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She’d been alone for days, walking around in an only half-conscious, barely functioning enough to think, alamort sort of manner. Most kids her age this Sunday would be worrying about unfinished homework or an upcoming test at school, but not her, she didn’t have that privilege. Thomas was nowhere to be found. It’d been over two weeks now and she was feeling utterly marcid, not to mention lost and angry to go with the malnourishment caused by having to fend for herself aged around only twelve and a half. They had probably killed him then and there, hadn’t they? It was stupid to go searching like this, she knew this, believed this, and lived the consequences of its truth as she tore herself apart with the morosis of desperately needing someone or something to be okay, more so than she needed to be herself.
Food, Scarlett’s rumbling stomach ripped her abruptly away from her thoughts, if she couldn’t find her way out of this forest today she at least had to find food. She stared around at the vegetation as she walked, surrounded by plants of all sorts that may or may not have been edible, a voice in the back of her head dared her to take the gamble and eat something, but she refused to take the risk. Wreckless is stupid, and stupid will get her killed, stupid got him killed. At the very least water was taken care of, she had found a relatively clean stream from which she had drank from, near glass-like in clearness and yet not a single fish to be found anywhere. Scarlett paused, sighed, and rubbed her eyes as she tried to think, phosphenous stars filling her vision as she did so. She saw only the kinds of stars that lived on the insides of your eyelids, the stars you only saw and associated with tiredness and aching, unlike the guides of moths that shone like lanterns in the sky. There must be animals of some kind around here somewhere, the girl thought, especially with the little creek being the only body of water around, at least for a few miles. Scarlett was certain that other creatures in the wild would frequent this place. Everything needs to drink, after all.
Standing in front of her was a large thicket of feuillemort green, dull and fading with sharp thorns and dusty bark. Unideal of a place to hide in it may have been, the likelihood of getting her grime-covered hands on any animal that could see her waiting remained low enough for her to endure it. She crouched down below the shrubbery and stared. Peering through the dead and discoloured undergrowth, she bore a fixed glare that scanned the area at a constant, thoroughly like the repetitive algorithms of a robot, the merciless search for sustenance an ingrained pattern inside the inner workings of her brain. Shortly after, Scarlett had managed to catch sight of long and soft, narrow ears and a stout, ball-like tail. The small woodland creature’s coat was a lucent white, the type of white that reminded you of gold, that fluttered like elysian wings as the long-eared cherub hopped over to drink from the flowing water of the stream. Pounced upon by hungry hands, the rabbit’s neck snapped and broke off with a simple pop, succumbing to a legerity that only reared its head into the eyes of the public using the starved bodies of the deprived and lonesome. How easy it had been, for the irenic image of a white rabbit, harmless and infantile in nature, bouncing simply on hind legs through flowers and grass as its reflection coruscated upon turquoise waters to become corrupt. How easy it had been for the daisies and buttercups to be dyed the colours of roses; how easy it had been for Scarlett to dismiss the horrific image of the creature’s severed skull in her hands. Scarlett didn’t feel sorry, she couldn’t anymore. Sympathising with the rabbit felt laughable, she knew she would play out this same exact scene again and again. Therefore she rejected any swelling emotions of pity or shame, whelving them deep underneath the long-awaited anticipation of a meal that she had forced to overwhelm her.
Using a couple of sticks, along with the experience of having to prepare an animal to eat that she shared with every creature across the land and beyond, she had set up a primitive little fire and had skewered the rabbit on a few sticks above it. With her legs pulled up to her chest and her head resting on her knees, she stared out rather blankly. It was that awkward period in between the active, clear and sharp-thinking of hunting her prey and the calm satisfaction of unsavoury food that would at least keep her full. She had no euphistic, simple moments of her day to reflect upon, no orphic stranger who smiled at her as she passed the street, no idyllic memories of her earlier childhood that didn’t involve the now-dead. There was nothing that had truly gone well, apart from having survived that is. Scarlett felt as if she must’ve been doomed to live a life of rage and isolation, a full and dreadfully long one for no matter how she felt, she always kept going. It didn’t feel like free will to live controlled by your instincts. It was a hand stronger than her own that pushed, and continues to push, her forwards down her path, whatever it was.
Suddenly, the hard sound of crunched leaves and the thudding of shoes could be heard behind her. Scarlett’s eyes widened, and she turned to look behind her fast, keenly aware as if she’d splashed her face with cold, frigid water. Her eyes locked with that of a woman’s, a selcouth stranger with dark hair and jeans of a similar colour, and of course, a gun strapped to her belt. Scarlett stood up immediately, ready for the adrenaline-rushing fight that so often came with confrontation, only for the older woman’s relaxed demeanour to remain unchanged. “Hey there, little girl. Nice rabbit you got there, would you be a lovely dear and share?” She spoke with an air of confidence and control, her voice had a mature and raspy quality to it. The voice felt kind, the tone one would use with a scared child and yet carried, weaved within the cadences of her voice was danger, assertiveness laced through the undertones of every word. Interpreting the woman’s words as a threat, a threat to steal from and rob her, Scarlett opened her mouth to speak. The stranger cut her off before she could even start to form one word. “I’ve only managed to get myself some blackberries, it’s not much for a grown up like me, y’know? I’ll crush them up and make jam, which might make your little meal a bit nicer.” She laughed warmly, stopping nonchalantly just in front of her. Watching as she pulled out from a leather jacket a handful of blackberries to display to the girl, and Scarlett had let out a breath she didn’t know she was even holding. She was expecting her to reach for her gun, she was filled with endless amounts of agowilt despite the seemingly unthreatening words. Scarlett sighed and sat down to remove the cooked rabbit from her makeshift fire, uncertain about how to respond. It would’ve felt more normal if the outlaw had just reached for her gun and told her to give her food away. But she didn’t, and the exanimate rabbit had been chopped into slices with a penknife she’d nicked from a camper’s pockets once and was now ready to be eaten. In addition to this, the woman had crushed the berries with her hands into a mixture mimicking jam. It wasn’t jam really, jam was sweetened with luxurities like sugar, meanwhile the liquified mix of blackberries was as plain as one would expect. With blackberry-stained hands she gestured towards Scarlett for the knife and so she gave it to her; being an outlaw it was very likely that she had in a pocket somewhere a knife of her own to use, but Scarlett didn’t question it. Maybe her worries were valid and the stranger had simply wanted to disarm her beforehand, or maybe she just didn’t want to smear her clothes with blackberry juice. Either way Scarlett was much too exhausted to give the woman’s motivations much thought, they were just two people alone in the world who needed to eat. That entire exchange was quiet, apart from one thing she’d said,
“My mum would’ve killed me If I’d called this jam.” Scarlett let out a stifled laugh in response, unable to hide her smile for once.
