Ariel Quain

Ariel Quain fumbled with the

Weathered mop clutched in her

small, gently scarred hands

Soapy water trickled between her fingers,

each sud itching at her raw knuckles.

Her stomach growled violently

and her legs ached

with the work of someone twice her age

This was life for Ariel, living in the slums that dotted the outside of Paris.

Her face contorted into a

beamish smile

when she heard the door

to her mother’s flat

clicking open.

The simple sound always seemed

to draw her reality into a world of wonder.

Was it the metallic harmony that seemed so wondrous to a nine-year-old?;

or was it the fact that outside of the small

apartment in which she lived her days

laid a vast place

waiting for her to someday conquer?

Ariel was pulled back to the

brutal thing called reality

as she saw the moldy wooden door

swing open-