Sybrina Read Free Page A

continuing our endless spirited bantering.  Even in childhood, I didn’t have a friend and confidant like Joshua.  The girls in my circle wanted only one thing and continuously jabbered on about clothes, balls, and suitors with the most money.  Joshua was a welcomed escape.
    A lump grows unwanted in my throat thinking of my dear friend. The image of his head tilted and grinning with his finger tapping his temple sits loving in the forefront of my mind.  Joshua, one of the few who accepted me and my femininity at the very beginning: non-judgmental and sincere. My thoughts finally slow and his kind face sends me into a restless sleep.
    Little pinpricks start at my ankles. I am in the in-between . The state in which you are sleeping, but vaguely aware of your surroundings. I shift in my semi-sleep, not wanting to be bothered, but the prickling slowly makes its way up my legs and to my hips. I kick limply and yawn.
    A tugging along my midsection and the movement of my belt and trousers causes me to swat whatever it is away. Something scratches my belly, and I flick it away again. I twist over to my side and something heavy flips me back. Panic sears my blood, and I try to scream but a foul-smelling hand envelops my mouth. My eyes snap open but it is pitch -black with no lanterns lit. I flail without any clue to what I’m fighting against. A large hand rubs down between my legs, and I scream.  It is muffled by the grimy hand.
    “ Ye ain’t no boy,” is whispered into my ear. I kick and fight, knowing full well the intention of this intruder. I try desperately to see into the nothingness and shove violently to no avail. “I ain’t picky,” he grumbles, his voice raspy.
    I use my hand and punch uselessly at the face I can ’t see. All too quickly he secures it. I don’t give up, but my struggling is fruitless. His weight and strength is no match for me.  This is it!  I am to be ravaged! I don’t stop my plight.  I push, hit, and shove only to be rendered immobile over and over again.
    “ Stop fightin’, whore in a lad’s clothes ,” the assailant slurs maniacally in my ear.
    A wind echoes through the cavity of the hull. It smells sweet, like honey and spring flowers.  The scent is thick over the putrid essence of the hands and body that have locked me against the hard floor.
    It blows again. The weight is lifted from me. I sputter and spit the repulsiveness left behind on my mouth. I sit up , frantic. I prepare to be attacked again by putting my back against the column and holding my fists in front of me.
    But it doesn ’t happen. I am left alone. My eyes begin to hurt from the stress of trying to see in the blackness.  They flicker around, searching. My head shifts from side to side and my lids blink rapidly.
    There is just nothingness. I can ’t even see the shadows of the others sleeping. A strangled cry comes from behind me. I hear a deep thump.
    In a corner, rummaging sounds as if someone is trying to light lantern. The breeze flies by me again, just as sugary, and a small glow is cast in the room. I catch a shadow ascending the ladder, its movement faster than that of a wild animal.
    A man from one of the families that hovers against the wall in an adjacent corner comes over to me. He carries his lantern and holds it in front of my face.
    “ Are you all right, lad?” he asks me, sounding thoroughly concerned. I stare at the light. I do my own internal check to see if I’ve been harmed.
    “ Yes,” I tell him. I am sore in a few spots so I utilize the light to look at my stomach. Scratches run up and down my skin.
    “ You have some on your face too,” the man says. I carefully touch my face with my fingers. “What is your name, son?” I take a good look now that I can see this man. He was one of the ones with his hand raised when asked if anyone could read. His face is kind and full of sincerity.
    “ Paul,” I say automatically. My intention since this venture began was to use my brother’s