Rough Hands (pt 1)

Eath was wandering through the small town, glancing from left to right as she walked the main street. Raucous noises were screeching out of the bar, 'The Honest Wanderer', despite being a mere two hours past noon.

She looked down at her palms, eyes glancing over the calluses that marred her smooth skin, and remembering a small town similar to this, one of the many she had lived in over the years. "This could be anywhere in the world...." she thought to herself, thinking of the myriad of places she had passed through, with the circus or without.

She saw a small shop off to the side, opposite a small carved fountain, and decided to head there. It was small enough to give her some peace and quiet, away from the prying workers back at the circus. Some place where she could be herself again. Then she shook her head. "No, " she thought, "Not that again. Love isn't about how much someone suits you, it's about how much you're willing to change for them." She would change for him..... She would throw away her past and embrace a new life, just for him to smile... to be proud of her....

Before she knew it, she was in the shop, surrounded by jars of ointments and herbs and small bronze statues and whips and swords and a myriad of other unidentifiable things.

She felt more than heard someone behind her, and turned to see a wizened old woman bustling through, carrying a number of jars. She looked up to see Eath standing there, and peered at her, looking almost into her soul, it seemed to her. She suddenly felt very uncomfortable there, under that woman's piercing gaze. The old lady merely shrugged and began to stack the pots onto shelves near the cash register.

Continuing to look through the shop, she suddenly heard a quiet voice singing,

"She says I swear too much
She says a lot of things
Well I'd swear every other word if I could
For her, I'll make an attempt

Sometimes love isn't about
how much someone suits you
But how much you're willing to change
to suit them"

Eath froze, wondering if she'd heard that correctly. Her father's mantra echoed through her mind "Sometimes love isn't about how much someone suits you, but how much you're willing to change to suit them" Just a coincidence, she thought to herself, and continued to browse the shop. A small statuette of an axe-wielding woodsman caught her eye, and she looked more closely at it. As she looked closer, she could see small patches of copper on his armpits, knees, hips, and many other places beside. The small brass plate beneath had two lines inscribed on it:

"Poor little tin man, still swinging his axe,
Even though his joints are clogged with rust."

And reading it, she shuddered. She felt she knew how this man must have felt, all her joints seemed always clogged with rust, binding her to the circus that was fast becoming her home...

Eath noticed that the woman's voice had stopped, and again, she felt uneasy. Shaking herself, she turned away, to see a mirror hanging on the wall, with a music box below it. Mirrors hurt..." she thought, as the music began to play, seeing everything that she didn't want to see in the silver. A liar, a thief, someone who would use everyone that cared for her to see herself safe. A selfish, cold person.

Then, the woman called out again, making Eath jump, but this time, Eath knew it was directed at her. "Tis bad news when ghosts walk in the light. And this city is truely haunted. Haunted by ghosts of broken homes...."

The voice faded into nothing, and Eath turned about to find the woman standing behind her. She picked up Eath's young hands in her knarled old ones, and said, "rough hands for one so young..... Rough hands, rough days.... What have they been doing to you, I wonder?"

Eath pulled her hands away, letting them drop back to her sides, brushing the knife hidden in her belt for comfort.

There was something wrong with this shop...... Everything was strangling her, cutting off her air, she felt trapped, her chest felt tight, panic reached up through her throat, she needed to get out, she needed..... She knew she was gripping the knife hilt tightly through her trousers, but she didn't care, she just needed....

....She collapsed to her knees in the dusty street outside, breathing heavily. The air was sweet, beautiful after the musty shop. She was suddenly aware of wetness on her cheeks, and, raising a hand to her face, felt tears trickling down from her eyes.

Behind her, she could hear the door opening, a tinkle sounding as the bell brushed against the wooden lintel. She daren't turn around, as she knew that the woman was standing behind her, watching silently. Quickly drying her eyes, she tried to compose herself. Nothing like that had ever happened before. Even when she was nearly caught, a myriad of times. Even when she was caught, she had never felt that way. What was wrong with her?

A shudder overtook her, but she managed to force herself back to her feet, and then turned around. "Who are you?" she hissed.

The woman just smiled at her, pearly white teeth glinting in the sunlight.

"Can we help you?" Patrin asked the woman as he stepped up to Eath. He barely glanced at the younger girl.

"I just be having a word with my grand-daughter," the old woman said, smiling gently.

Eath froze. Everything seemed like it was crashing in around her. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't hear anything, but those two words running through her head over and over again. "My grand-daughter."

Her hand groped for Patrin's and clung onto it tightly, trying to anchor herself into this world somehow. She didn't know the last time she had some-one who was truely family.... It couldn't be true, it just couldn't. Yet..... This place seemed so familiar..... This could be anywhere in the world.

"And who be you, who my own flesh and blood seems so fond of?" The old woman asked, leering at Patrin.

Patrin frowned at her, then looked distractedly down at Eath. "Eath? Is she telling the truth?"

"I asked ye a question, boy." said the woman, narrowing her eyes. "Here it be an honorable thing to respect yer elders."

Eath looked up at him. Patrin, she thought, grasping at him like a lifeline. None of this seemed real, least of all this woman in front of her. This woman claiming to be her grandmother. "I... I don't know... I suppose she could be...."

"Of course it be true," the woman snapped, "why would I lie to ye? Now both of ye, follow me, tis time to talk." She looked at Patrin, eyes narrowed "and ye shall tell me who ye are and what ye be doing with my grand-daughter."

Then she turned and disappeared into the shop.