(Continued from the flashback of the previous chapter.)

                For the next few days, he walked and was met by not a single kind soul who would help poor him. He had run out of the stale bread and water thus he needed assistance. He wanted, pleaded and even begged some passer bys'  for help but none glanced his way. He saw women and girls fetching water from a well and pleaded to them to help him but none co-operated. What seemed odd to him was that the pails from the wells were missing; what remained was a torn, more like ripped edge of a long rope. As evening approached, pangs of  hunger ate up his stomach, making him howl in agony. He found a tree and leaned on it, clutching his stomach. Before dizziness from being tired could embrace him, he dug up holes on the soil and put $4 inside each hole. Why? Because the missing pails gave him the idea of robbers being in this area, so better safe than sorry! Then with the jug under his sweaty armpit, he slept, trying to ignore the sound of his growling stomach.

         He woke up startled at the middle of the night. There was a shuffling noise behind him. He sat up, frozen with fear of being attacked. And just as he had suspected, four men came out, their faces masked with a piece of dark clothing. Marcello's face was also masked, but with fear  and terror, but he kept calm and held his feelings at bay.

"Who are you guys?"

"Santa Claus!!!" one shouted, the boyishness in his voice clearly visible in his voice. All the other three glared at him and he muttered, "Chill sorry."

"Nothing that would interest you. Our identities aren't to be bothered with. So traveler, what you got must be ours now. Hand over  your things and we will leave without any problems or harms done to you. " Said the tallest one with freckles even on his hands.

"I have nothing." Marcello said truthfully with a trembling voice. 

"Aw we hear that a lot!" said the first voice with something like a whip dangling from his fingers.

"Give us what you have or you die. Surely things don't matter to you more than your life, right?" Said a third voice with a cruel and harsh tone.

               Marcello kept quiet as he knew it was a rhetorical question. He shut his eyes tightly, blocking out the horrific scene and repeated himself. That was when the first blow landed on his back. The pain seared and spread throughout his already weak body, burning.

A fourth voice spoke calmly, "We are not here to hurt you. Give us what we want and we will leave." this voice sounded much more mature and soft than the other ones.

"If you don not believe me then check me now!" Marcello shouted, the fear gone from his voice.

           His eyes fluttered open to see the incoming whip that was coming rapidly at his direction. He shut his eyes, waiting for the hit to bruise his skin but the contact of  the whip and his skin never came. He opened his eyes to see the fourth voice holding back the whip, preventing it from hitting him.

"Guys, do what the traveler told you. Check him thoroughly. Do not miss any part to go unchecked."

            Marcello stood up willingly as they checked him top to bottom: under his shirt and all his pant pockets and inside the jug. But they found nothing. Not a penny, not a thing that would come of use. It might be weird to hear this, but maybe they even felt sorry for him.

Somehow, a hint of sympathy could be heard in his soft voice as he said, "Join us traveler for you are not so different from us. We are all, like you, helplessness, temptations and our needs have pushed us to the brink. This is an offer most people are deprived of , so think about it traveler."

Marcello blinked and thought of a way to gently refuse their  genuinely kind offer without hurting their feelings or without getting beaten into a pulp. It seemed he hadn't thought enough when he said, "I am truly sorry but I am on my way to achieve something big. I must continue on my way without delay when the sun rises."

           As soon as the words left his mouth, the face of the robber hardened and a sneer crossed his dark eyes, "Of course I was wrong! People aren't creatures to be treated with kindness." with that, he kicked Marcello out of his way, sending him sprawling face down on the ground, his face smashed against the withered grasses beneath.

         He turned around and spat, ordering his followers to beat "that bastard" and take away his belongings which was the jug only. For sometime, they beat him up mercilessly, whipping him now and then. After they seemed to be satisfied, they took his precious water-holder and left. Marcello moaned crawling on the ground. His face, hands ,everything hurt. And as the night grew darker, he finally fell asleep and traveled to the lands where happiness existed .

      In the morning when he woke up, his bruises no longer bled and both his stomach ache and pain had gone numb over the hours. He got up, dug out his money then waled on the long dusty road ahead of him. Maybe somehow, God had finally taken pity on him, he came by a spring of fresh water. He drank and drank until his thirst quenched. Then he stripped  and washed himself into the ice cold water. He took his time, scrubbing his bruises and cuts gently. After he was good to go, he got into his old dirty clothing and continued with a fresh hope. As it was really early still, he strolled lazily until an open bakery caught his eyes. He went in and bought himself a bread, eating merrily and enjoying the sweet and gentle morning breeze and long roads.

      Days passed by and he still  kept going. Once he had gone so long without water that he had been forced to buy water from a shop which charged him extra , using his devastating condition as a benefit. He no longer wanted to spend his money as all he had left was $6 but he as still nowhere near France or his destination. Days passed and he grew weaker with each passing minute but he refused to buy food or water and kept going.

