Spinster

Today she was certain she would die. Twisting and turning on her bed that stunk of death, she saw a vague faces. Unsure whether they were actually peering down at her or just memories, she screamed, but no-one heard.

Outside, when the smog filled air, the ash covered window planes and soot glazed towers could at least bast of being new, she would stand by the street corner turning tricks. In an age that seemed like a dream to her now, she had her roots in the commons -where English peasants grazed their cattle.

When she first saw the teeming sprawls of humanity she didn’t understand why  her caravan of relatives wore grim faces that drew grimmer as the city drew closer. She smelt the musky room and remembered it needed cleaning. She would have dragged herself up from her death bead to tend to it, but not today. Today she was certain she would die, for when she saw the air filled with soot and smoke from her brown window she knew that she would never wipe anything clean.

She longed for the harsh fields where she was born. She wanted to leave. It wasn’t like she wanted to be here. It wasn’t like they let her be what she wanted to be. She was bought there and kept there. She was no longer able to spin tales and thread to forget. Now all she could do is wait till she could leave the ash covered city forever.

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