𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 • 𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜

02 • The New York Times

Mildred Mae Elliot held her head with pride as she walked the bustling streets of Brooklyn, NY, clutching her winter coat tightly around herself, doing her best to appear confident in the big, new city.

She found herself attempting to avoid the less than discreet stares sent her way by the boys and girls around her age, her new neighbours.

Mildred slowed her pace as she walked up to a street vendor, handing him a dime and picked up The New York Times for her father, dated Wednesday, 30th of December, 1936.

Her parents were busy working most of the time, which in this day and age was a good thing, since the Great Depression was in full swing. This of course led to Mildred spending most of her time alone, especially since she'd only just moved to town.

As Mildred passed the windows full of beautiful coats and winter hats, she felt oddly uncomfortable about how in between each shop, showing what Brooklyn would consider 'luxury,' was a man, woman, or even a child, starving on the streets.

Mildred's family were in no means rich, but were they surviving better than many during this time? Absolutely.

Young girls' snickers traveled through her ears as she walked down the path, whispers being thrown around about her. Mildred pretended she couldn't hear the snarky remarks being made about the size of her legs, or one particularly rude comment about how she looked like she was going to burst right out of her girdle.

She was used to people commenting on her size, always telling her to lay off the sweets. Her thicker thighs rubbed together as she walked, and she never seemed to be able to achieve that pinched waist that she so desired.
Mildred was midsized, but in the 30s, people were never short of cruel, picking on anything about her that they could.

The whispers and glares sent her way felt suffocating, but a large crash grabbed her attention and Mildred snapped her head to face down a dimly lit alleyway.

A small, frail man was being cornered by two, no, three much taller, young thugs. They had pushed him into a group of tin garbage cans, but he got back up and raised his fists.

Many people walked by the alley, glancing down the isle to see what was going on but ultimately did nothing to help.

It infuriated Mildred, seeing so many people either walk past like nothing happened, or even point and stare at the poor, young man who was getting pummelled by fists over and over again.

Mildred rolled up the newspaper she clutched in her hand and started walking down the slushy alley, careful to step over the putrid garbage and muck that scattered the ground.

As she neared the three thugs, the clicks of her heels alerted them, and they all turned to face her. Nobody could have been much older than a teenager, at the latest, just like her. Even the blonde who was attempting to pull himself off of the ground, though small, showed the face of someone near her own age.

"Well, hey there, girlie." The tallest of the three men exclaimed, wiping blood off of his knuckles onto his slacks. "You need somethin'?" His Brooklyn accent was thick, and Mildred could see a cocky glimmer in his eye.

It angered Mildred, how boys like this felt they could get away with anything and everything. They were nothing but a bunch of meat heads, so Mildred decided to enjoy this.

She batted her eyelids up at the taller men, giggling at them, stroking their egos. "There was something I was hoping you boys could do for me..." The young thugs seemingly forgot all about the boy behind them, who's blue eyes briefly met with hers before Mildred diverted her attention back to the attackers.