Emma looked at the hero for a while, and then said, “So-uh-what’s your name?”
“Marian,” answered the girl quietly. “From Israel.” She pulled back her hair, and tied it as neatly as she could. “And yours?”
“Emma…and I would tell you where I’m from, but the last time I said that-well-I was put into slavery.”
Marian stared at Emma, and then said, “I bet your home country isn’t as bad as you think. I mean, it’s not like you’re not from the future or anything!”
Emma tried to smile, but inside her head she was thinking, actually I AM. She kept quiet, though.
Emma let her eyes drift over to where the burly guard stood. The man stared back at her. “Am I free to go to bed,” Emma asked the man, anger instantly burning inside her, “or do I have to work some more?”
Slowly, the slave master turned to look at her. “Yes.” he answered coldly.
Emma stalked into the small “Cottage”, along with Marian. The guard watched as the rest of the group entered the shack, and then clasped the door shut. Adding a lock, he smiled, and then walked away.
Emma sat next to Marian on the floor. There was a strange silence, but Emma decided to break it.
“Marian?” she whispered. Marian looked up. “I know this might sound….rude…but, how long have you been here?”
Marian’s eyes glassed over. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” she said, while staring at the floor. Emma felt very uncomfortable.
Eventually, though, she scrambled to her feet, and looked around the bedroom. A tiny, thin-looking cot was in the corner. Stretched out on it, was the old man. His eyes were shut, his body motionless.
Emma turned and noticed a slanted table. The young lady that had told Emma what the Cottage was, seemed to be playing invisible checkers with herself. Emma slumped against the wall and let out a long sigh.
Finally, Emma turned and noticed Marian quietly crying. Her head was in her hands, and her long ratty hair was brushing the floor. Slowly, Emma tiptoed over to where Marian sat.
“Listen, Marian,” she began. “I don’t know why you’re crying, and I’ve never been a slave. But I have a plan: I’m going to try to get us out of here…but I need you’re help.”
Marian swiped away her tears. “Are you sure it’ll work?” she asked, hope rising in her voice. Emma nodded.
“Ok,” Marian said slowly. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”
Emma smiled, and helped Marian to her feet. “Ok, first of all, do you know if there’s any windows in here? We could shatter the glass, and climb out.” Marian turned on her heel, surveying the area.
“No windows,” she finally answered. “but I have noticed a big hole in the ground-outside the Cottage! It has a piece of wood that sometimes covers it.”
Emma squinted, trying to picture what Marian was describing. “Oh! Wait, like, a sewer?” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.
Marian shrugged. “I guess so,” she answered. “But I’ve never heard of a sewer.”
Emma felt like slapping her forehead. “Of course,” she answered quickly, trying to avoid questions. “It’s from where I live.” Marian seemed to accept this answer.
“Now we just have to figure out how to get outside,” Marian said, while jiggling the doorknob. Emma groaned. “Oh yeah,” she answered slowly. “I didn’t think about that.”