Old crone walking home (old poor lady, maybe dressed in layered rags - not too shabby, she still has dignity and cognability, but no money and is hunchbacked from years of survival)
street urchins - only about 4 yr.s old, do something funny but not nice to her. You have to get the street urchins right. If you don't have the right feel for them, I can send you some Victor Hugo quotes. (better yet, read his books!) - Oliver! would be a good resource.
She does the only thing she can, and ignores them, or chases them off with her cane. They easily dodge her, taunting her and making faces. She makes her way home despite them, just as she would if there was rain or something else. Street urchins are just another mildly bothersome fact of life.
When she gets home she realizes that she has dropped her only crust of bread. The street urchins have long ago devoured it. Something like a cat has caught their eye, and they have chased it to the roof next to her bare excuse for a room. She looks in the cupboard she knows is bare, and sighs. Bread.
Unbeknownst to her they see this and start watching her, forgetting the cat for the time being. Maybe the lucky cat starts watching too, showing that them chasing it was all a game they (the kids and the cat) all play fairly frequently, not some mean thing the cat really doesn't like (he likes the exercise and challenge - like "fishhead" likes to chase rats - have you read "fishhead"?)
she gets ready for bed, with her bare basics. maybe washing her face in a brocken bowl, or taking off her scarf and brushing her hair with an old comb. Taking off her excuse for boots and her shawl or coat. She walks towards the window and they scatter and hide instantly as only street urchins can. She opens it (for you can't see through it very well with it closed) and looks upon the industrial slums. She looks up and sees a star through a hole in the smog - hope. Bread.
The street urchins get an idea
bread.
They sneek off and go to the banks of a moggy river. The steep banks are completely covered with brightly colored rags in various stages of rotting. (this is a time/place where there is no garbage system) You see their little camp out under a bridge. They painstakingly go among the cattails and tall grass, and find individual isolated stalks of wheat. picking the ends off, maybe with old dirty trusty pocket knives. (this is all going on as the sun sets and all during the night in the light of the moon.)
bread. - is under each picture, maybe smaller or lighter of something to show that they are whispering it or sneaking.
they pull some big muddy rocks out of the shallow sides of the river, and wash them off in it. Roll the grain inbetween their hands to get the chaff off, then grind some of it between rocks. They mix it with water that has collected somewhere from the rain, and leave it to set out to catch some natural yeast. They take the rest and tie it in a cloth and dangle it in the water, tying the other end of the rope or string to the bridge posts or a stick. Then they spend a good portion of the rest of the night, searching out other stalks of wheat, chaffing them in their hands, and grinding a huge pile of flour. They then grind the wheat that soaked in the river all night long, and mix it with the "yeast" concoction, and let it set some more while they mix their huge pile of flour with water. then they add the "yeast" and take turns kneading and kneading it. Some of them wash their feet and use them to knead it too, maybe even elbows and hands. (these are street urchins with none of the bounderies scociety gives the rest of us.) They then set it close to the curve of the bridge, and enclose it with rocks, then pile wood around it and use a coveted piece of flint and steel to start a fire. It has been rising as they worked, so it now cooks perfectly, into a giant round blob of bread. Like you seein so many old fasioned pictures and movies. As it starts to get light, they hurriedly take the hot bread on burned fingers towards the old crones residence.
The old crone is sitting at her bare table. She bows her head. Bread. (at the top of the picture you see the bottom edge of the smallest kid climbing down a rope through a hole in the ceiling that only s/he (you can't tell on street urchins) can fit through (or a cat).
The next picture the old crone opens her unhopefull eyes and it takes her a moment to register what she sees. Bread! (at the top of the picture you see the tail end of the youngest kid and the rope dissapearing.)
After a feast (for her) the old crone puts the bread in the cupoard, but breaks off part of it, and takes it with her. Once again she is beset by he nemisis the street urchins. - and drops her chunk of bread. As the others go to devour it, the smallest one stops confused and it all dawns on her. She looks at the old crone with worried eyes, and the old crone winks at her.
Gleefully, and once again worry free, she skips off to fight for her share of the bread.
