Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, myfather, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
There was a distinct weight to the jewelry, gilded in jewels with a brightness that she had never seen before; it was breath-takingly stunning, a multitude of facets designed against the gold, each dent so carefully created and manipulated to become a beacon of beauty that Maria found herself almost in awe of the treasure. Part of her wanted to snake this into the depths of her bag and let it remain there - to draw upon its talents when she needed courage the most, and only part with it when she had absolutely no choice in the matter. Yet, the rumbling in her stomach called attention to the fact that she desperately needed some sort of answer - some sort of truth behind the notion that if she took this, she would be paid to actually last a few weeks of honest to God food and maybe even a few nights in a nicer motel that didn’t have her fearing for her life. Hostels had been the prey when she could find one within her range, but the magnitude of setting her head on a pillow in a room surrounded by four other guys, all of who had the same look of hunger in their eyes, wasn’t exactly peaceful.
But, it kept her from being trapped in a home that labeled her a monster, or being around a man who saw her as nothing short of a murderer even if her actions hadn’t been her own to begin with. ”She died to save you! I don’t know why she cared so damn much.” Her father’s screams pounded in her ear, channeling in some sort of courage to build up within her. Maria knew this was wrong - stealing wasn’t something she was born to do, or needed to do. On the streets, she stole only what was necessary. Scraps of bread, a few bucks from a stranger’s pocket and even then, it seemed like too much so she made it last. Often times, a local bakery she cherished would give her the last remaining batches of pastries that they would ultimately throw out, satisfying her for a few days on something other than plain bread.
Something, though, about this particular piece screamed for her attention and she was giving it. Darkness was swallowed her whole, trapping her in the midst of this little hallway, even as the young girl attempted to not mess up a job quite like this. She wasn’t the best robber - in fact, she wasn’t close. She fumbled a lot, blaming the guilt that ate at her for the lack of grace. As time went on, she progressed, but that didn’t mean she was equipped to handle something like this.
It felt beautiful in her hand, like it was made up of the stars themselves; at the same time, though, there was a hidden despair within it, like it was weighed down by something so much darker - so much stress and disaster. Fingers clutched at the necklace, letting calloused pads press against the stunning jewels, precious gems and the gold. Carefully, she hunched, dropping her bag between her feet and slowly pulling the necklace against her collarbone, feeling the metal tickle at the skin, cold even through the fabric of her shirt.
Never touch something you can’t afford.”
The words thundered through and she immediately froze. Heart pounded in her chest just as stomach dropped, churning against every muscle and bone, forcing her to lower her now shaking arms holding the weapon. “Please don’t hurt me.” She squeaked out, slowly turning her head to catch a glimpse of the man who spoke. Even in the small light he brought, he was half encased in darkness, shadows playing at the hardened features of his otherwise handsome face. Every part of her was now completely immobile, too afraid to actually move. “I wasn’t-”
Really? She was going to lie now about stealing when she was holding the actual artifact in her hands.
Her body trembled, eyes watching him, waiting for a weapon to come flying at her. ”I just needed something!” She quickly blurt out, young and almost innocent words tumbling out in a wave of nonsense. Fingers carefully sat the artifact back on its table, smoothing it out with a care and admiration she hadn’t shown anything before, a lingering taste for something she would never ultimately be a part of her. ”It was just really pretty.” The guilt ate at her as she shrank back in the shadows, shaking fingers tucking black hair behind her ear. ”I thought if I could find something small to sell, I could get a couple bucks or something.”
She felt the need to explain - why? She had no idea. But, somehow, having him accept her words and apology seemed to be worth more than the idea that he could have her tossed into a jail cell. And, that rushed through her mind and her gaze widened. ”Please don’t call the cops. I promise, I didn’t take anything.”
I just wanted to let you know, that your writing inspires me the most and has always been my favorite style - well, ever since we have met / starter to write. I usually tend to write my own posts in a similar mindset, thinking what would BG do???