        One day he collapsed under an apple tree in a place were crops were ripening. He was tired and burdened with weariness. Due to the lack of food and water, Marcello had fainted without realizing so. When he opened his eyes, he was on a bed, like a proper bed. A bed with white floral sheets and a proper soft and fluffy pillow underneath his head. It had been a while since he had laid on a bed of this sort. His eyes stared above, at the wooden slates making up the brown ceiling. Marcello bolted up but soon collapsed on the soft bed, pressing his fingers to his throbbing forehead, trying to stop the headache. He looked around him slowly, his eyes adjusting to the blinding bright light. He was in a room with a huge window where the curtain(also floral) was pulled apart, letting the light and the warm air stream through. The room had a cupboard which stood alone at the end of the long room. Apart from two chairs and a few clothes strewn throughout the room, it was pretty much bare. Out the window, he could see golden crops swaying in the slow secret tune of the  wind. This amzing place felt like a comfortable home. A home, not his home. Home reminded of his Mama and his sisters. He wanted to be with them so badly. Maybe he had died of starvation and this was HIS heaven.

He was pulled out of the long train of his jumbled thoughts when a small girl hopped into the room and then stopped stunned and shouted, "Mommy, he is awake."

       The girl looked of about Twelve maximum, her strawberry blonde hair in a messy ponytail behind her. She was fair, almost too white. Her blue eyes lingered on him eagerly before wandering behind him shyly. She was thin,really thin; Her  collarbones jutting out and her jaw line perfectly defined. Her lips was a dark shade of pink . She wore a white dress reaching up to her knees with pretty purple knitted flowers covering its white background. 

     From behind her, a woman in her late forties appeared in the room, rubbing her wet hands hastily on the dirty apron which hung loosely from her neck. She smiled as she saw him wide awake. She too had strawberry blonde hair pulled into a messy bun,

"You are awake at last. Mister, please join us for supper. Its almost done." a whistle from the kitchen made her run to it and shouting, "Angelica, help our guest to the table please."

      He was helped up by the small girl to the dinner table. Confused, he looks around and tries to recall how he ended up there but nothing comes to mind. He is briefly joined a man in his late forties, his platinum blonde hair having white streaks running through them, the small girl and the woman. They all look at him expectantly and he tries to politely start a conversation.

"I am Marcello. I am from Italy, Florence."

    They all nodded smiling and the woman started serving the food on the wooden table. As they stared at one another awkwardly, they  were joined by a young man of Marcello's age with the same platinum blonde and wide shoulders as the older man. He kissed the woman lightly on her cheeks and takes the chair next to Marcello. 

"Supper smells great Mama!"the boy says, as the woman ruffles his hair and beams at him.

The man clinked his glass with the silver spoon and cleared his throat, "We must first have the decency to introduce ourselves to this young gentle-man." he smiled at me and continued, "I am George Sheldon, the post master of the local post office of this town."  he gestured to the woman sitting beside him, "This is my lovely wife Clara Sheldon. The mother of the kids and the master of this household." everyone lightly giggled at his statement as the woman scolded him with her blue eyes. His finger pointed at the young man sitting next to Marcello, "That is my son, Alex Sheldon. He works as a farmer at the field next to our house, supervising the workers." then his index finger pointed to the last person sitting on the table beside the woman, "That is my daughter Angelica Sheldon, the light of all of our lives."  He beckoned to his wife to serve the food and said, "Serve our guest first so he can eat heartily."

          The food was served and Marcello ate like he hadn't eaten in days. George explained to Marcello that Angelica had seen him passed  out on their  field and informed  her mother. Axel had brought him home and they tended  him for three days, waiting for him  to wake up. 

          Marcello told them his story and thanked them over and over again. His story got everyone deciding to let him stay for the time-being and then help him reach France. They decided to keep him in their house, give him clothes because his seemed "so so sad" and lastly, feed him until he recovered. He obliged. That night he went to bed and thanked God for making these people cross his path and prayed for his family to be happy. Even though he had slept for a long time, sleep did come to him easily that night.

         After along time when his health recovered and he no longer looked like an anorexic-beggar , George took him to the post office and booked two seats at a bus that would take the two of them to France. He refused to let Marcello pay even after being consistently pursued. Marcello was more than grateful, he was indebted. As a sign to express his gratitude, he gave his remaining $6 to George who laughed and refused to take it as well. 

He said, "Marcello, you have come to be just like my son. And close people never repay favours. I won't take it, you keep it. You'll need it. You are my responsibility until we reach France."

            Marcello kept the money. The day of his departure arrived when he exchanged teary farewells with the Sheldons who were sad to see him go. George and he left for the bus stand. After quite a few bus changes and change of scenarios, they finally reached France. After Marcello waved farewell to the bus in which George was returning, he walked into the city in which he was dropped off. His destination was not so far now and now he had both food,water and clothes but the only problem: The city was vast, it would be a great accomplishment to not get lost and stay on track.

           With a bump, Marcello came back to reality. He turned to see the boat anchored to a pole on a sandy bay. It was midday, the sun high on the sky burning everyones' flesh. He looked back to be faced with a thin-lipped grim-faced Carson who said,

"We are here. This is Groix."

                              Marcello's heart froze. This was his Prison.

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