Running Away From One Thing, and Into Another.

Chapter 7: Stories.

To carolinebailey777 since she said she would proof read! ^_^ Thanks!!

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I allow my eyes to wander the brightly lit sky, trying to think back through my memories. Memories I never wanted to dig up, but now I am. Even Dantem never knew my story, just as I have never known his. It was a private thing among slaves of Jeroth, very rarely asked. In fact, I am shocked that I am the one who brought it up before Azjin. Her being younger and newer at this, anyone would figure that she started the story telling.

But it wasn't her, it was I.

For a minute, I regret it. But then, I remember what I am running from. Thoughts of Dantem, thoughts of going insane, and so on. The list is infinite.

“Have you changed your mind, Tace?” I jerk my head down so my violet eyes can meet her dark brown ones.

“Tace?” I say with a frown,

“Saying Tacia over and over again gets a little boring.” Azjin shrugs. Then she tilts her head, “How do you spell your name, by the way?”

I huff, and spell it out for her. Weariness is getting the best of me, and I just want to get my story over with.

Her head tilts a little farther now. “Really? It seems like it should be pronounced Taw'-ce-uh.”

I shake my head. “No, it is Tace'-e-uh. My mother was probably not the greatest speller in the world.”

“Oh yeah, your mother, back to your story.” She chirps like nothing has happened. Now its my turn to cock my head. This girl is definitely interesting. Switches from annoying to sappy, cranky to sweet, and ignorant to smart like that. Very confusing. Is this what being a big sister is like?

I sigh and lean against the tree. “Get comfortable.” I mutter. “It all started from picking flowers with Mama...”

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“Careful, Tacia, no need to upset the bee.” I look away from the bee and at my mother. I frown at her and stare back at the bee with my trusty little stick ready. It is the beginning of a new day at the beginning of April.

“But, Mama,” I whine as I study the little bug, “He is on top of the purple rose.”

“But, Tacia,” she mimics my whine perfectly, and I turn my eyes to look at her again. “If you miss, even a little, you will get stung. Plus, whack at the bee, you crush the flower. Better to be patient then destroy the very thing you want.”

I sigh, and sit down on the dirt, my eyes never leaving her. Her short hair is pulled into a ponytail, clearly exhibiting her face. I can't help but notice she is growing paler and paler and also thinner and thinner with each passing day. That light blue dress had so many clips on it just so it wouldn't slip off and sail with the wind.

Mama is sick.

I remind myself, thinking back to when she wasn't sick. I can't even remember the last day she had been well. We aren't rich, but I don't really worry about our next meal. I haven't ever gone to bed hungry. She hasn't eaten well, though. She has plenty on her plate that I just sits on the table throughout the night. When she does eat, she only gets sick and looses in the bushes a few hours later. She tries to hide it from me, saying no five year old child should see their mother like this. Yet, I have reached the conclusion that I am different.