Picture of a young girl sitting on a bench in the middle of nowhere. Heavy ash falls around her as if she is in the middle of a fiery volcano, although the beast emitting it is large, black, and sleek. Every once in a while it bellows out a lonely, scary, high-pitched shriek. The girl curls up into her large dress, not noticing the bow atop her head starting to sag. She cries, not for want of companionship, but for hunger. Not wanting to imagine her next meal for fear of hoping for things that won't come true, she instead focuses her attention on her last meal two days ago. An older couple emerges from further down the walkway and find their way to her. The man, tall and lanky, kneels down and takes the placard around her neck into his own hands.
"Anneliese..." He reads carefully, as if it were a word he has not encountered in quite a while. "Do you speak English, Anneliese?"
"I'll bet she doesn't." The woman, shorter and squatter, interrupted in a clipped tone. "That filthy city is so overrun with immigrants you know they can go their entire lives without learning a lick of it. And you know their offspring only pick it up too. Lucky we were able to rescue this little thing before the cycle continued itself. Come on, child, " she beckoned, and the little girl, seeing open arms, cautiously slid off the uncomfortable bench. "As long as you are to be living with us, you will be called Porcia." The strange woman took her fragile hand and started leading her away.
"Bess..." the man stood up from where he was and took the little girl's other hand.
"Her name, " she insisted firmly, "will be Porcia." |
STATISTICS
