by Brianna G. Harte
Reen turned to in the direction that I was glaring. “I know that you’re thinking. Don’t do it, Tristen. They were probably the ones behind it, but we can’t get any more work today. Remember, we’re still not done with today’s work.”
It almost made me drop it. But when the overseers got louder, I opened my mouth to accuse them. Estan beat me to it.
“That was low! You could have killed her!” he erupted.
The smug face on one of them returned. “You think I did that, fourteen?”
“One of you had to!” I added, letting my anger get the best of me. “I saw something fly over here, just before the fence began to collapse. Only you would stoop that low.”
“What did you say to me, eighteen?” The man’s eyes narrowed, making him look even more menacing.
“Only you would go so low as to almost kill somebody.”
Another overseer came over with his arms crossed. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, eighteen.”
“My name is Tristen,” I growled.
He pulled his face close to mine, close enough for me for my fist to clench. “No, you’re eighteen. He’s fourteen. That runt of a girl is eight. Understood? Now you’re headed for the mountain tomorrow. You and number fourteen. Learn to respect.”
I wanted to tell him that I already knew respect, and it surely would not be shown toward jerks like them.
Copyright © 2016 Brianna G. Harte. All rights reserved.