just a cat and a cat couldn’t alert its owners to an intruder. A cat would probably encourage her if it were capable of speech. She smiled at the thought. She moved silently along the grass, pressing herself against the wall of the house so if someone were to glance out of the window, they wouldn’t notice her. Her stomach cramped as she moved, desperate for food. The cat hopped off the wall and stalked over to her, its tail twitching in the cold air. It sat in front of her, just watching, and Flo tried to flap it away. Trying to repel it without making any noise. Maybe she was wrong; a cat could alert it’s owners to an intruder. All they had to do was wonder what the creature was looking at. She glided along the side of the house looking for a way in. When she glanced behind, the cat was still there, trotting along at her heels. “Go away,” she hissed and it blinked, staring up at her with its green eyes. What was wrong with the stupid thing? It was going to give her away. She shook her head and carried on moving, doing her best to ignore it, until she found a broken window. Perfect. She left her backpack on the frosty ground and pulled off her cloak, laying it over the shards of broken glass still on the window frame so she wouldn't tear her clothes (or her skin) getting through. She jumped up at the window, an inch higher than she would've liked, and pulled herself up. "See you later, cat." Flo dropped to her feet on the other side of the window, shards of glass crunching beneath her boots. She froze, listening. She was in a store room, waiting for her ears to adjust to the new surroundings. There was a clock ticking outside the room, the deep click echoing round the hall, but there was no movement or voices. It sounded like she was alone. Besides, she didn't need to go in the rest of the house. She was already in the storeroom. Silently, she moved along the wooden floor, avoiding breaking anymore glass and squinted at the floor, trying to work out whether the dark patches were dirt or blood. Before she had decided, her stomach growled. She glanced at the door, checking no one had heard. She was surprised her heart wasn't thumping in her chest and her hands shaking, but this wasn't the first time she'd broken into someone's house and, much to her shame, it probably wouldn't be the last. There was a loaf of bread going stale on a shelf so she ripped off a chunk with her teeth and threw the rest out of the window onto her backpack. It scratched her throat going down, but stopped her stomach complaining quite so loudly - she was beginning to worry it would betray her. She peered into a basket and found a dozen apples. She turned to pass them through the window, but in her haste, knocked a jar of the shelf. She sucked in a breath and stuck her foot out to soften the noise of it hitting the floor.It landed on her numb toes, but still banged against the wood, rolling away until it hit the wall. She froze. Outside, the cat meowed. "Mia?" A strained voice called from another room. The clock counted the seconds Flo stood stock still. "Mia, help me," it wheezed. He sounded old, or injured. Flo didn't mind which he was; she stood a chance of getting out of there. She sucked in a breath and threw the apples out of the window, hearing the basket hit the ground and apple roll out of it. Without stopping to glance over her shoulder, she launched herself at the hole, slightly too high for her to easily reach. The first time, she didn't get a good enough grip and slipped back down, more glass crunching under her feet. Come on. She tried again, this time slipping on a book left on the floor. She brought up her arms to protect her head, but landed hard on her ribs. She gasped at the pain shooting through her torso, but also at the volume of sound she'd made. There was no hope of escape now. What could she do? Look small and cold and hungry. Look like a tiny little girl whose parents died in a fire. It shouldn't be too hard. "Mia," the voice was strained and the door swung open. Flo whimpered. In the doorway a man was clutching his arm, blood staining his shirt and hands. He'd been attacked, recently. The strained expression on his face dropped to shock and his lips moved, shaping words but not saying them. Flo was shaking, terrifyed of what he might do to her. Injured or not, he was at least a foot taller than her. He scowled, his wrinkles deepening and his eye narrowing. No, a sob story wasn't going to work here. "What are you doing in my house?" He growled.

