In Time

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Ex Machina

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#1  Edited By Ex Machina

This is for Arrows writing contest and is a re-telling of Cinderella. Im not in it for the prize, I just want to tell a good story which has been forming in my head for a while now. Hope you all enjoy :D

In Time


A dry wind blew across the desert, and with it came the soldiers. Marching in ranks of two they plodded doggedly onwards, not looking up from their boots as they passed. An officer sat on a tired horse, the colors hanging limply from a lance he held loosely in his hand. Grey uniforms seemed to melt into the hard packed earth, for the desert wasn’t sand here, just clay that had been baked hard by the sun overhead, with a thin coating of dust over it. They came from the horizon and to the horizon they went. There was nothing to interest them in the town of and although more than a few would have tried their luck with the pretty girl who stood and watched them pass, there was no time. They had a war to fight.

The girl was around eighteen, with long dark hair and a white complexion that was being tanned brown. Her dress was cut short, to allow her to move easily, and she wore no shoes. In her hands was a bucket, empty and a small dog sat beside her. A mongrel, who did not belong to her but followed out of boredom and the hope that it would get a tidbit to eat. He would get nothing. It wasn't that she was poor, her family were perfectly respectable, instead it was her position within the family that prevented her from giving the mangy beast anything. As the youngest daughter from her father's previous marriage she was not well looked after within the household. Her step mother seeing her as competition for her own two daughters. So she was sent on errands, out in the sun and encouraged to go barefoot and wear tatty clothes in need of repair. For the worse she appeared, the better the crones offspring would.

The column was almost passed now, the monotonous tread of their worn boots lessening as they moved away. At the rear came a series of wagons that she knew contained those who could no longer walk. They sick and dying. Behind these came those who could walk. Bandaged, hobbling cripples with eyes and limbs shot away or taken by infection. They walked resolutely, faces fixed forwards, sometimes stumbling but always keeping pace. And they sang. Voices low and throbbing. Filled with pain and impotent anger at the world that had hurt them so. The words moved with the beat of their feet and the strings of a guitar, played by a man with no legs who sat out of the back of the last wagon.

You know your days are numbered
Count em one by one
Like notches on the handle of an outlaws gun
You can outrun the devil
If you try..........................
But you will never outrun the hands of time
In time there will surely come a day
In time all things will pass away
In time you may come back they say...


In a few minutes even they had passed out of earshot and the girl hefted her bucket to continue on her way to fetch water. The well stood isolated, to have it too close to the town would risk cholera or some other infectious disease spreading through the inhabitants. Reaching it she quickly lowered the bucket on the line and started to pull up water. The sloshing sound echoing up from the cool darkness within. Catching hold of the handle she dragged it up the last few inches and rested it on the edge of the well, her breath coming quickly from the effort.

A shuffling noise to her right caught her attention and she turned to see a figure walking through the heat haze towards the well, following the trail that the soldiers had left. As they got closer she began to make out details. He was a little, bent old man. Straining under the load of a massive pack slung on his back. As she watched he stopped and rested for a few moments before continuing on towards her. A minute passed, then two before he finally reached the stone well and lowered his pack with a grunt and a sigh. Silently she offered the bucket and he nodded his thanks, drinking deeply with his empty mouth. Excess water splashing down his chin to wet the neckerchief round his skinny throat.

"Thankee miss. Much obliged."

He deftly filled a water pouch from the bucket and passed her back the empty vessel, which she lowered back into the well.

"What might your name be?"

His accent was strange, not unlike an Indians, but different somehow, as if he was not from America at all. She considered him for a few moments, still lowering the bucket with mechanical movements until she felt it hit water and sink. She reversed the direction, hauling the bucket upwards and feeling the extra weight of the water inside it.

"Ella."

He considered her for a moment before reaching into his pack and removing a pair of ladies boots. Like the ones she had once seen a rich lady from the cities wear when her coach had stopped for repairs. They were very beautiful, seeming to change color in the sunlight. At first she through they were red, then light blue before they finally settled on white. Her eyes followed them as he placed them down on the edge of the well and did up his pack again. They were old and slightly worn, that was obvious. But they were still better than anything she had ever owned. As good as her two step sisters at least. The man picked them back up and too her surprise thrust them into her hands.

"There you go Ella, for helping an old man to get a drink. They belonged to my daughter many years ago. When she was about your age. My pack is heavy enough without them in it. So you keep them."

She looked at him fearfully as he smiled warmly at her. With a small cry she snatched up the bucket and scampered away as fast as her legs could carry her. Afraid that he would change his mind and take them back. The old man looked after her for a few moments before shouldering his bag again. The wind picket up for an instant and he was gone. Like dust on the breeze. Away, into the desert.
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Kiara_Sullivan

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#2  Edited By Kiara_Sullivan

God I love your writing :P