Writing Prompt: 11-14-2014
Origin: “Others Don’t Forget,” by A. Hale. (Which is really just a fancy way of saying, “Well, by me, actually.”)
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(Of course, if you’re doing NaNoWriMo, do NaNoWriMo and not this until you’re up to the Word Count Goal for the day. NaNoWriMo is important; these writing prompts, though I enjoy reading what you write very much, are not.)
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Red Lettering 
My, that A. Hale’s skills improve with every prompt. : )
Another town–and exactly the same reaction. Jonathan always tried his best to numb himself until the be beatings were over, and it usually worked. Before he woke up on the side of the road and left for dead this time, he had been attempting to buy supplies; a man had come striding towards him, recognition burning in his eyes, and …
“You’re not dead.”
Jonathan rolled painfully over, and found a man atop a horse looking down on him. Firm and stony though the stranger’s face was, curiosity gleamed in his eyes. “Seems so,” he said, voice hoarse. “What of it?”
“I wonder,” the man said, shifting in his saddle, “I wonder why you even bother.”
Jonathan shrugged, and it hurt. “I guess … guess I …”
“Think we’ll forget?” the man cut in. He gave a harsh bark of a laugh. “No, boy, no. Others don’t forget–even if the likes of you do. Now stay out of our town, or we’ll be using a rope instead of fists.” And then he reigned his horse around, rode off and left Jonathan there.
‘No,’ Jonathan thought, lying in the dust, with his lungs hurting to breathe and thinking of what the man had said. ‘No. Others don’t forget, but neither do I.’
This is very good, Ghost! 😀 It’s very intriguing (and, for some reason, the man on the horse interests me very much, just as much as Jonathan does).
When the man first spoke, it was just a tad bit confusing for a little while. I wasn’t entirely sure if we were reflecting or if we were back to the present at that point, but it cleared up pretty quickly. Well done!
Rothon lifted his comforting hand from Pakkil’s shoulder. “You’re our slave now. Whatever you were before, forget it.”
Images of the old slaves she’d seen, the ones who always gazed longingly at the forests, entered her mind. “Others don’t forget.”
“At least stay here and find out how we treat you before you do something stupid!” Rothon said.
Pakkil stood. She looked down at Rothon. He stood between her and the door, the door to freedom. Even with his whipstick, he wouldn’t stand a chance if she threw her weight around.
No. Pakkil let herself relax. She couldn’t escape, not when his family had given her a second chance.
She turned away from Rothon. “Let me rest.”
Rothon backed away. He opened the door to the slave cage and hurried through. Pakkil went to the rough matt in the corner of the cage and lay down. How much was a second chance worth when she was still a slave?
This is good. 🙂 It was nice to see a more or less relaxed, not-incredibly-cruel interaction between a slave and the person who owns her. I think most people forget that it’s possible to be a decent slave owner, even if being a slave is never really desirable. Well done!