Inequality

It took all afternoon, but she managed to not be discovered.

Rose had said that it could not be done. It only made Marina more determined.

“It isn’t proper,” Rose had said.

Well, what wasn’t proper was that lads went. Why would the lassies not?

She was supposed to be at the hotel’s library, peering daintily through lace windows at the expanse of sea.

Instead, she hid in the tiny cabin, inching it toward the water, hoping for tide’s help.

At last her bare toes touched a tongue of foam. It was worth the lashing she’d get once back home.

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt: Sandra Cook

tall-frames CrispinaKemp

It wasn’t an easy thing for a Bottom-Feeder to achieve Topper status. Most born to the Lower Gradients remained in the dank shadows of the towers, foraging for what could be found.

But Bronson never took the easy route. Not in birth, where his footling position had almost killed his mama and had left him only one usable hand. Not in growing, when he was often the last to be fed and the first to be beaten. Not in young adulthood, when he decided that wit and perseverance would have to do what his physique could not.

He lurked. He flattered. He kept abreast of Toppers’ visits to the LG’s for the vices, and used his nonthreatening appearance to offer guidance, and sometimes, services.

When Lorena’s ankle broke on twisted pavement, he lent a shoulder, led her home, and stayed. Life was better at the Tops, even as a pet.

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge