Chapter 1: Abandoned- Travis
First post... hype?
My heart beats thunderously in my chest, so loud I think they can hear it. I try to quiet my breathing, but having sprinted for ten miles didn't help my cause. For what seemed like forever, they searched for me. So many times they seemed to be on the verge of spotting me, but they never did. After what seemed like a lifetime, they left. I waited another ten or so minutes, to make sure the coast was clear. As I stepped out of my hiding spot, I took in the house's abandoned interior. It was abandoned, as I was. But for me, abandoned wasn't a description, it was a title.
I stepped into the lowering sun, judging that about two hours had passed since I had entered the house. I slung my sack over my shoulder. The sack that would feed my family for the coming days. The sack that had nearly gotten me killed. I started walking home, hunching over. My mother would scold me for it, saying that I shouldn't slouch if I didn't want to have a bad back when I was older. I never said this, but I didn't think 'older' would ever happen for me.
As I approached my hovel of a home that contained my family, I thought of my family. My two younger brothers, my mother, and my aged and crippled father. It would be so easy to leave them behind and fend for myself. But I could never do it. I called out "Mom, I'm home!", and as I said this, she came bustling out of the house in a bundle of maternal concern.
"Oh Travis, when you didn't come earlier, I though that-" she choked off there, not able to complete the sentence
"It's okay Mom, I'm home now. And guess what? I brought food!" I said, holding up the sack.
"Oh that's great honey! How long do you think it will last?" She asked, eyes sparkling. Moments like that made it worth it to go risk my life for food every week. Of course, the food helped too.
"I think it'll last about a week if we use it right." I answer, smiling back.
"Lovely! I'll go wake the boys," referring to my two little brothers.
She enters the house as she had exited it, and I walked inside to find my father sitting at the table. I set our meal for the night on the table, waiting for my brothers to emerge from our room. I didn't have to wait long, as the promise of food woke them up quickly. They entered with my mother and we all joined my father at the table. As I knew they would, my brothers quickly started scarfing down their meal, while my parents ate slower. When they were finished, everyone seemed to have a little extra on their metaphorical plates for them. I didn't begrudge them this food, they would pay it back eventually. Exactly as I had.
I hated the life I had been handed, hated Higher Society for their privilege. We had nothing, while they had everything. My mother would always quote an ancient proverb, saying 'You must play with the hand you are dealt.' When I asked what it meant, she said that it meant that we must deal with what were are given. The wording of the proverb was strange, but I always assumed that the 'dealt' part was explaining you must deal with what comes to you, and the 'hand' and 'play' would refer to a game you must play with your hands, no matter what kind of a hand you had. Digits missing, crippled, it didn't matter. You had to play.
After dinner, everyone left the table to return to their small, filthy beds. Except for my father. He stayed where he had been ever since I had entered. I started walking to my room, when he said "Please, Travis, sit here and talk to me for a moment." I stopped and turned to see that he had pulled a chair up next to him. I obliged my father, sitting in the chair. He looked my in the eye and said, "Travis, you must know I'm not long for this world. Don't you?" I nodded, knowing he was right. He had been getting progressively sicker in the past weeks. My mother knew as well, but she wasn't likely to face that reality before its time.
"Then you must make me a promise."
"Anything, father"
"You must help them get through this, do you hear me? I won't be able to go to my grave not knowing if they would live or not." I was stunned by the fact he thought I might leave after his death.
"Of course!" I said.
"Do I have your word?" He asked
"Yes, Dad, you have." I said. Suddenly, I was startled by the tears that had appeared in his eyes.
"Dad. I've always wanted you to call me that." He said. I was numb by the fact that I was so insensitive as to not to notice the only thing he had ever wanted from me. He had never asked me of much, but I had denied him what was unasked. And now, it was nearly too late.
A week later, my father died. My mother upon realizing he was dead threw herself upon his body, sobbing. I grieved silently at his loss. My brothers were silent, looking to their feet. They were in disbelief, that the man that they had thought invincible was now dead. I had no time to feel sorry for myself, as the food was nearly gone. I set out to the Servants' Quarters.
