The Gypsy Girl

Hey! This is a short story I wrote for my English assignment. It's dedicated to my really good friend, Priscilla,  for persuading me to finally publish this.  

The caravans went on and on and on. Like a river of moving bodies, they glinted in the setting sun as they smoothly drove down the tarmac road. It seemed like they never ended, as they collided with the horizon and moved together with it from there.

The little hill I was looking from was just outside the tiny town I lived in, which seemed to be forgotten and hidden from the rest of the world. No one came from "outside" – there wasn't any point. So as I watched the first caravan come to a stop near the abandoned car park that had been neglected for years, I was surprised to say the least.

I started cautiously walking down the hill to go and further investigate, when I heard the annoying ringtone I'd set especially for my father, from my phone. I debated answering the call, but then I thought the consequences would not be worth it if I didn't, so I answered it as I took the path back home.

I pressed the phone to my ear and I cringed when I heard the loud voice from the other side.

"Matt! Where are you?!"

"I –"

"I told you to wait at home, you stupid boy! Now look, I had to go searching for you!"

I sighed inwardly, and decided that this time I would keep my cool so as not to start a fight again.

"I'm sorry father. What did you need me for?"

"Those wretched gypsies are polluting our country! They're spreading everywhere and multiplying like cockroaches! I want you to come right home, do you hear me? People are saying that a new batch just arrived and are setting camp near us. Can you imagine the nerve they have?! Do you hear me? Straight home!"

So that's what those caravans were! As I digested that information, I frowned at the way father spoke about them. After seventeen years of him being my father, I knew him well enough to know he was not to be trusted near anyone who wasn't "like us", so I just agreed with him and ended the call.

But now my curiosity had grown.

What were they like? What were their stories? Why did they travel? I did the one thing my father told me not to do; I turned and hesitantly, I walked towards their campsite.

As I neared the car park, I hid behind a tree and spied on them.

They were conversing in a language I didn't know, hurriedly settling in, as the sky was a pinkish-red now, starting to build fires for the cold night. I took all this in, with amazement and wonder, my eyes jumping from group to group, until I suddenly froze and a thrill ran through me.

There, leaning against the back of a caravan, with her skirt pulled down to cover her knees that she'd brought up to her chin, with her tan skin and dark hair, sat a girl, about my age, like no other I'd ever seen. She was staring away from all the commotion, towards the open fields and the setting sky that lit up the sky. I was transfixed by her, and I didn't know why. Maybe it was the way she looked, away from the fire, alone, or perhaps it was her delicate figure, so small and cold-looking, yet skin glowing in the firelight. I didn't know what it was, but I was utterly and completely smitten by her.

All of a sudden, as if she knew I were there, her head turned and I was met with the most expressive, passionate, storm-warning eyes. We stared at each other for what seemed like years of untold history, and when she gave me a small, genuine smile, my heart fluttered with ecstasy.

I was about to walk to her and ask her name, when I heard loud shouting, cursing and crashing objects. I turned to look behind, my heart stopping – this time not in a good way – and saw a group of the most rough and big townsmen, my father among them. They probably just returned from the pub, drunk out of their minds, like they usually are at this time. They stomped onto the site, cursing loudly and kicking at the fire.

I saw one man, most likely the chief gypsy, try to reason with them. Suddenly, my father went in front of him and punched him in the jaw, shouting incoherent curses and insults. A collective gasp was heard. The gypsies were understandably aggravated, and a herd of big, gypsy men attacked the townsmen. It was chaos, men fighting, clanking sounds from the thumps on the caravans, women holding their children close to their hearts and watching in fear.

I shook myself out of my shocked state, and frantically looked for the girl. When my eyes found her, I seethed at what I saw. One of my fathers' friends had her pushed up against the caravan that she was previously leaning on, leering at her.

A strong feeling of wanting to protect her kicked in. I charged at the man from behind, and jumped on his back, bringing us both to the muddy ground.

It was as if something possessed him, and he started punching me with no mercy. I was unable to fight back, and was about to give up, when his body slumped on me, unconscious. There, standing on top of him, was the girl, with a metal rod in her hands and a satisfied grin on her face.

I quickly threw the man off me, staggering while getting up. I held her, ignoring the tingles, and tried to see if she was hurt.

"Are you okay?" I asked, looking into her eyes, which were a vivid sea green up close.

"I'm good, but you could be better", she whispered, her fingertips touching my already swollen eye.

I didn't say anything, I just absorbed her beauty. She stared at me too, and when I couldn't take it any longer, I broke the silence again.

"What's your name?"

"Marianna. Yours?"

"Matthew. But call me Matt."

She breathed a laugh and nodded, but I saw her smile disappear when she looked at something behind my shoulder. I turned to look, and was taken aback by the glare the chief was giving me. I turned to ask Marianna what that was all about, but was met with her fleeting figure.

I stood there for a moment, then dejectedly went home.

The next day, I hurriedly jogged towards the hill, intending to cross over it to go and meet Marianna. She hadn't left my thoughts since yesterday.

I reached the top of the hill and stopped. I looked down at the car park, around me, at the tarmac road that led away to infinite mysteries.

And there, with the wind blowing my hair and the light of the just-rising sun hitting my face, I watched as the caravans collided with the horizon and moved together with it, this time in the opposite direction, as they went on and on and on . . .