Happy go lucky. That was once used by some of Port Kar to describe me. I have often lost myself into the daydreams and thoughts of the moment, and for some reason, no one ever seemed to care. I was so very pleased with myself. I had prepared a special meal for him, right down to a tasty dessert. I had even attempted my first time at weaving a basket, though no sooner than I tested it with a stone, the left bottom side fell out. I asked one of the other slaves to teach me, and while I could tell she disliked me and felt I was an intrusion there, she said she would show me but one time how to do certain things. The first lesson was to be the basket weave. She showed me where the strength of the basket needed to be, and how to cross the layers just so to give it foundation. She said once I showed her that I had brains enough to do that, she'd teach me the next thing I asked. Beading. I so much want to bead the jacket if I am allowed the leather, but I didn't dare tell her of such a secret. She walked off after asking what I was called, and when I replied "Pink", she said it fit for a dweller. I could tell she too did not think I will survive here. But in my mind, despite all else, I see no other option. Not if I am to remain with him.
After several ahn of trying this basket weaving, I finally put it down for the day and would try again tomorrow. I noticed some of the girls tossing out feed to the vulo, so I asked if I could help. BIG mistake. Oh sure, they laughed and gave me handfuls of feed, and off I went, sprinkling it out there like they had been doing. Somehow, somewhere, they forgot to tell me that the vulo will chase you if you run out and they are still hungry. I don't think I have ever run so fast to his wagon since having arrived. Nor did I realize such small fowl could be so viscous! I'm sure it gave them all a good laugh, and subject for the evening talk amongst themselves. City slave feeds the vulo and almost becomes vulo food herself.
After cleaning the wagon, and so forth, I had put the finishing touches upon the quilt just in time to hide it when Master approached. I was feeling so good about things, even finding a bit of humor in the antics of the afternoon. He crouched down, and I greeted him from my lounging position, giving little to no thought of it. What a mistake that was. I soon found myself thrust down to the ground, first upon my face, then soon shoved to my back. At first, I had no idea what I had done to anger him, but I begged forgiveness even so. Another mistake, in that since I was unclear in what I had done wrong, he questioned to what it is that I was begging forgiveness for. My reply of his displeasure was too vague, for it provided him no answers as to what I had done.
When it all started to dawn on me what his anger was over, when he explained to me of how I had sat there as though I was an equal and spoke to him over the fire as one of the free, I felt foolish. It was an act that could have been prevented had I only been thinking. I knew better. At this point, though he had not struck me, my body was sore from hitting the ground and my insides ached from the tone of his voice. At that moment, I was so angry with myself that I wanted to burst. Burst I did. Right at his feet, weeping uncontrollably. For all that I had held in, it came out like the breaking of a dam before I could stop it. All of the emotion, the fears, everything, all unloaded into the tears on his boots.
He allowed me to beg, for forgiveness and for his guidance, though I am unsure his forgiveness was ever granted. Not that I deserve it. Perhaps I am just as he calls me. Worthless. For nothing of my past can help me now. He did not need a whip to lash me. His words left welts deeper than my skin. All of the efforts made, they seem so trivial, so useless when it takes only a single act such as I committed to destroy any hope he had in me. He didn't have to speak it. He has no like for dwellers, as he calls them. None here do. How could I be so stupid to try to convince him that I know him inwardly when I am the epitome of that which leaves such a distaste in his mouth?
He left me so to go to the fires, while I was left crying in the snow. He had given me so much to think on; to work toward. But would it keep me there, with him, at his feet where I need to be? Need like I need the air to breathe...
Reason tells me if he didn't want me, I wouldn't be here. There are enough others in camp to who he could pass me off if he really wanted. Or he could cut my throat and be done with it. I cling to that small bit, as minute as it may be.
After several ahn of trying this basket weaving, I finally put it down for the day and would try again tomorrow. I noticed some of the girls tossing out feed to the vulo, so I asked if I could help. BIG mistake. Oh sure, they laughed and gave me handfuls of feed, and off I went, sprinkling it out there like they had been doing. Somehow, somewhere, they forgot to tell me that the vulo will chase you if you run out and they are still hungry. I don't think I have ever run so fast to his wagon since having arrived. Nor did I realize such small fowl could be so viscous! I'm sure it gave them all a good laugh, and subject for the evening talk amongst themselves. City slave feeds the vulo and almost becomes vulo food herself.
After cleaning the wagon, and so forth, I had put the finishing touches upon the quilt just in time to hide it when Master approached. I was feeling so good about things, even finding a bit of humor in the antics of the afternoon. He crouched down, and I greeted him from my lounging position, giving little to no thought of it. What a mistake that was. I soon found myself thrust down to the ground, first upon my face, then soon shoved to my back. At first, I had no idea what I had done to anger him, but I begged forgiveness even so. Another mistake, in that since I was unclear in what I had done wrong, he questioned to what it is that I was begging forgiveness for. My reply of his displeasure was too vague, for it provided him no answers as to what I had done.
When it all started to dawn on me what his anger was over, when he explained to me of how I had sat there as though I was an equal and spoke to him over the fire as one of the free, I felt foolish. It was an act that could have been prevented had I only been thinking. I knew better. At this point, though he had not struck me, my body was sore from hitting the ground and my insides ached from the tone of his voice. At that moment, I was so angry with myself that I wanted to burst. Burst I did. Right at his feet, weeping uncontrollably. For all that I had held in, it came out like the breaking of a dam before I could stop it. All of the emotion, the fears, everything, all unloaded into the tears on his boots.
He allowed me to beg, for forgiveness and for his guidance, though I am unsure his forgiveness was ever granted. Not that I deserve it. Perhaps I am just as he calls me. Worthless. For nothing of my past can help me now. He did not need a whip to lash me. His words left welts deeper than my skin. All of the efforts made, they seem so trivial, so useless when it takes only a single act such as I committed to destroy any hope he had in me. He didn't have to speak it. He has no like for dwellers, as he calls them. None here do. How could I be so stupid to try to convince him that I know him inwardly when I am the epitome of that which leaves such a distaste in his mouth?
He left me so to go to the fires, while I was left crying in the snow. He had given me so much to think on; to work toward. But would it keep me there, with him, at his feet where I need to be? Need like I need the air to breathe...
Reason tells me if he didn't want me, I wouldn't be here. There are enough others in camp to who he could pass me off if he really wanted. Or he could cut my throat and be done with it. I cling to that small bit, as minute as it may be.
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