Sins of Mine - Mary E. Twomey Page 0,11
selective conscience of his you’ve settled for over the years.”
Then it hits me how many people stayed silent when I was sent to prison.
When Charlotte was locked up, it wasn’t even a blip in the papers.
I shrug, suddenly filled with disgust. “Or, you know what? Maybe you don’t deserve better than Regis. Maybe you’re getting exactly what you deserve, and there’s nothing better for you.”
I look down at the podium, gripping the sides to steady my temper. I cannot leave this place until some forward motion happens. I cannot let my campers down.
Now that I’ve let my voice out into the open, I cannot take it back.
“I know the future I deserve.” My finger taps a staccato beat into my sternum. “I know the freedom I’m not willing to sacrifice for the king’s treasury. I know what I’m worth, and so should each of you! Your vote matters. Your voice is important. There will always be someone coming to silence you, but you cannot let them! You must press on. For me, I will not stop until the world knows that the Sins of the Father is a corrupt bill that has never benefitted society. It doesn’t stop crimes. It’s not giving anyone a better future, to give breaks to criminals with loads of money. That’s not a functional society.”
I know I’ve skipped a huge part in the middle of my speech, but I feel myself hurtling toward my main point, and I can’t stop. Passion is a tidal wave in my soul, pushing me farther than I ever thought I would go, and in public, no less.
I can’t believe I ever promoted fashion when I could have been doing this. A rush fills me, clouding out the self-doubt and worry that almost kept me confined and quiet in the backseat of my father’s car.
Not today. Not ever again.
“I will not be quiet about a corrupt policy! I will not leave my fellow fugitives to fend for themselves. And if you sit idly by, shrugging while we lose our very voices, then I have no use for your selfishness! You have your king who will protect your precious head as you bury it in the sand. You have your comforts that keep you warm at night. And what do I have?”
A wicked smile finds me as my plan to help fund my camp finally cracks out over the crowd. To Sloan’s credit, he doesn’t look worried that I’m going to choke. This is the part of the speech I wrote myself, without Father’s permission.
Someone should stop me. Goodness knows I can’t stop myself now. I’m in too deep.
I go for broke and take off my shoe, holding the blush heel high for everyone to see. “Well, you all know what I have. I’ve got four-thousand-dollar stilettos. Each pair was bought by King Regis himself, paid for by taxpayers like you, and gifted to me.”
I pause for the gasps, because they’re too loud for me to talk over.
“If you’re with me, you can have them, too. In fact, to help fund the camp for my fellow ex-cons, I’m auctioning off each and every pair he bought me. If you support the idea of freedom for those wrongly accused, then bid high. Every dollar spent at the online auction I’ve set up will go directly to house the inmates the king has turned his back on.”
I run my finger along the satin, the mania in my tone quieting to a sadness I cannot conceal. “And for those of you who don’t need another pair of designer shoes, we still need your assistance. We need volunteers who can help us set up a life that cannot be stolen away from us again. I’m willing to bet that everyone here would care if their neighbor was taken away and chucked in some dank prison. The question is: how much do you care?” I make eye contact with the woman my age in the crowd. “Will you make yourself uncomfortable to help someone get back on their feet?”
The woman stands up on her toes and shouts so triumphantly that my insides rally. “I will!”
The desperate nature of her cry draws more people to raise their hands, letting me know that we don’t stand alone. Gray’s words of focus come to me right when I need them. “I want this life, with you. Not that life, where I don’t know when I’m going to be yanked out of my bed and thrown away. This life, not