Dishonor [Nanowrimo 2013]

Chapter 1: Slave

"Get up, girl!" Pain erupted in my side as a boot rammed into my bruised ribs, yanking me out of my dream.

I gasped, and curled up, praying the guard wouldn't kick me again. The dark walls of the windowless stone cell closed in around me.

I know better than to look up at the guards when they're angry, but I did anyway. Bald head, lines creasing his forehead, and that really ugly, ginger goatee... it was Kicker. Without even looking down at me, he lifted his foot and swung. Pain lanced through my middle and I doubled over clutching at my abused stomach.

"Come on, you disgusting criminal. Get your lazy bones off the floor. You've got work to do." His deep voice sounded like rocks grating against each other. "You're a drag on our city's limited resources. The king should just kill the lot of you!"

Well, silly guards, if you killed us, then who would clean the streets and change your chamber pots? Kill us, and you'll no longer have slave labor.

I forced myself up off the stone floor, even though every muscle in my body screamed in pain. Still clutching my sore stomach, I stood up and straightened out my tattered burlap sack.

I dashed for my cell door. If I could escape into the prison yard, I could find my work unit, and Kicker wouldn't put out the effort to find me amongst the other dishonored.

"You ain't goin' nowhere yet, trash." His hand struck my cheek, and I stopped, too afraid of what he might do. "I told you to get up, not to run out. You know the rules. Your whole family unit has to be ready before we move into the yard."

The stones worn smooth from generations of dishonored sleeping on them were the safest thing to look at. Any sign that I could think for myself could - and would - be treated as rebellious.

I kept my head down but looked over at my family. My skeletal mother still sitting on the ground as the guard walked toward them. Oh please God, help her get up. She's too thin and beaten already. She scrambled to her feet just in time as my stepfather, Jordan, just stood there. She stared at the ground, her thin frame shaking with fear. Next to them, my five half-siblings were already standing, waiting, their little shoulders hunched.

My older sister, Casia, used to always be by my side. She used to stand with her head bent down and her short curly brown hair covering the top of her head. She'd look over, and share a smile with me when the guards weren't looking. Her dark green eyes were inquisitive and defiant, not like some of the Dishonored who would get this far off glassy haze over their eyes. But there was no one next to me now. My heart clenched at the thought of the nights Casia stayed in the guard's rooms, but at least they didn't beat her anymore.

Kicker looked me up and down, licking his lips in a way that sent shivers down my spine. I was all too aware that my sister was getting older and wouldn't be considered 'fresh' anymore. Soon she would be discarded, and she'd need to be replaced.

My beautiful and noble sister should have married a nobleman who would have protected and supported her. Instead she was just another gutter rat. Of course, I was also a gutter rat. I could never let go of my hatred for the king who had taken my father's life and left my family shivering in this place. We hadn't even done anything wrong; we were stuffed in these cells simply because we were related to a criminal.

"Dishonored scum." A glob of saliva hit my cheek. I did not move a muscle. This was a test of my obedience. "Get out of this cell and go earn a reason to breathe. Should just kill the lot of you." He laughed as if he had just made a joke.

I slowly trudged forward out of the cell, my bare feet shuffling against the cold, unyielding stone. Behind me I could hear Kicker closing the cell, and I could feel the glob of spit fall off my cheek.