Chapter One - Pottery
"Asalam ma!" I shouted, closing the house door behind me. I needed to go out and find myself a job, a proper job, our family was slowly sinking and we needed the money. I popped in a sour sweet and walked down the street, my hands in her hoodie pocket, my sister's. I'd stolen it from her cupboard, not that she'd mind, well she couldn't do much really, except for exist under a pile of sand. Death had taken her too early, I missed her so, she was what kept our family together. Her bright smile was our glue. But now, our family could barely look each other in the eye.
I adjusted my head scarf and rushed into the local corner store, Uncle Patrick was behind the counter, flipping through a newspaper. "Hello uncle, just looking if you need some help around the store?" he smiled with a partially toothless grin, his remaining teeth stained with tabacco.
"Hello little Hafsa, I do actually. I need to restock some shelves at the back. But stay out of the storage room, all the boxes are already out." I nodded, tapping the counter before I walked off. Uncle Patrick was such a kind soul, he always had our family's back, especially since Humairah passed. I picked up the heavy box, grunting silent curses to myself, it was tiring working at odd hours here and there, my sleep schedule had been thrown off.
I put the box down and got onto my knees, gently placing the glass plates onto the shelf. It was those tacky side plates with painting of fruit and flowers all over them, we had a few of those at home, it reminded me of my sister, Humairah and I loved to paint pottery.
When I was done with the two boxes I got up and nearly bump into a customer. I apologized immediately but when I caught sight of how the elderly man was dressed, I froze, staring. I knew what he was. He wasn't a customer. The pendant around his neck shone under the shop's florescent light, tinkling with mischief. He was a Knight, part of the local gang. Mom always wanted me to stay away form them.
Uncle Patrick's store was under their protection and I never thought to ask why. The man shoved passed me. "Keep your eyes to yourself little girl." and he dissappeared behind the storage room door. Little girl. I huffed to myself. I was twenty, I wasn't little anymore. It reminded me of how my father acted around me. I wasn't little. I wasn't even short. I was capable. Being called little always stirred me up.
I made my way to the front of the store, dusting my jeans. "All done Uncle Patrick." I said with a smile. But he wasn't paying attention to me, he had his eyes glued to the storage room, as his shaky fingers tapped the counter. "Uncle Patrick is everything alright?" he finally snapped out of it, giving me his iconic smile, though the ends of his lips wavered. Something was wrong.
"Yes my dear, here take this. Spend it wisely." he handed me a two hundred dollar bill, I was shocked that he'd given me so much, I knew that part of it was payment for my work I'd done earlier today and yesterday but before I could ask he was rushing me out the store. I managed to hurriedly thanked him and pocketed the money before I was standing on the side of the street.
But as I walked away something in me stirred. It was the look on Uncle Patrick's face. The lack of colour in his dark skin, the way his eyes shot around us. Something was up. I turned back, thinking to myself, he never looked that worried in his life, and the way he hurriedly handed me the money began to scared me. When I got to the store, the door was locked, I tapped the glass, trying to peer in, but nothing. Thankfully I had a key that he'd given me for my early shifts. I opened it and rushed in, I looked around but couldn't find him anywhere. There was a loud thud from the storage room. Bingo.
I quietly tip toed to the door, gently twisting it open, I'd replaced the door knob recently, so I knew it would work smoothly. I peeked in and had to hold back my gasp. Uncle Patrick was tied to a chair, his face contorted in pain as he hunched over trying to gasp in air. "Where is it Solly?" the man who I'd seen earlier asked, yanking Uncle Patrick's hair. Who in the hell was Solly? But as they continued to question I realized that Patrick wasn't his real name. I stumbled away from the door, feeling a drop in my stomach. I shouldn't be watching this.
But my hasty movement shoved the door closed and when silence lapped the inside of that room, I knew I'd been caught. I turned to run, but a hand grabbed my scarf, pulling me into the room. "I told you to keep your eyes to yourself little girl." he roughly pushed me to the floor at Uncle Patric- no, Solly's feet. He looked at me with sad eyes that read, why are you here?
"Hey little girl, look at me when I'm talking to you, he isn't going to help you." the man kicked my shin. I yelped, adrenaline coursing through my veins as my hands shook violently. "Why are you spying on us?" he asked, stalking closer. I could see the remnants of what was once muscle stretch his shirt as he leaned down.
"I-I wasn't." I lied, praying for forgiveness to Allah for all my sins, this had to be it, the end of my life.
"You're lying." he spat, his beer breath burned the inside of my nostrils.
"She works for me." Uncle Patrick stuttered out. Spitting out blood besides him.
"Oh, she's one of yours then Solly?" the man smirked. "Doesn't look like dealing with you is treating her well." the man looked at my tattered shoes and faded jeans. "Why don't you come and work for me little girl, after all, when Solly is dead, you will need a better job." The way he said job made my skin crawl, whatever he was talking about wasn't legal. I knew that for certain. "What is she even?" he turned to Uncle Patrick.
"A spy." Uncle Patrick lied, I frowned, wanting to object but found that my mouth knew to stay silent.
"Not a very good one." The man laughed. He then kicked my knee softly. "Don't worry we'll change that. Your debt is payed Solly." the man looked down at me as he locked his lips. "Welcome to the Knights little girl."
