Remisa Bulton's Story

Chapter Two: The Memories

             My youth was a disaster, I was forced to submit to scum for being low to them. I was forced into humiliation and compliance when I wanted to fight. I am bound by the scars of a Malevolent Savior, I should of chose death…my life is a mistake. But yet I live as if it weren’t, cleaning the Highblood’s many rooms and Cooking meals, and running idiotic errands, cleaning blood from the walls and floors where he’d killed other lowbloods that day. Which leads us to the interesting present timeline of my life, me cleaning maroon stains from the floor tiles of the main hall, I use to have a maroon blooded friend, I really don’t know what happened to her.                                                                                                           

         I think about this for a few seconds before I hear the sound of the, oh so familiar, chuckling from down the hall. My “master” as he requires me to call him walks slowly down the hall, a wide toothy grin on his face as he checks up on my work scrubbing. “Wow, you can barley tell a maroon fucker was slaughtered here” he laughs, turning to gaze at me. I avoided his gaze, scrubbing the ground harder. He leans down, resting his large hand upon my hair, sliding his fingers through it softly, I hold my breath, waiting for him to punch me in the face, or rip out my hair. I just sit on the ground motionless, shaking ever so slightly. Man, I wish he would just humiliate me and leave already. He hums under his breath, continuing to run his fingers through my long hair.

            He suddenly removes his hand, moving his hand to grip my chin and force me to look at him. His usual clown makeup was slightly smeared and some of his grey skin was showing. His chilling toothy grin grew illogically wider as he glared at me. “so my little SHITBLOOD,” he started, his tone fluctuating, digging his nails deeper into my chin and cheeks, “how about we go get a bite to eat, its not often I feed you on such a random occasion.” I sigh, louder then I should have, looking down at my hands. He growls slightly, digging his nails even deeper, sending small drips of blood off my chin and onto my dress.  “X-xanthe, you’re hurting me…”I mumble, it wasn’t the right time to call him by his real name, I should of said master, but I hate that word. He growled louder, his smile fading, I was going to get beat for this wasn’t I?  

            I felt the grip on my face release and a surprised look crossed my face. He stood up straight, his face still humorless and solemn. “I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to be so disrespectful to you.” I sit up on my knees and bow, my hands spread out by my head, it was so disgusting…I felt so awful.

            “If you’re hungry and want to eat, I suggest you stop being a LITTLE SHIT, and show a little respect for your MASTER!” he shouts, and I shudder slightly, nodding my head. He motions me to follow him and since I don’t feel like getting into more trouble, I follow. I was tired, the Highblood had been pulling all nighters all week, just sitting in the big leather chair in his quarters drinking that fizzy fruity beverage that he loved oh so much, and making me tell jokes and riddles all night long, or playing some awful game with him. Eventually at the end of the week, he would tire out himself, and I would finally be able to sleep as well. But I knew when he passed out from exhaustion I would sneak off to his library, hoping not to get caught. I loved reading the many books on past rebellions of lowbloods and the history of the many lands, it was really quite fascinating.

            We got to the dining block, walking through the elaborate jeweled doors, there were a few High-bloods sitting with their own slaves standing next to them. I guess I was lucky because those High-bloods had new slaves every week, sometimes day. But Xanthe had kept me around for four sweeps surprisingly, I thought I’d of been culled for my attitude I seemed to have with him. He sat down and pulled a seat next to him, motioning me to sit. Another thing that was lucky was that he fed me, more then other slaves at least who only got scraps and would even resort to cannibalism.  After I was seated, he stood, moving to the buffet and coming back with a large plate full of bread and meat, and few fruits and vegetables.