She couldn't remember the last time her stomach had been so bloated. She had been sick since she had woken up in the middle of the night.
Her throat was perpetually dry. She could drink all the juice and water she wanted and her throat would still feel like she had eaten a bowl of sand.
She coughed and spit into the metal bucket beside her bed. She rubbed the side of her head as she sat on the edge of her bed.
She lived in a small shack outside the castle wall. She worked at night, as an "entertainer". She had no family, no friends, no one; she was alone.
A letter laid at her door; it had been slid under her door at some point while she slept. She knew what it was, it was an invitation.
She would rather die than take any more jobs.
She was sick. She hoped it wasn't the surface virus. She didn't think people were able to get the virus without coming into contact with a diseased person, yet there was nothing she could think of that would affect her so horribly.
She pulled the small box from under her bed. It contained all her savings. She counted it out of habit. She was short a few hundred rubles. She sighed, feeling empty.
She had been saving for safe passage to the Rebel City. She figured it would take 3 jobs to get just enough. She couldn't work sick though.
She looked around searching for something she could sell. Her house was falling apart, there were holes in the roof. Underground there was always water dripping, so she had to constantly keep bowls set out to collect the water that dripped through her rusted roof.
Her shack was nowhere near worth enough rubles. Underneath her pillow laid her handgun, it was the only thing she had worth anything.
She could sell it, but she knew the Wastelands would be rough, even with a guide, and especially for a woman.
She suddenly fell onto the floor and threw up, half into the bucket and half onto the floor. She choked and spit.
Also, there was no guarantee that anyone would help her. She had to get better and work a few more jobs. She took a deep breath, knowing she had to work.
She got up and went to her small bathroom. She collected the water that dripped through the roof in her cracked tub. It was slightly dirty but any water was better than no water. She washed her hair and scrubbed her body.
Staring at her reflection she realized she could see how bloated she was. The dark circles around her eyes revealed how little she had slept. A pile of dirty clothing lay on a chair in the corner. She rubbed scented oil on her neck and arms. Then she dressed in her most alluring clothes. She applied what little makeup she had to her cheeks and eyes, she hoped to make herself look less sick. She had to work, even sick.
She would tough it out for a few more jobs. It felt good to know her freedom was so close.
She pinned her hair back as she opened the letter that had been slid under her door. It requested her presence at one of the soldiers' barracks.
She shivered as she thought of the Kings' men. They were brutal and disgusting, but she had no choice.
She walked along the muddy path to the barracks. She pulled her cloak closer to her as a chill blew strands of her curly hair into her face.
She found the room number and tapped four times on the door. The door opened and she was invited in by a short, stocky man with a patchy beard. He talked from the moment she walked into the moment she left. It seemed the poor man was devoid of any friends.
Afterwards, she dressed and picked up the envelope with her name on it. He slept as she counted her pay. He had overpaid her. She smiled knowing now she had to only endure one more job.
She arrived back to her home to find that she was desperately hungry.
She ate beans and dried pieces of bread. It was the first meal she was able to keep down.
She was still hungry though. She would ignore her ongoing hunger until her next meal.
She washed her smudged makeup off then changed into a simple dress. She went to the run-down marketplace to stop by her employer's house to give him his share of her pay.
He was pleased with how well the soldier had paid her that he decided to give her another job.
"He will pay even more than the soldier did!" He exclaimed. He handed her an envelope then sent her on her way.
She returned home, took a nap, changed back into her alluring clothes, and opened the envelope.
She stumbled back onto the bed as she realized who the man was; he was known for beating his entertainers, General Kaddox.
She counted her savings once more. She would be set with this one job; she would have more than enough.
Suddenly an idea popped into her mind. She smiled, she would endure his beatings and if he let her live she would make sure he regretted ever hurting a woman. She packed all her belongings and hid them near her house, under a large rock.
Eager to escape, she hurried to the General's home. As soon as she was in her room he slapped her across the face, sending her immediately to the floor. He grabbed a fist full of her hair and threw her onto the bed.
She couldn't wait to be free.
When he was done beating her and doing what he pleased, he ordered her to leave. She was glad. She glanced at herself in a broken window as she walked away from his room, he had bruised her jaw and cheek.
Now was time to put her plan into action.
She allowed herself to cry as she walked to the market; she hoped her mascara was bleeding down her face. She wrapped her cloak tightly around her to shield her body from the cold.
She was supposed to stop by her employers. She hobbled to the doorstep and knocked. Her employer was upset to see his property being treated so poorly. She gave him his share and made sure to overact how much pain she was in. He needed to believe General Kaddox had almost beaten her to death.
She left her employer's house and made her way to the market.
She traded the watch she'd stolen from the General for a chicken. It was stupid to trade something stolen in the market, and she knew it.
The poor chicken was sickly and she had chosen him for that precise reason. He had almost lost all of its feathers and his pink skin was cut in places. The chicken could barely walk so she carried him, tucked inside her cloak. She fed him dried corn, which was not easy to get, from her hand, trying to make his last moments a little better.
She returned home where she kicked in the door purposely breaking the lock and door frame. The jolt surprised the chicken cradled in her arm.
She entered her shack and set the chicken down on her shabby bed. She undressed leading to her bathroom, to make it seem as though she were going to take a bath.
She slipped on her simple dress and apologized to the chicken. She then killed the poor chicken. She made sure to do it quickly, so he was no longer suffering.
She cut the chicken open and spilled its blood into the nasty tub. She then rolled three large rocks in her tattered blanket, which she covered in more of the chicken's blood. She laid the chicken's body on the bundle and drug the load to a nearby stream. It was clear that something had been drug through the mud. She tossed the rocks into the murky water and then the bloody blanket.
Lastly, she said sorry to the dead chicken again and then thanked him as she buried him. She placed a large rock on top of the grave.
It would've been wrong to eat him, she thought.
In the oversized boots she had bought at the market, she stomped back up to her shack. She knocked over furniture, broke her mirror more than it already was, then soaked the place in the oil she had used to scent her body. She emptied three more bottles of scented oil on her shack then set fire it on fire.
She retrieved her bag from its hiding spot and headed for the Wastelands.
She watched the glow of her shack burning from a distant boulder. She watched as her previous life burned into nothing and she smiled. She had a new life ahead of her, and who knew what it held. Soon she would meet the guide and be on her way to the Rebel City.
She was scared but happy.
She rubbed her stomach feeling a strange movement inside, it occurred to her why she had been so sick.
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