It’s strange how in just a small, one-sided conversation, she could switch from feeling cautious and fearful to calmly sharing a meal with an armed stranger. Gazing out, the woman’s deep brown eyes blankly stared through the vivid, orangey-yellow flecks of flame into the crystalline waters of the stream. Scarlett tried to focus on the food, to stop her eyes from lingering on the strangely ominous, sphinxlike woman sitting next to her, but it felt stupidly difficult to avert her gaze. Her eyes were almost fixed upon her, she silently took in the woman’s appearance. Scarlett sat there watching the dance of light and shadow reflected upon her skin, an orange hue present on her brown face, the thick appearance of frizzy curls as their weight made them seem practically untouched by the wind. Suddenly finding her voice, she coughed to clear her throat and raised her voice to speak, “Um… hey?” Scarlett spoke awkwardly, unsure of how to start. Uncaring, the woman took a moment to swallow before looking at the red-haired child.
“Hiya kid, got a name?” She asked the young girl, enjoying her share of the meal as the fire crackled on.
“Scarlett. Scarlett McCain.” She said, using the confidence she’d learned to use when referring to herself, the assuredness that made people listen to whatever it was she had to say.
“Raleigh Sallow, nice to meet you, Scarlett.” Raleigh grinned as she smothered another slice with the crushed berries, handing it instead to Scarlett instead of enjoying it herself. Suddenly remembering its presence, she gestured to the gun and asked,
“You’re an outlaw… or something like that?” curiosity in her voice where there'd be fear in most.
“Yeah, I've been around here a few times. Bit denser these wilds, but a forest in England’s nothing compared to what you find in the rainforests around Brazil and all. We already can’t stop complaining about our weather, imagine what a bloke from here could say about the heat there! They’d never stop banging on about it!” The woman reflected fondly, laughing before she took another bite of the rabbit. Wide green eyes watched and listened in awe, awe which she quickly forced herself to churn out into scepticism.
“Brazil? But you’re British aren’t you?” Scarlett asks,
“Yeah, that doesn't mean I never ever leave this miserable country though. I go to other places when I can.” Raleigh almost rolls her eyes, licking blackberry liquids off her fingers after she finishes a chunk of rabbit meat. Scarlett believed her, it’s the English who always describe their country as miserable after all.
The two sat together in that seemingly endless forest, sharing stories and licking the remains of berries off their fingers as if it were fine wine. Scarlett was almost completely alone in the wilderness and was without a doubt surrounded by dangers, and yet it was the one place where she had managed to lower her guard. She was calm as Raleigh recited impressive feats of all sorts of dubious morality, an unfamiliar joviality overcoming her as they laughed loudly without fear. They laughed without caution, a lion’s confidence in their carefree display of enjoying their pitiful helpings of meat and fruit like Roman kings. A playful irony enveloped that thought, even if in truth they were starving and poor, it was nice to play the role of an emperor in their heads. Raleigh was the one who had actually made that comparison, but Scarlett had liked it a lot. It was memorable.
“Heh, it’s kind of like a reversal of power in a way y’know? Those Faith Houses rule us all really, being a criminal just makes you a gladiator whose death they’ll use as some display of power. But right now it’s you and me who are getting a laugh and every time you outwit them it’s like you’ve trapped them buggers in an amphitheatre of your own.” A grin was plastered on her face as she spoke, her eyes facing ahead and yet her gaze truly fell inwards. She was watching the memories of numerous successful heists in her mind, remembering the adrenaline that pumped through her veins in every battle that she knew she’d see written one day in a ballad.
Scarlett didn’t really know much about Ancient Rome, and she had never learnt any more either. But in spite of it she understood it clearly, the concept as solid and real in her mind as an object. She would’ve been more than happy to hold it, to grasp it to show off to everyone else. It was a triad of sentences that somehow transcended the realm of words and their definitions as necessary components for its comprehension. There weren’t many plans that girl had for the future, if it were a day that she even believed in her future’s existence at all, but there was one goal she’d aim for with ambition,
“Oh well, get up little girl. I’m helping you out of here, it’s a thank you for the food and company.” Raleigh said, speaking warmly, using one hand to lift the red-haired child up by the arm.
She’d get to experience ensnaring those assholes in a trap of her own, and watch them and laugh.