The thief and the bartender

A twig snaps, and I snap awake. I get up from my comfy rock. It’s hard to find pillows in the middle of the forest. I get up from the ground and snatch a log from the dying fire. I don’t think it’s a wolf pack but I can’t be too sure. Nope, it’s Valkyrie, my falcon. She brought me a dead rabbit. Finally some good food.

I tie back my dark red hair. It used to be bright red but I’ve had to dye it since I’ve been on the run. Now my hair can range white blonde to jet black but I like the red best. It reminds me of my old life.

After I finish skinning the rabbit, I relight the fire to cook it. I don’t have any matches so I have to use the classic flintstone. As I scratch the stones together sparks fly and one hits my freckled face. “Fuck.” It hurts. I touch my face to feel the burn. It’s going to leave a scar.

When the fire is hot enough, I stick skewers through the meat. I’m so hungry I think about eating it raw but I can’t afford to get sick, not out here. I set the rabbit on the fire and let it roast. After about half an hour I take it off the spit and rip into it with my bare hands. The meat is a little dry but I don’t care. It’s been over a month since I ate meat. I was surviving off dried fruit and stale bread before this beauty came along.

Halfway through the rabbit, I realize my mistake. I should’ve saved the rabbit so I could last longer out here. ‘Ughhhh’ I think. Now I have to go into town tomorrow. I pack away the rest of the rabbit in my pack for tomorrow and settle back on my rock.

I am jolted awake by three blasts of a royal horn. “Shit!” I shout-whisper as I quickly gather my supplies and hop on Nova, my loyal horse’s back. We gallop away as quietly as we can praying I don’t get caught. The life of an outlaw is tough but it’s nothing compared to prison ever since the monarchs came into power.

Now, if you’re not a priest or a rich merchant, it’s pretty much eat or be eaten. But the monarch you should be afraid of most is King Rathmore. Even though he is technically only the king of Trint he may as well be the ruler of all Dartha. It hasn’t even been one hundred years since the world lost it’s shit and North America became Dartha, decided kings and queens would be better than presidents and prime ministers, and just became more fucked up than it was.

And of course what would a dystopian world be without gender inequality. You guessed it, women are treated even worse than before. We are the pawns in Rathmore’s chess game. We are dolls to the men of the house and the law actually states, “If she rejects her husband’s wishes then she shall suffer the consequence of her husband’s choice.” What the Fuck! We are just slaves for men, even though we can be as independent as men. I mean look at me! I’ve been surviving on the run for over a year now and haven’t been caught once. I would say that’s pretty independent. But it’s not like people know that. That’s the point of being on the lam. No one knows where you are, who you are, or even if you are alive.

I reach the forest limits where trees turn to stumps and the dirty, dank, uncut paths turn to cobblestone roads. A sign leads me to Main street where I find the bustling market. Salesmen yell out prices and the names of their wares. I am risking my capture but I have to do it. I need supplies. I find the nearest growth of shrubs and duck into them. “Okay, it’s just a quick in and out no problem.” I try to control my breathing as I put up my hood. I then grab Nova’s reins as we walk into sight.