New short story! I write these in half an hour each

I live in society governed only by men, where women are known as child-bearers and useless, frivolous money wasters. From the day I was born, my parents knew I was different because of my wild auburn hair and dark green eyes. They always tried to beat me into the ideal young woman of my society. We were well off, upper bourgeoisie, but I cared little for money. 


I was walking down the lane once, when I was 8, to buy some milk from the dairy for my mother in my ridiculous, flouncy clothing and painful, toe-pinching shoes and tight petticoats. I saw a woman, in rags that beared little resemblance to clothing, but were easily recognisable as pants and a shirt. She was playing a majestic golden instrument, as loud as a cawing magpie, with such a strong, resilient sound that made me determined to free myself from the bonds of this society and to play that instrument for all to hear.


Later that year, my family were invited to the Queen’s 40th birthday celebrations. By this time, my mother had finally managed to birth a son, to the delight of my father. Soldiers played the same golden instrument as the woman in the street. This time however, the sound was disgusting, from greedy, conceited men playing for money. My father pointed out the instruments to my mother and remarked, “You know, Marie, I used to play the trumpet. It’s still in the house, in the cupboard under the stairs.” Later that day, I saw the woman from the street again, standing by an oak tree, play the trumpet, pouring her heart into it. The sound was beautiful and stood under the tree listening, learning.


From then on, whenever my parents were out, I would go into the sound-proof music room, where I was learning the flute and piano, and I would play. I remembered the sound of the notes the woman in rags had played and I learnt them. I taught myself to play common tunes on the trumpet, the instrument of men. Then I began inventing my own. But that wasn’t enough. On Christmas Eve, when my parents and my young brother were asleep, I grabbed my bags that I had packed full of the more functional of my clothes and my best dress should I have a need for it and the canned food and bottled water I had been stealing from the kitchens. I kissed my baby brother goodbye. He was the only person I would miss from my family. The servants distanced themselves from what they called “Uppity, selfish, good-for-nothings”, such as my family. 


I ran.


After three days of wandering, I settled down and laid my belongings in front of the small theatre built for the working class. It was starting to snow as the belated winter finally settled in. After three tiring nights, I smiled as I lay down to sleep on the rocky pavement.


For the rest of her life, Eleanor Frances Green played every night in front of the theatre. She became hardened to life on the streets. She learnt to protect her belongings and spend her money wisely. She left her family at the age of eight poured her love into her trumpet and nothing else until she died at 68. Her home was in front of the theatre. She treated others with nothing to the strong majestic sounds of her golden instrument. She never regretted leaving her family.