[Florence Lander]

Flo didn't reply - she didn't know how to reply - and the man's frown deepened. "You came with the last one," he grunted, flexing his jaw. Flo scrambled to her feet, knocking shards of glass across the floor. She had cut her hand, not badly, but it was bleeding. The man was in a much worse state; he'd been stabbed in the arm and was losing a lot of blood, but he was still so much bigger than her, she was sure she wouldn't stand a chance if it came to a fight. "You thieving beggars," the man hissed and stumbled forward. Flo took a step back and the glass crunched under her feet. "You were with the last guy." Another stumble. "You took my daughter and stabbed my arm and now you've come to take everything I got left." His words were slurring together and Flo was sure she could smell alcohol clinging to his clothes. She pressed herself against the wall, wondering how to get out of the situation. Maybe next time, don't break into someone's house, she thought. She'd never be able to make it out the window; as soon as she jumped, he would lunge and drag her back down. His eyes were dark and angry and Flo knew he wasn't afraid to hurt her. He took another wobbly, uncoordinated step forward and Flo suppressed a whimper. I can be brave, she thought. I can be brave. The man's hand slipped to his belt and Flo couldn't help but remember the drunk men she'd seen, trying to lure her into their beds. But instead of taking his belt off, which was what Flo had feared, he pulled out a knife. Suddenly she didn't know whether she would've preferred him to have taken off his belt. "No, please!" Flo said, the words broken and desperate. "Please, I don't know your daughter. I was just hungry!" For a second, Flo thought she saw the man's eyes soften. She lowered her hands and swallowed, hard. "Filthy, lying girl!" He shouted and lunged. Flo screamed and jumped out of the way. The man was drunk, so fortunately not as fast as her. "Come here, you mangy piece of filth." Tears dribbled down Flo's cheeks and she charged for the door, glancing behind to see if the man was following. He was, stumbling behind with black eyes. She didn't bother working out how to get out of the house, she just ran. She passed the grandfathers clock, still ticking loudly, and the drunk man chased after her, cursing and waving the knife around like it wasn't dangerous. She sprinted into the kitchen, glancing frantically around for the door. She could barely hear past the thudding pulse in her ears and her erratic breathing. She squealed as a hand grabbed her shoulder and ducked away from his grip, just as the knife charged towards her. It clipped her cheek, leaving a scratch; she had gotten off lightly. The kitchen didn't have a door, other than the one the drunk man was blocking. "I'm sick of you thieving beggars." Flo walked backwards, not taking her gaze away from the man leaning against the door frame. "It's 'bout time someone stopped you." She was pressed into the corner as far from the man as she could get, wedged between a wall and a table top. She hadn't remembered what her brother used to say until it was too late; if you're being chased, never get cornered. There was no way out. The man tilted the knife forward, toward Flo, and scowled. She had seconds before it would sink into her chest, but she didn't dare look away from the man. Her hand explored the table top, desperately searching for something she could use as a weapon, but didn't find anything. The man's eyes were transforming from dark, to pure black, the anger seeping out of them and filling the air with tension and pain and darkness. He charged, the knife seeking out her flesh, and closed the distance between them. Flo whimpered, almost ready to die. What was her life anyway? Wondering from town to town, stealing from people until she had to move on. Five meters away... four. Suddenly her fingers touched a wooden handle. She grabbed it, not bothering to check what it was, and held it out in front of her, squeezing her eyes shut; she didn't want the last thing she saw to be the man's angry face. The was a gasp, a clatter. Heat burst from her hand and she peeled her eyes open. She wasn't dead, but her hand was stained with hot blood and there were splatters of red over her shirt. The man was lying on the ground, sucking at the air like a fish without water. The knife he had been holding was laid on the floor. Flo kicked it away and jumped back against the wall, worried the man might restart and kill her any second. He didn't move, but just kept staring with those eyes. They weren't black anymore, but a soft brown, the light fading out of them. In his chest, there was a knife. The knife Flo had found on the table top. She had killed him. Well, almost killed him; he was in pain. Slowly, she knelt down, still wary of the man and his muscular body, and picked up the knife she kicked away from him. Her teeth dug down hard into her lip, creating a line of bruises. She grasped the knife's handle and drove it into the man's chest, finally ending his pain. A sob burst from her chest. And another. Until she was sat on the wooden floor sobbing. She had killed someone. She didn't know his name. She didn't know if he had any family left. She had taken his existence and destroyed it. She stumbled backwards, suddenly fearing the blankness of his eyes far more than the anger that had been there before. When she hit the wall, she stood up and ran back through the house. Past the grandfathers clock and back to the storeroom, the man's dead eyes following her all the way. She made it out the window and landed with a thump outside. She collapsed into the dirt and the cat crawled into her lap, meowing softly. She sobbed into his fur.