Jared was 10 when his parents sold him. His father made excuses about how they just couldn’t afford to support two children while his mother squeezed out a few tears. He knew that deep inside they were glad that he was leaving because even deeper inside, they were afraid of him.
His master was a skeletal man named Sharad. He took Jared to a large house in the town of Humil. Jared was assigned to a small, windowless room with four boys and three beds in it. He put his extra shirt down and was taken to get his mark of ownership.
When he came back, there were four beds and no sign of his shirt. No one said anything. Jared looked at the other boys. They all appeared about the same age as him and none of them looked particularly well cared for. All were marked by bruises, old and new, as well as cuts, scratches and scabs. The smallest boy had a bandage over one ear.
Jared moved toward a bed but his way was blocked by one of the boys. He tried again and again he was obstructed. After trying twice more, he picked a spot on the floor and curled up there. He knew that he would appear weak but he didn’t care. As much as he hated himself for it, he missed his parents. He missed his house. He missed his bed. He knew that he would find his place here and he knew that he would rise quickly but tonight he just game himself to his feelings.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t move. He gave no outward signs of how he felt. Jared knew that if he showed that sort of weakness, the others would be that much harder on him. He simply lay there, feeling sad, letting the emotions run their course and drain out of him. Tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow it would begin.
Entries (RSS)