How did things end up like this? It had come to light that Shakil's bags of collected coins, which could be traded in other nations, couldn't be exchanged for jewels, and the precious stones and gold he wore were far too precious to him for him to sell so easily. Thus, he found himself broke and without a roof over his head. Unlike other people, he didn't find the need to eat so often, but stilled craved a tender steak's juiciness or a chilled glass of a sour lemonade. It had really come to this, he had no choice but to work for money!
The idea was far easier to imagine than for him to do. Quietly, he sprawled over a park bench in the shade of hovering trees with an ashen face and a tired body. In the near distance were a group of young boys, fighting with dry sticks and chasing each other. Although golden hues would observe them from time to time, Shakil would eventually return to his state of brooding. He yawned, taking his right hand and running it over his face, "It's warm out, at the very least. It would be wise of me to remain here until I gather the money to sustain myself. . ." he suggested to himself. Eyes glaring at the sun through the leaves of the trees above him, he quickly became lost in thought. Where to go from here? Where to find jobs? He figured he must retreat back into the town to find these answers.
Or, so he thought. Abruptly, he felt a rather large figure bump into his shin. Upon turning to face the figure, it came to be no surprise that it was one of the boys from the group just ahead. Shakil raised a single brow and stared, "Greetings. What is it?" he questioned, the boy smiling from ear to ear with some of his teeth missing.
"Wanna play tag with us?" the boy responded.
"Pardon? Tag?" Shakil would answer, more of a question for himself than the boy. Quickly afterwards, they both agreed to play no more than one round and would return to the group of young boys with a much taller, darker man accompanying them.
Several minutes had passed since his arrival, and the boys seemed to be the experts in the arts of tag. They zig-zagged, darted, sprinted in all sorts of directions and made last minute dashes under the threat that Shakil's long arms may so much as graze their clothing. It was a challenge, indeed, but not so challenging that he would yield to a group of children! They were clever, yes, but not clever enough to escape his reflexes and to exploit their blind spots. Like sitting ducks, they were tagged one by one and sent to the bench while they were out. In only but a few minutes and several mad dashes did Shakil come out victorious.
Shakil sneered and would then make way back down the dirt path from the group, waving to the boys in farewell, "Exemplary performances for young men! Farewell!"
WC: 517
The idea was far easier to imagine than for him to do. Quietly, he sprawled over a park bench in the shade of hovering trees with an ashen face and a tired body. In the near distance were a group of young boys, fighting with dry sticks and chasing each other. Although golden hues would observe them from time to time, Shakil would eventually return to his state of brooding. He yawned, taking his right hand and running it over his face, "It's warm out, at the very least. It would be wise of me to remain here until I gather the money to sustain myself. . ." he suggested to himself. Eyes glaring at the sun through the leaves of the trees above him, he quickly became lost in thought. Where to go from here? Where to find jobs? He figured he must retreat back into the town to find these answers.
Or, so he thought. Abruptly, he felt a rather large figure bump into his shin. Upon turning to face the figure, it came to be no surprise that it was one of the boys from the group just ahead. Shakil raised a single brow and stared, "Greetings. What is it?" he questioned, the boy smiling from ear to ear with some of his teeth missing.
"Wanna play tag with us?" the boy responded.
"Pardon? Tag?" Shakil would answer, more of a question for himself than the boy. Quickly afterwards, they both agreed to play no more than one round and would return to the group of young boys with a much taller, darker man accompanying them.
Several minutes had passed since his arrival, and the boys seemed to be the experts in the arts of tag. They zig-zagged, darted, sprinted in all sorts of directions and made last minute dashes under the threat that Shakil's long arms may so much as graze their clothing. It was a challenge, indeed, but not so challenging that he would yield to a group of children! They were clever, yes, but not clever enough to escape his reflexes and to exploit their blind spots. Like sitting ducks, they were tagged one by one and sent to the bench while they were out. In only but a few minutes and several mad dashes did Shakil come out victorious.
Shakil sneered and would then make way back down the dirt path from the group, waving to the boys in farewell, "Exemplary performances for young men! Farewell!"
WC: 517
