While I would like to continue or explore the characters and whatnot from yesterday, something has been itching in the back of my mind in relation to my current WIP. The City Of Angels: Book 1. (It will have a proper title, I just haven’t decided on it, yet. I have three to choose from at the moment.)
Cecilia woke to pain. That in itself was nothing new. Every day she woke to some form of it or another. Whether it was hunger or thirst, or something more immediate like cold, or a bruise or broken bone from a punishment doled out by her brother, Kirke.
This pain, though, this was worse.
The cut in her forearm, what had looked so… minor just a few days earlier, now burned. Placing her left hand on the skin, she felt a heat rising from the limb that was wrong. The stitches that had roughly sewn the abrasion closed were almost unnoticeable in the depths of the swelling.
Taking stock of her surroundings, she found the alley they had slept in empty of everything but the trash that she had laid upon and under in order to keep warm. Kirke was nowhere to be seen.
Cecilia hissed as she sat up, a piece of the ragged blanket pulling at the enflamed skin of her right arm. The pain shifted to a dull ache, though it spread nearly all the way to her shoulder now. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the ratty blanket around her shoulders as a makeshift shawl. Keeping her back bowed, she made her way onto the crowded streets of the First Ring slums.
After a time, she came to an alley much like the one she had left, though the trash was pushed to the side. At the deadend- where the alley met the Outer Wall- a man lounged. His eyes narrowed as he took in the child’s disheveled appearance, but he made neither comment nor movement.
“Need a doc,” the girl whispered hoarsely.
His nose wrinkled. “Payment?”
He sighed. “Look kid-“
He cut off sharply as she pushed her arm out of the blanket. To Cecilia, the cool air was as if the limb had been doused in chilled water. It hurt. Creator’s it hurt. But she could not show it. ‘Show no weakness,’ Kirke’s words echoed in her mind.
“Please,” she managed between gritted teeth. “It just gotta be gone. Don’t even need no pain med.”
The man eyed the limb dubiously.
“I’ll do anythin’,” she added.
The words brought his eyes back to her face.
“Very well,” he finally acquiesced. “I may know someone needin’ somethin done. Favor for a favor, aye?”
He ducked through a doorway to his left and Cecilia let her legs crumple, head leaning back against the building as she focused on her breathing. Anything to keep the pain at bay. ‘Kirke is gon be mad,’ her mind whispered. ‘You weren’ s’pose to leave.’ She shook her head to erase the thoughts.
She may only have been nine years old, but she knew the arm would only slow her- and by association, Kirke- down on the streets. Though losing an arm would be a handicap, she knew plenty of cripples on the First Ring that survived without limbs. It would make begging easier, if nothing else.
Not what I was hoping to get out of today, but I suppose it’s a start.