Urban Woman (Tessa Darcy)

A peculiar feeling lurked through the gloomy air that morning, it was September 2nd 1792 in the city of Paris. The day initiated just as any other, I speedily set up my cart and withered behind the blazing sun awaiting for the nobles patrolling the streets to purchase cloth from my cart. As my stomach bellowed and plead to be suffused, finally a customer approached my cart. He scanned through various different cloths, and would hold up some to get a different perspective. My body immediately bubbled with excitement and anticipation as I surveilled his emerald green eyes gaze upon the cloths. I needed this money, more than anything. My kids at home were starving, I was starving, without these earnings, I don't think we would be able to make it through the next week. As the man ransacked his pockets and his hands fulfilled with coins approached mine, an echo of voices from the distance rang in my ears. The man's coins then descended to the ground, he jumped to the sudden calling of voices in the streets. An expression of nervousness and worry unravelled across his face, and like that my once paying customer vanished into thin air. Annoyance swept through me, and the earthquake inside my stomach allowed me to remember how significant those few coins would have been. The echoes of voices continued to linger throughout the streets, becoming more and more audible. Simply ignoring it at first, I straightened out the rows and rows of cloth on my cart. The pitter patter of footsteps rang in my ears, and the streets bursted with civilians running around appearing confused and lost. My body began to tremble in both fear and hunger, to be safe I crouched behind the cart not sure what was coming next. Seconds later a mob of angry citizens swarmed the cobblestone walkway before me. In between the mob was about 20 or more priests, ropes tying their hands behind their backs. The civilians continuously shouted, "To the  L'Abbaye, To the L'Abbaye!" The L'Abbaye was a prison in Paris. As they shouted, the priests took whacks and hits to the skull, and I fastened my eye lids as quickly as possible to avoid seeing them being grotesquely murdered. My heart sunk and my chest clenched as I viewed this occur right in the street. This was when I realized that no matter how hungry, cold, restless, dirty, or little equipped the third estate was, we were not going to back down without a fight. The priests deserved this, all these years we have been doing their work and labor and paying their taxes, it is about time they were punished for their actions. No matter how many priests were executed, nothing could make up for the taxes and efforts put into France by the third estate. This was a revolution, and I was expecting more massacres like this to come.