My story (Part 1)

I pull my head from under the water, and sit up straight in the tub.  I glance in front of me, and instantly regret it, seeing myself in the mirror. I raise my hand up to my face, and once again lament the circumstances that led me to where I am now.

                I look up at the blank face of the man who was carrying me; he looks so strange. I had never seen anyone without a name mark before. I smelled something bitter, like lemons, but not the same, and what little of the sky I could see glows red. The blank man spoke words that made no sense to me, something I’d never heard before. He handed me off to someone else, another blank man, but this one looked kinder, more like my Da. He smiled down at me, and carried me into a med-bay. The needle entered my vein with a pinch, and everything went black.

Grimacing, I turned away from the mirror. I still never understand why they put these in my quarters; I thought I’d sent word ahead to have none of them present. Too late, I suppose. It isn’t the fault of the dog that the master told him wrong. I lie back in the tub, and close my eyes, preparing for another wave of memories. Baths tend to do that to me.

                The chains bite into my wrists and ankles; I’ve never gotten used to the chafing, don’t think I ever will either. I am pulled down the hallway by the Amarrian who owns me, and once more I wonder what I did to deserve this hell. I wonder if anyone remembers what today is. It’s my birthday, and my Mum told me before I was stolen that today, the day I turned 11, would be the day that I had my Voluval. Here I am without even a name mark. Eleven years old and no name mark. I’m ashamed to call myself Matari. I look down at the plush red carpet I’m walking on; evidently these priests are well to-do. I guess I’d best get used to these chains, I highly doubt that I’ll be out of them anytime soon. My slaver pulls me into an office where I’m told to kneel. I grimace, but I do as I’m told – the slavers cane hurts worse on my back than kneeling does on my pride. I tune out their conversation, and then click back into reality when my chains are handed to someone else. I don’t dare to look up, but the hand pulling me this time is much gentler than the one I am used to. I don’t dare get my hopes up…do I?

Glancing down at my wrists I see the chain scars, and the marks from the nails the slaver put into his chains. I rub my right wrist, it’s never stopped aching after it got broken; not even the podder tech can get rid of that. One of my rare smiles appears as I trace one of the smaller crescent shaped scars on my hand. I remember who gave me that one…and it was worth every drop of blood.

                I look up at her…god she’s beautiful. I hate myself for thinking that, I shouldn’t be feeling these things. She owns me, it’s not like we could ever…well, anything. The way the sunlight hits her skin though; I can’t help myself.  It’s like their God has come down and been personified in her. I can’t think this – this is evil. I turn away and go back to my task for a moment before it’s like gravity pulling me back. I can’t stop looking at her, she’s pure magnetism. What am I going to do! I can’t hide this much longer. I can’t take this…I need to tell her. I walk up to her, and get ready to spill my soul.