Ariel Quain
Ariel Quain fumbled with the
Weathered mop clutched in her
small, gently scarred hands
Soapy water trickled between her fingers,
each sud itching at her raw knuckles.
Her stomach growled violently
and her legs ached
with the work of someone twice her age
This was life for Ariel, living in the slums that dotted the outside of Paris.
Her face contorted into a
beamish smile
when she heard the door
to her mother’s flat
clicking open.
The simple sound always seemed
to draw her reality into a world of wonder.
Was it the metallic harmony that seemed so wondrous to a nine-year-old?;
or was it the fact that outside of the small
apartment in which she lived her days
laid a vast place
waiting for her to someday conquer?
Ariel was pulled back to the
brutal thing called reality
as she saw the moldy wooden door
swing open-