2. Kathleen

Clara tossed me to the ground like a chewed-up chicken bone. The pain I am feeling is unbearable. I'll stay here.

"Let that be a lesson to you whore," Clara said and spat on me.

I could feel the cold air biting at my backside, and realizing it was still exposed, I pulled down my dress as best I could. I can feel the fibers crawl across the open wounds that now grace my ass, and it hurts.

I turn my head, my cheek rubbing against the gravel, and through the tears in my eyes, I can still see them staring as if I am some freak here for their entertainment.

"Get this lot back to work. Show's over," Clara says to the groping slave beside her.

"Right you lot, you heard Miss, back to it," he shouts. I hate him. I hate Clara. I hate this place and everything my life has become.

"Fancy me some suru for tea," I hear Clara remark as she disappears into her house.

I feel a breath on my neck and then a voice, "I'd offer to rub your ass better if you weren't so ugly and smelt like dripir shit."

And with a final insult, I feel a slap on my ass, and the pain soars back through me, and I can't help but cry.

"For your trouble," the other slave says and drops my food ration for the day wrapped in a stained piece of yellowing cloth beside me.

I must get up, but not until they have gone. So, I wait, I breathe, and try to rid my body of the pain, the exhaustion from my eyes, and the memories from my mind.

I hear footsteps approaching and look up to see one of the slave women kneeling beside me.

"It doesn't get any better," she says, and I recognize her voice from earlier, the one that stood up for me at the cook house. "Best you get yourself home."

And with that, she leaves. I suppose the best advice she could offer, seen as helping me, would only bring her trouble, and who around here needs more trouble?

Now, I sense I am alone. I slowly raise myself from the ground to my knees. I won't be able to sit properly for a while. I look at the cloth on the ground and pick it up.

Unwrapping it, I find a dirty piece of hard bread. All this trouble is for that meager scrap. But, at least Grandma Maud will eat tonight. I'll get by with a nibble or two. I think about her, and the tears return, glad no one is around to see them. I cry a little harder because of that.

I get to my feet and brush off the fresh dirt from my dress and cloak. There's already enough caked-in muck. I don't need any more weighing me down. I've got enough weight on these young shoulders that will take a lifetime to shrug off.

The light is fading, but today, out of all these days, I need the river. I need to cleanse myself. Yet, the pang of guilt for Grandma is always present, but I don't want to upset her at the sight of me. If I hurry, it will be okay.

The village looks just as bad, bathed in the twilight light as he does in any other light. I think only flames would turn it into a pretty sight. I make my way to the village square. I'm sure it might have been beautiful once, but now it is a haunted mess. I pass near the stocks that sit at its center, which always have a resident these days.

"Psst!" A frail figure of an old man, its latest guest, calls out to me.

I turn and feel sorry for him. His face is bruised by the past time of punching whoever is in the stocks the soldier elves like to partake in after a drinking session.

"Give us a kiss?" he says.

"What?" I reply. Is that the only thought in his mind right now?

"You're ugly, but you'll do," he giggles.

"Oh, fuck off," I say, I've had enough for one day. I move quickly away from the bag of rotten bones that he is.

"What about a wank then? I"ll settle for that," he calls out from behind me.

I feel like going back and kicking him in the balls. I feel the anger so thick inside me that I almost do. But who needs more trouble around here?

I make my way from the square, leaving its dead trees and broken picket fences behind, and take the small road that leads towards the river. That's when I hear the rattle of their carts.

I pull my cloak across me and lower my head at the expectation of the approaching elf soldiers that have begun to appear around the bend up ahead.

Gods, I hate them, vile creatures, that relish in the torture and misery they seem to think they have the right to inflict upon us. I need to be careful.

I move as close to the edge of the path as they rattle toward me. I see the human slaves that pull their cart, their faces thin with punishment and exhaustion. I watch as one of them stumbles.

Then, the crack of a whip.

"Get up, you bastard," one of the elf soldiers shouts.

The fear creeps into my stomach as they get closer, I must keep my head down, don't look up, don't make eye contact.

"What have we got here?" I hear one of them say. I keep moving.

"Would ya really want a piece?" another one of the dark elves says.

I feel their eyes upon me. I turn on my ankle slightly, almost losing my balance, but manage to regain it quickly.

"Nah, rather fuck a dripir," one of them says.

"She smells like one!" another adds, and they begin to cackle collectively.

And their interest in me is over. I leave them behind, and they leave me. Ugly is how they see me, and ugly I must be. The clothes I wear I may hate, but they protect me also. They keep me hidden away.

As I continue my journey, with the occasional pang of pain from my buttocks, it's not long before it all changes and life and color seem to return. Slowly mind. Much like the dawn of my youth, the further away from the village you get, the grays and rotten browns turn to bright greens, and the scent of evergreen replaces the smell of piss.

In the distance, I can hear the river as I come to the little path that will lead me to it. I follow it and marvel at the bright color of the brushes that line it. I can hear birds in the trees signing me a path as the light fades, painting a new world around me.

I love the smell of fresh, cool water. It fills my nostrils as I reach the river"s edge. Here, for me, is peace as I look around to ensure no eyes are in the brushes or behind the rocks that protect me here.

I know I am safe here, but I always like to double-check.

I remove my cloak, ensuring the piece of bread is safely placed upon it. Then, my skirt slowly over my ass the best I can, but the material catches, and the pain once again returns with a vengeance.

"Argh," I can't help but cry out. There's a sickness in my stomach, and I steady myself against a rock until it passes. Then, I remove my shirt and find myself naked under the twilight.

As I approach the water"s edge, the air feels good, cool but not cold. I pause for a second and stare at my reflection in the water.

My body is thin and bony. My face is frail and worn. I wonder how anyone could ever look upon me as beautiful and desirable. I imagine what the touch of kindness and love would feel like, the warmth and musk of another being holding me close and safe against their body.

I fear I will never know these things, but I have the river to embrace me for now. So I enter it and feel the cleansing tingle of the water surrounding me.

How beautiful to have it lift the smell and muck from my body. Tend carefully to the wounds inflicted on me.

I swim backstroke, letting my hair dip below the surface of the water. Then I turn, letting my breasts and head sink into the water, and I open my eyes unto another world. A world beneath, away from hardship, pain, and unkind voices that chase me daily.

I stay beneath until the need for air brings me to the surface. I notice the twilight has turned darker, but I still must try to wash my clothes.

I lift myself from the water. I don"t want to leave, but I know I must. I lift my dress and shirt and return to the water. I drown both until the dirt and horrible scent have left them, take them out, wring out the water, and place them on one of the rocks.

I go over to lift my cloak, letting the water drip from my naked body and the cool air dry me. Then I see it, and my heart sinks.

A small suru sits upon my cloak beside the piece of bread where I placed it.

"No, no," I whisper as I tense up my body and try to move slowly towards it. Then, a twig cracks beneath my feet, and I freeze.

I stare at the animal, and it stares at me. We are locked in time for a second, frozen and unsure what to do next.

It decides before I do, quickly snaps the bread into its mouth, and darts off.

"Fuck," I cry out and quickly grab my still-wet clothes and struggle into them. I can't lose that bread. I must not lose that bread.

I scan the undergrowth and see it stopped, the bread still in its mouth. I dart towards it, but it shoots off into the wood before I reach it.

I have no choice, I must catch it. Grandma's life depends upon it.