Page 1 of Kingdom of Lies

1

KATHLEEN

Iused to love the dawn. As a child, I’d slip out while everyone else was asleep and watch as it slowly washed away the black, bringing light back into the world and chasing away all the monsters that stalk the dark corners of the night. I’d feel safe, and that hope had returned.

Now I fear it. The monsters are real, you see, and the dawn only draws them out. The dawn light now illuminates the horror that is my life.

Every morning I wake, I wait. For the sound of the steps, the ringing of the bell. Each day, I hope they might forget about me if I lie still enough, quiet enough. But they never do.

Just like now, I’m still, each breath muted and slow. I pull the damp blanket over my head, hoping they don’t call my name.

“Kathleen!” I hear the voice of the Village Chief from the yard call out.

I better not keep them waiting, and I don’t want Grandma to wake, so I pull myself out from under the blanket. Apart from grabbing my cloak from the stool, there's no need to change. It smelled. It was damp as usual. I have no other clothes than those I work in. I’ll maybe remove my shirt on warm nights, but it was as cold today as it was last night.

I stumble out of the hut, glad to be free of the damp air that chokes me in the place Grandma and I call home. I drink in the fresh air like a glass of cold, pure water.

“You’re late!” he barks at me, his pinhole eyes penetrating my soul.

“Sorry, sir,” I say. I only know him as sir. I don’t care to know him at all, but what I care about doesn’t matter here.

He walks toward me; his movements are awkward and lazy, and I can smell his breath long before he reaches me.

He stops close to me, and I watch his eyes as they scan across my breasts and feel a coldness run down my spine. I pull my cloak tight across my chest. “Dripir,” he says with a grin that exposes his rotten teeth.

Of course, it is the dripir. When is it not the dripir? Even slaves have a hierarchy, and I am at the bottom of that shit pile.

“Again?” I ask before I can help myself. I really shouldn’t question it, but sometimes my emotions get the better of me.

He moves closer, “We is a democracy here, all is fair and voted, and you were voted dripir.”

I can see him take pleasure in his statement. He smiles and sniffs.

“You should grow your hair out,” his tongue snakes out from between his tight lips. “Gives a guy something to grab on to.”

I instinctively raise my hand and run it through my short hair as if protecting it from the disgusting thing in front of me.

“Now, go,” he says, and I notice his hand rising, expecting to slap my ass like some mule that refuses to work. Before he can, I hurry off. I feel him watch me as I go.

“Nice tits, though,” he hisses after me.

I discard the words as soon as they reach my ears and make my way through the village toward the dripir pen.

The village looks as ugly as ever today. It’s all rotten huts and the stink of urine and shit. I notice the others at their work already, mending weapons for the dark elves, patching up their clothes, and cooking underway for lunch.

“Dripir again?” I hear a shout from the cook house. I turn and watch as the others snigger. How could other humans relish such a thing as this? It is beyond me now. I think they are beyond human now, subhuman. The elves have made sure of that and take great pleasure in it.

“Watch, you don’t turn your back. They’ll eat a little thing like you in one gulp!” Another voice adds much to the amusement of the others.

“Or hump you,” another adds.

“Leave the girl alone. Works twice as hard as you fat assed lumps,” a lone voice of an older woman scolds them.

And I do because I must. My bones ache, and I smell worse than the dripir they force upon me. But, for Grandma, I must keep going. If I don’t, we starve, she starves, and I can’t ever let that happen, so I accept the metaphorical shit they throw at me, wipe it off, and keep going.

And there they are. I stand looking into the dripir pen and the muck that will be my day, another day. It's best to feed them first. Hungry dripir are angry dripir, but dripir busy with eating give me the time and peace to clean out their shit.

The smell is godawful, and it sticks to you like tar. I long one day to be out of these clothes. I dream of a dress, clean and white. Lying on crisp fresh grass, the sun warming my body. The smell of wildflowers scenting my hair.

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