The Servants' Quarters was the nearest 'town' to us, a place I went often for food. The Protected and The Servants lived there, as the name suggested. They were the lucky ones, the ones that were chosen to live without the constant fear that was a staple of my life. They were fed and lived fairly comfortably. I could only ever hope I might be one of them one day.
As I walked through the streets, trying to seem invisible, I scoped out possible targets to steal from. I found multiple places that would likely feed my family, so I sat near one, trying to get the shopkeeper to forget me. As I sat, I heard the clop of horse hooves on the cobblestone roads. I looked up, without moving my head, to observe the scene. It was a Royal, coming to visit the town and possibly pick out servants for his/her own use.
When the horse and its rider came into sight, I was amazed by what I saw. A young girl of fourteen or fifteen, a small yet open smile on her face,looking down on us. I was unused to this treatment. Most of Higher Society saw us as scum, and so came down the streets with lips pursed. As for her age, she must have been one of The Honored, and so was a possibility for the future leader of our society. Her beauty was undeniable, and she would obviously attract a number of suitors later in life. Long, blonde hair that hung to her small shoulders, a face that showed no signs of makeup or surgery, and a slight build that only added to her beauty. At any rate, she was to be respected.
As she rode through, I thought of that horse. How much money or food it might be worth. I had heard rumors that horseback riding was only a hobby to Higher Society, and they had machines that they could use to get around at unthinkable speeds. But whenever we were visited, horses were the transportation they would use. The girl stopped, looking at me. I raised my head, knowing that I would have to show her respect. I know my place.
As she looked at me, I saw a man on the other side of the road pull out a knife. Her gaurds never noticed. They were too busy scrutinizing me, assessing the threat I held. The guy charged at her, knife raised. I sprang up as he yelled, "This is for my family, you bitch!". The guards seemed to turn in slow motion, not realizing what was happening until it happened. But I was faster. Even if I died here, my family would not live in poverty anymore. I would have saved an Honored.
I saw every rotation of the knife as it flied through the air, straight towards the girl's chest. But before it reached its intended target, I was there. The knife sunk into my stomach, and I gritted my teeth from the sharp pain as I fell back. My head hit the ground, and everything went black.
This is my place.
My heart beats thunderously in my chest, so loud I think they can hear it. I try to quiet my breathing, but having sprinted for ten miles didn't help my cause. For what seemed like forever, they searched for me. So many times they seemed to be on the verge of spotting me, but they never did. After what seemed like a lifetime, they left. I waited another ten or so minutes, to make sure the coast was clear. As I stepped out of my hiding spot, I took in the house's abandoned interior. It was abandoned, as I was. But for me, abandoned wasn't a description, it was a title.
I stepped into the lowering sun, judging that about two hours had passed since I had entered the house. I slung my sack over my shoulder. The sack that would feed my family for the coming days. The sack that had nearly gotten me killed. I started walking home, hunching over. My mother would scold me for it, saying that I shouldn't slouch if I didn't want to have a bad back when I was older. I never said this, but I didn't think 'older' would ever happen for me.
As I approached my hovel of a home that contained my family, I thought of my family. My two younger brothers, my mother, and my aged and crippled father. It would be so easy to leave them behind and fend for myself. But I could never do it. I called out "Mom, I'm home!", and as I said this, she came bustling out of the house in a bundle of maternal concern.
"Oh Travis, when you didn't come earlier, I though that-" she choked off there, not able to complete the sentence
"It's okay Mom, I'm home now. And guess what? I brought food!" I said, holding up the sack.
"Oh that's great honey! How long do you think it will last?" She asked, eyes sparkling. Moments like that made it worth it to go risk my life for food every week. Of course, the food helped too.
"I think it'll last about a week if we use it right." I answer, smiling back.
"Lovely! I'll go wake the boys," referring to my two little brothers.
She enters the house as she had exited it, and I walked inside to find my father sitting at the table. I set our meal for the night on the table, waiting for my brothers to emerge from our room. I didn't have to wait long, as the promise of food woke them up quickly. They entered with my mother and we all joined my father at the table. As I knew they would, my brothers quickly started scarfing down their meal, while my parents ate slower. When they were finished, everyone seemed to have a little extra on their metaphorical plates for them. I didn't begrudge them this food, they would pay it back eventually. Exactly as I had.
