A Jewel's Worth[on hold]

CHAPTER 1 - STACK

I shoveled the feces in the stables faster, hoping it would distract me from my rumbling stomach.

"Move it! God damn, slaves." Mr. Parker yelled at the slaves in the field.

Sounds of the rustling and cutting of the stacks of wheat reminded him of a storm pouring heavily onto the backs of every one of the slaves like himself. I sighed and huffed after each shovel. A gust of wind lifted my shirt over my face—brown dirt caked into its torn edges, splotches of blood spreading through the seams. I pushed it down, touching the marred skin underneath. My fingertips grazed over my navel and up to my ribs, stickiness coating them—a painful reminder of yesterday's lashing. I pressed harder to feel the burn and hissed.

"You!" Mr. Parker pointed me out, "Did I tell you to stop digging? Shovel faster! Master is on his way. I don't want him to see you lot lazing, ya hear me! Making a muck of the work—twenty lashes are what you'll get. Pests! Pathetic!" I gripped the handle tighter, picked up the pace, digging deeper. Something yellow underneath the manure squelched, dripped down on my toes—I inhaled its pungent, sour smell until my shovel clanged against small, crushed bones. A dead bird's carcass had its guts mixed in feces. Little mountains of maggots crawled, squirmed, plopped down. Swarms of flies buzzed above—I sighed deeper, arduously stabbing into the feces over and over. Gasping, choking on my swallowed rancid-bile, their buzzing grew with every stabbing and shoveling. "Stop! S-Stop it!" It wouldn't stop, their buzzing in my ear and face.

"I will not be that bird...will not be that thing...will not die." Like a song, I sang my tune to myself. Mumbling, seeing them worming farther up my ankles—I gripped the shovel harder, wood cracking, roughly in my hands.

"Stack!" Clean. I must get it clean. The more haggard my breath grew, the more my shoulders shook until my slippery hands let go.

"Oy!" The clang of the shovel. I stopped. But I shouldn't have. It's not finished.

"Stack!"

"I'm sorry! I should have finished! P-Please don't...hurt me," I stuttered, my voice raspy. Eyes to the dirt, Stack.

"Hey, lad. It's alright. It's me." Slowly, I shook my head. He's them.

"Come on, let's get ye over here. Stack?" A hand, then two on my shoulders. I recoiled, but the sunlight blazed in those eyes. The sun was never a stranger to me, but the moon was my friend—it didn't burn, nor hurt to look at. I could see birds flapping, their wings carried by gales of wind. The trees brighter, sunkissed sunrise roaming its wood, and the forest clearer than the night.

"Glacia! What are you doing with the thrall, shouldn't you be pulling some weeds in the Misses Garden?" Frozen to the corner of the stables, I grasped a loose plank. The nailheads bore into my leathered skin. I steeled my heart waiting for the lashing. I counted the round buttons on Mr. Parker's vest, coat, and trousers. Pale grey cloth-covered each button, shaping a cloudy day.