Her shoes make a sound like a pony cantering over the cobbles. She ducks behind one of the arches, takes off the shoes – she mustn’t attract attention.
They’ll notice she’s gone soon. The one who came to fetch the American girl said they’d keep her for last because she’s a nice white girl – their ace. She likes the American girl, she’ll fetch help.
Someone gets in her way. She can’t avoid bumping into the person, but it seems she wants to be bumped into. She’s wearing uniform. Police. Help.
‘Qu’est-ce qu’il y a, ma petite?’
‘I don’t understand,’ she howls.
I’m sort of Friday Fictioneering, but not really because of the reliable internet connection thing (yes, still going on, that…). I won’t add my story to the link-up because it wouldn’t be fair for others to come and read my story when I can’t go and read theirs. I love Sandra’s photo, though – I had to use it.