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2
Arriving not an hour later, Ezra had made several additions and revisions to his original plan, having now, finally, come up with an acceptable plan. Knowing each soldier would be assigned a certain house, all Ezra had to do was wait. Find out where he was going to be placed, and then be the best house guest they had ever had, even including the ones they invited over themselves. If they refused the help he would offer, then so be it. It was not Ezra’s job to help them; it was his job to protect them. But he would offer it anyway, thinking that it would make their task of housing him easier.
He stood in line to receive his instructions for the evening, and presumably however long he was stationed here.
After being assigned quarters, they were told to patrol the street, make sure no crimes happened, and should they happen, to catch the perpetrator.
Few people dared to commit crimes when the soldiers were around, the punishments, should they have been caught, would be quite severe. A hand if you stole something, years in prison for petty crimes.
Ezra hoped he would never be the one to administer the punishments on some miserable soul, the idea of forcing metal through bone and the accompanying crunch made him wince. He didn't want fame, and glory. He just wanted to earn enough money to keep his mother in a safe home until she passed.
The day continued on quietly, nothing of real importance happening, and the hours dragged on and on, seeming to be endless. Eventually, though, the sun started to set, and Ezra made his way to where he was assigned to sleep, dragging his boots, and shivering in the cold.
Ezra quickly found the house where he would be staying. It was on the small side, but could, if the rooms were arranged well, house many, up to 8 at any given time, although the sleeping area would be tight. Ezra didn't think this would be a problem however, as he intended on sleeping in front of the hearth, and being close to the door.
Climbing up the stoop, standing in front of the door, Ezra knocked, waiting patiently for the residents to answer. Silently counting, Ezra waited to see how long it would be for the door to open.
100….101….102….
He knocked again.
115….116….117….
“Please, Missus. It is getting quite cold. I shall sleep on the floor if you prefer. Just let me in.”
All noise originally coming out of the house ceased, the only noise Ezra could hear was his breathing, and, if he listened hard, his heart.
The lock clicked, and the door was opened. Inside the door way stood a small boy, who couldn't have been older than 7. Behind the child was a panicked looking woman. Ezra tried to be as warm as possible, smiling up at her.
“May I come in?”
“Of course!” piped the child, widening the door. Ezra briefly waited until the woman gave a nod.
Inside the house, it was a stark contrast to the world outside. It was warm, and lit. There was noise, and above all, it was warm.
Furniture dotted the space around the hearth; it was simple, but comforting in that simplicity.
“Missus, do you have any food?” Ezra inquired, his stomach finally catching up to him.
She simply looked scared; it wasn't as though Ezra was going to eat her, although perhaps she thought he would. Nodding slowly, she left the room, leaving the child who had followed them behind.
Turning his gaze away from where she had gone, Ezra smiled at the boy, asking him what his name was.
“Franklin! What’s your name?” replied Franklin, not pausing to take a breath between his sentences.
He was abnormally cheerful, confusing Ezra. Didn't he know that he was “the enemy?” Maybe not, the boy was only 7 or 8 at most.
The eagerness of the child made Ezra want to laugh, but his throat hurt so instead he just smiled. He responded with his name and a “how-do-you-do?”
“Good!” and before Franklin could continue with questioning Ezra, his mother came in the room, a bowl of soup in one hand.
Immediately adopting a stern expression, she ordered him to go to his bed and sleep, which he did. Quickly. So this woman was feared by her own children.
Ezra’s manners returning back to him, he blurted out, “Thank you, Missus…?” his tone trailing off as he realized he didn't actually know her surname.
“Smith.” She replied stiffly, handing the bowl to Ezra, stepping back faster than her son had ran to bed, and turned around and went back to the kitchen.
Consuming his soup, Ezra thought over how she had left him as soon as she could, how she didn’t want to acknowledge his presence, how she had to force herself to give him the bowl of soup. Eventually, his mind too tired to think, he placed the bowl onto the table in the sitting room, and sank into a chair. The warmth of the fireplace enveloped him, pushing him into the world of unconsciousness. It was the best he slept in months.
He stood in line to receive his instructions for the evening, and presumably however long he was stationed here.
After being assigned quarters, they were told to patrol the street, make sure no crimes happened, and should they happen, to catch the perpetrator.
Few people dared to commit crimes when the soldiers were around, the punishments, should they have been caught, would be quite severe. A hand if you stole something, years in prison for petty crimes.
Ezra hoped he would never be the one to administer the punishments on some miserable soul, the idea of forcing metal through bone and the accompanying crunch made him wince. He didn't want fame, and glory. He just wanted to earn enough money to keep his mother in a safe home until she passed.
The day continued on quietly, nothing of real importance happening, and the hours dragged on and on, seeming to be endless. Eventually, though, the sun started to set, and Ezra made his way to where he was assigned to sleep, dragging his boots, and shivering in the cold.
Ezra quickly found the house where he would be staying. It was on the small side, but could, if the rooms were arranged well, house many, up to 8 at any given time, although the sleeping area would be tight. Ezra didn't think this would be a problem however, as he intended on sleeping in front of the hearth, and being close to the door.
Climbing up the stoop, standing in front of the door, Ezra knocked, waiting patiently for the residents to answer. Silently counting, Ezra waited to see how long it would be for the door to open.
100….101….102….
He knocked again.
115….116….117….
“Please, Missus. It is getting quite cold. I shall sleep on the floor if you prefer. Just let me in.”
All noise originally coming out of the house ceased, the only noise Ezra could hear was his breathing, and, if he listened hard, his heart.
The lock clicked, and the door was opened. Inside the door way stood a small boy, who couldn't have been older than 7. Behind the child was a panicked looking woman. Ezra tried to be as warm as possible, smiling up at her.
“May I come in?”
“Of course!” piped the child, widening the door. Ezra briefly waited until the woman gave a nod.
Inside the house, it was a stark contrast to the world outside. It was warm, and lit. There was noise, and above all, it was warm.
Furniture dotted the space around the hearth; it was simple, but comforting in that simplicity.
“Missus, do you have any food?” Ezra inquired, his stomach finally catching up to him.
She simply looked scared; it wasn't as though Ezra was going to eat her, although perhaps she thought he would. Nodding slowly, she left the room, leaving the child who had followed them behind.
Turning his gaze away from where she had gone, Ezra smiled at the boy, asking him what his name was.
“Franklin! What’s your name?” replied Franklin, not pausing to take a breath between his sentences.
He was abnormally cheerful, confusing Ezra. Didn't he know that he was “the enemy?” Maybe not, the boy was only 7 or 8 at most.
The eagerness of the child made Ezra want to laugh, but his throat hurt so instead he just smiled. He responded with his name and a “how-do-you-do?”
“Good!” and before Franklin could continue with questioning Ezra, his mother came in the room, a bowl of soup in one hand.
Immediately adopting a stern expression, she ordered him to go to his bed and sleep, which he did. Quickly. So this woman was feared by her own children.
Ezra’s manners returning back to him, he blurted out, “Thank you, Missus…?” his tone trailing off as he realized he didn't actually know her surname.
“Smith.” She replied stiffly, handing the bowl to Ezra, stepping back faster than her son had ran to bed, and turned around and went back to the kitchen.
Consuming his soup, Ezra thought over how she had left him as soon as she could, how she didn’t want to acknowledge his presence, how she had to force herself to give him the bowl of soup. Eventually, his mind too tired to think, he placed the bowl onto the table in the sitting room, and sank into a chair. The warmth of the fireplace enveloped him, pushing him into the world of unconsciousness. It was the best he slept in months.