I hated the life I had been handed, hated Higher Society for their privilege. We had nothing, while they had everything. My mother would always quote an ancient proverb, saying 'You must play with the hand you are dealt.' When I asked what it meant, she said that it meant that we must deal with what were are given. The wording of the proverb was strange, but I always assumed that the 'dealt' part was explaining you must deal with what comes to you, and the 'hand' and 'play' would refer to a game you must play with your hands, no matter what kind of a hand you had. Digits missing, crippled, it didn't matter. You had to play.
After dinner, everyone left the table to return to their small, filthy beds. Except for my father. He stayed where he had been ever since I had entered. I started walking to my room, when he said "Please, Travis, sit here and talk to me for a moment." I stopped and turned to see that he had pulled a chair up next to him. I obliged my father, sitting in the chair. He looked my in the eye and said, "Travis, you must know I'm not long for this world. Don't you?" I nodded, knowing he was right. He had been getting progressively sicker in the past weeks. My mother knew as well, but she wasn't likely to face that reality before its time.
"Then you must make me a promise."
"Anything, father"
"You must help them get through this, do you hear me? I won't be able to go to my grave not knowing if they would live or not." I was stunned by the fact he thought I might leave after his death.
"Of course!" I said.
"Do I have your word?" He asked
"Yes, Dad, you have." I said. Suddenly, I was startled by the tears that had appeared in his eyes.
"Dad. I've always wanted you to call me that." He said. I was numb by the fact that I was so insensitive as to not to notice the only thing he had ever wanted from me. He had never asked me of much, but I had denied him what was unasked. And now, it was nearly too late.
A week later, my father died. My mother upon realizing he was dead threw herself upon his body, sobbing. I grieved silently at his loss. My brothers were silent, looking to their feet. They were in disbelief, that the man that they had thought invincible was now dead. I had no time to feel sorry for myself, as the food was nearly gone. I set out to the Servants' Quarters.
The Servants' Quarters was the nearest 'town' to us, a place I went often for food. The Protected and The Servants lived there, as the name suggested. They were the lucky ones, the ones that were chosen to live without the constant fear that was a staple of my life. They were fed and lived fairly comfortably. I could only ever hope I might be one of them one day.
As I walked through the streets, trying to seem invisible, I scoped out possible targets to steal from. I found multiple places that would likely feed my family, so I sat near one, trying to get the shopkeeper to forget me. As I sat, I heard the clop of horse hooves on the cobblestone roads. I looked up, without moving my head, to observe the scene. It was a Royal, coming to visit the town and possibly pick out servants for his/her own use.
When the horse and its rider came into sight, I was amazed by what I saw. A young girl of fourteen or fifteen, a small yet open smile on her face,looking down on us. I was unused to this treatment. Most of Higher Society saw us as scum, and so came down the streets with lips pursed. As for her age, she must have been one of The Honored, and so was a possibility for the future leader of our society. Her beauty was undeniable, and she would obviously attract a number of suitors later in life. Long, blonde hair that hung to her small shoulders, a face that showed no signs of makeup or surgery, and a slight build that only added to her beauty. At any rate, she was to be respected.
As she rode through, I thought of that horse. How much money or food it might be worth. I had heard rumors that horseback riding was only a hobby to Higher Society, and they had machines that they could use to get around at unthinkable speeds. But whenever we were visited, horses were the transportation they would use. The girl stopped, looking at me. I raised my head, knowing that I would have to show her respect. I know my place.
As she looked at me, I saw a man on the other side of the road pull out a knife. Her gaurds never noticed. They were too busy scrutinizing me, assessing the threat I held. The guy charged at her, knife raised. I sprang up as he yelled, "This is for my family, you bitch!". The guards seemed to turn in slow motion, not realizing what was happening until it happened. But I was faster. Even if I died here, my family would not live in poverty anymore. I would have saved an Honored.
I saw every rotation of the knife as it flied through the air, straight towards the girl's chest. But before it reached its intended target, I was there. The knife sunk into my stomach, and I gritted my teeth from the sharp pain as I fell back. My head hit the ground, and everything went black.
This is my place.