The street urchins gathered around the bread eating it.
Bread.
street urchins - only about 4 yr.s old, do something funny but not nice to her. You have to get the street urchins right. If you don't have the right feel for them, I can send you some Victor Hugo quotes. (better yet, read his books!) - Oliver! would be a good resource.
She does the only thing she can, and ignores them, or chases them off with her cane. They easily dodge her, taunting her and making faces. She makes her way home despite them, just as she would if there was rain or something else. Street urchins are just another mildly bothersome fact of life.
When she gets home she realizes that she has dropped her only crust of bread. The street urchins have long ago devoured it. Something like a cat has caught their eye, and they have chased it to the roof next to her bare excuse for a room. She looks in the cupboard she knows is bare, and sighs. Bread.
Unbeknownst to her they see this and start watching her, forgetting the cat for the time being. Maybe the lucky cat starts watching too, showing that them chasing it was all a game they (the kids and the cat) all play fairly frequently, not some mean thing the cat really doesn't like (he likes the exercise and challenge - like "fishhead" likes to chase rats - have you read "fishhead"?)
she gets ready for bed, with her bare basics. maybe washing her face in a brocken bowl, or taking off her scarf and brushing her hair with an old comb. Taking off her excuse for boots and her shawl or coat. She walks towards the window and they scatter and hide instantly as only street urchins can. She opens it (for you can't see through it very well with it closed) and looks upon the industrial slums. She looks up and sees a star through a hole in the smog - hope. Bread.
The street urchins get an idea
bread.
They sneek off and go to the banks of a moggy river. The steep banks are completely covered with brightly colored rags in various stages of rotting. (this is a time/place where there is no garbage system) You see their little camp out under a bridge. They painstakingly go among the cattails and tall grass, and find individual isolated stalks of wheat. picking the ends off, maybe with old dirty trusty pocket knives. (this is all going on as the sun sets and all during the night in the light of the moon.)
bread. - is under each picture, maybe smaller or lighter of something to show that they are whispering it or sneaking.
they pull some big muddy rocks out of the shallow sides of the river, and wash them off in it. Roll the grain inbetween their hands to get the chaff off, then grind some of it between rocks. They mix it with water that has collected somewhere from the rain, and leave it to set out to catch some natural yeast. They take the rest and tie it in a cloth and dangle it in the water, tying the other end of the rope or string to the bridge posts or a stick. Then they spend a good portion of the rest of the night, searching out other stalks of wheat, chaffing them in their hands, and grinding a huge pile of flour. They then grind the wheat that soaked in the river all night long, and mix it with the "yeast" concoction, and let it set some more while they mix their huge pile of flour with water. then they add the "yeast" and take turns kneading and kneading it. Some of them wash their feet and use them to knead it too, maybe even elbows and hands. (these are street urchins with none of the bounderies scociety gives the rest of us.) They then set it close to the curve of the bridge, and enclose it with rocks, then pile wood around it and use a coveted piece of flint and steel to start a fire. It has been rising as they worked, so it now cooks perfectly, into a giant round blob of bread. Like you seein so many old fasioned pictures and movies. As it starts to get light, they hurriedly take the hot bread on burned fingers towards the old crones residence.
The old crone is sitting at her bare table. She bows her head. Bread. (at the top of the picture you see the bottom edge of the smallest kid climbing down a rope through a hole in the ceiling that only s/he (you can't tell on street urchins) can fit through (or a cat).
The next picture the old crone opens her unhopefull eyes and it takes her a moment to register what she sees. Bread! (at the top of the picture you see the tail end of the youngest kid and the rope dissapearing.)
After a feast (for her) the old crone puts the bread in the cupoard, but breaks off part of it, and takes it with her. Once again she is beset by he nemisis the street urchins. - and drops her chunk of bread. As the others go to devour it, the smallest one stops confused and it all dawns on her. She looks at the old crone with worried eyes, and the old crone winks at her.
Gleefully, and once again worry free, she skips off to fight for her share of the bread.
The street urchins gathered around the bread eating it.
Bread.
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