The shank that Sarah held in her trembling hand had never before seemed so powerful. She had fashioned it with a rusty piece of tin she had seen found a ways off the 'farm'. She had practiced with it in the time she could manage to fit in. Which was rough, given that she was always serving her master. Master. Pfft. As if. She'd never bow to another human. And she proved it. What she had always saw as a poor, pathetic excuse of a weapon, became what single-handedly freed her.
The image was still fresh in her mind. Not just the image, but the feel, smell, sound, and even the taste. She had managed to pick the lock to her quarters, which in it's self was a stroke of luck. But the luck didn't stop there. It continued with her as she crept into the living room, where her 'master' slept in an old rocking chair.
The feeling. Her body was trembling, and she could feel the fear coursing through her veins. The fear that he would turn around with an eerie smile, the same smile that he wore when he beat her.
She took a step closer, the fire on the other side of him transformed his body into a menacing silhouette.
The smell. It smelt damp and smokey. Damp because it had been raining all that night, and smokey because of the fire. There was some other smell that Sarah recalls, but she couldn't quite pin point it. It smelled... like memories, in an odd way. Like home. But she hated this place, why would that ever be the case?
She took another step, the floor boards squeaking with tension as she steps on to it. She froze, staring at the man who was only a few steps away now. If he woke up now, it was game over. She had caused so much trouble before, and if he saw her standing there with that shank, he'd kill her. Or worse.
The sound. A crackling fire that seemed to flicker with excitement as Sarah drew near to her target. The rain patting on top of the roof, oddly relaxing despite the situation. The snores of the old man. The last snores that he would ever take. Or at least, she hoped.
Another step, she was close enough to touch the man now. her heart raced, pumping pure adrenaline into her blood. She was going to do it. She was going to escape this hell hole. And she was escaping
now.
The taste. People say that when you're truly terrified, you can practically taste the fear. This was one of those moments for Sarah. But that wasn't the only thing she tasted. She also tasted the blood of her 'master' as the dagger was sent straight into the back of his head. This wasn't intentional, of course. She had stabbed him so many times and with such force that the splatter had landed in her mouth and all over her face.
And that was it. The shank was covered in blood, and her owner lie dead in front of her. The world froze. And Sarah just stared at it, and let the scene soak in. This was the day she became free. There aren't enough words in the English vocabulary to describe the feeling that Sarah had that night. All she knew, was that she
loved it.
~~
A SVT 40 rifle in hand, stolen from the now-dead master, Sarah sprints through the dark in the general direction of KC. She passes a few travelers, but doesn't dare slow down in fear that they may know she's an escapee. What if someone recognizes her as a slave? Was there something about slaves that made them stick out? She didn't know, and she wasn't sure she even wanted to know.
She stops every few minutes to catch her breath, making sure the no one is within eye-sight when she does. She keeps the safety off and her finger on the trigger, constantly shivering and trembling. Partially from the cold, and partially from the adrenaline. The smallest noise would cause her to fire off a clip into the dark without a pause in between the shots.
She notices a light in the distance, and as much as she wants to stop, she knows that she can't. She can't risk it. She has to at least get to LA. That was priority number one. From there, she would go to KC. She chose KC because it was, from what she had heard, the producer of Syrinia. She draws near to the light, but turns to an angle, keeping it at her right side.
After a few minutes, the light has switched positions to her back, and she continues to add distance between her and it. The amount of exertion was unbelievable. Being a slave, she thought that this would have been easier since she runs like this all the time. Though, it's usually for a few hours on end. Or at least, she thought it had been hours. There was really no telling. So she ignores her own thoughts and focuses on one thing.
Run.~~
That was all Sarah could remember. She had blacked out not too long after that, and woke up in an inn a few miles away from LA. She had woke up dazed and covered in mud. But she was in a warm bed with a pair of clean clothes, a few sizes larger than she wore, and she was grateful for it. She slid on the clothes, thankful for the clean change of garb. She had only two pairs of clothes back at the farm. One for Monday through Thursday, the other for Friday through Sunday.
With the fresh clothes on, Sarah walks out of the room to find herself on a small wooden balcony over-looking the inn from the side. She walks down the stairs and to the counter. A black woman with curly, shoulder-length brown hair stands behind it, cleaning a mug. She hadn't paid any attention to the rest of the inn, only on the woman she figured owned the place. She sat on the stool somewhat nervously, looking carefully at the woman.
"It'z all right darlin'. You can sit where eva' you like, huney. Mah husban' found ya' on his routes. Better be glad gurl, he hadn't showed up when'e did, you'd be a dead gurl." She raises her eyebrows and gives a nod. "Mah name is Rochelle, but you'can call me Roach." She set the mug down and gave Sarah a long stare. After a while she spoke. "You gon' thank us, or you just gon' sit there like rot on'a log?"
Without proper education, Sarah new very basic English. She pondered for a moment before speaking. "T- thank... y- you." She nods a little, then continues. "W- where... g- gun?" She asks a bit uncertainly, pretending to hold the rifle to help Roach understand.
Roach raises a slight eyebrow. "Ya' welcome hun'. Do ya' not properly speak tha' good lord's language?" Sarah nods slowly, not fully understanding who this "lord" was. Hopefully it wasn't another slave owner. "Ya' rifle's right here unda' mah counta'. Eat a little somethin' and then I let you be on ya' way, along wit' ya' rifle."
So she did, fully enjoying every bite of the soup she had. Roach wished her safe and returned her SVT 40, as promised. The woman had inquired as to why Sarah was even out there to begin with, but she had remained silent, and Rochelle didn't ask about it again. She thanked her once more before leaving, the sun already half-way up to the top of the sky. She had burnt alot of time while sleeping in that inn. Though, she could take her time now, for it doesn't seem like anyone recognizes her here. How far had she ran?
She wasn't sure, but even now, she felt tired. Nevertheless, she trudged on, towards the unknown obstacles that lay in between her and KC.