Tales from a Squire

Changes (Part 1/2)

Damien was trekking through the hillsides that circled his home. He lived in West Higren, a city packed with life, love, infidelity, crime, and lots of booze. It was far from a dream destination, but he was content with where he was. He had reasons for remaining in West Higren, specifically his boyfriend Kaden and his best friend Bridget. He met Kaden and Bridget around the same time, which he was incredibly fortunate for. Seven years ago, when he met the two of them, Damien was in a turbulent place in his young life. The vast amounts of alcohol and drugs that were spread carelessly through the streets of West Higren found their way to Damien. He used them to cope with the passing of his parents and the feelings of loneliness. If it weren't for meeting Kaden and Bridget, Damien would probably have died years ago with a needle in his arm.

Damien was not the only one saved by meeting his companions. Bridget was in worse shape than Damien.

Damien grinned now at the recollection of how they met. Seven years felt like a lifetime ago.

Damien sat down on a tree stump and started smoking a cigar. He let his mind wander to the first time he met his best friend...

Damien was seventeen at the time. He was wandering the streets alone, not certain what time or day it was. He had just left the opium den he had been practically living in for the last week.

He was out of money and already sold all the buttons off his coat to keep up his expensive habit. Damien's feet felt hot on the ground. He looked down and realized he did not have shoes. He rubbed at his fatigued eyes and tried to remember when he lost his shoes. Did he sell them for drugs? Or were they stolen from him when he passed out? Damien shrugged off the thought. He had one objective: find money as promptly as possible before the withdrawals kick in. Damien was an alright thief, so stealing enough to get another fix or two should be simple.

He walked down by the docks, hoping to snatch a few items from the ship merchants when he saw her. Bridget was sixteen at the time. Her hair was longer than she wore it now. It fell over her shoulders in dirty, matted curls. She was skinny. Deathly skinny. She had cuffs around her hands and ankles, standing in a line with other prisoners.

A hefty man perched on a stool beside the prisoners. "Best slaves in all of Higren! Name your price!"

Damien stumbled closer to the captives. He could not look away from the red-headed girl. Not that he thought she was particularly pretty, but he felt drawn to her the way people are drawn to arenas, for the morbid fascination. She was by far the youngest and the smallest. A sign hung around her neck that read "caught stealing but is obedient if left in shackles." Damien watched as a man with rough hands and a patchy beard inspected the girl, nodded at the slave owner, threw a handful of coins into a bucket, and made off with her. The girl kicked and screamed all the way to her new owner's wagon. She was fierce. As the wagon turned a corner, Damien saw that the slave girl was crying, her tears leaving streaks on her dirt-covered face.

Damien felt uneasy and almost queasy. He knew another fix would help him forget the events he had just seen. With careful maneuvers, he snatched a crystal necklace, a pottery urn, and a silver fork from a few ship merchants and walked back to the opium den.

He stumbled into the den. It was dim and smelled like sweat and alcohol. People laid on beds and on the floor in a dazed state. Some sleeping, some staring blankly at the walls, others laughing to themselves. Opium dens are not unlike crazy houses, Damien realized and laughed bitterly at the notion.

He sat on a bed in a corner of the large room and pulled the torn red drapery closed for privacy. He thought about smoking a cigar while he waited, but there was already enough cigar smoke in the building to fill his lungs. Damien realized his walk to the docks left him tired, so he relaxed his eyes and drifted into a restless slumber.