The tale of Radwan...

The tale of Radwan...

First they killed my father...
Then they killed my mother...
Then they killed my brother...
And slowly piece-by-piece, they've been killing me...

I was 10 by the time I was left alone, no family, only a single friend to hold onto. The world scared me then, the only reason I was left living was because I hadn�t fallen ill, or I hadn�t become to weak to do my chores, and I hadn�t gotten into trouble. Every morning I woke at 5, just before the sun rose. I woke to do my work, luckily as a child; they only put you in charge of little things. I rose to fetch water with three others my age, take it to the kitchens for breakfast, clean stables and be at breakfast at 8. The camps were cold and the guards did as they pleased. It was hard to sleep at night, hearing the screams of the older women in the tents near by. Hearing them bag and plead for either their family�s to their own pride and virtue not to be taken from them. We were often beaten for things the guards did, or had our rations taken away for reasons like " The child looked at me wrong."... It was a painful life but there was some happiness. Latha, a great friend to all of us slaves was so very kind to me. I met her when I was running away from a guard; I dashed right into her and caused both of us to tumble over. I scraped my knee really bad, and she pulled me off to a tent to take a look at it. I was crying of course, as many little kids do when they think there in trouble, as I thought I was. Instead of scolding me, she just wrapped the wound and asked me if I�d like anything sung for me. My� My mom always sang �Marionette� to me when I was little� So I asked her if she could sing that. I guess he took pity on me, and she did. Everyone�s always talking great about that lady, they say she never argues about anything with the guards, does as she�s told. She�s very respected by us, and especially by me. I found extreme happiness when they chose me for training as a guard. That meant I would have an up in my rations, and my chores would be lessened as my training progressed. Very few slaves ever get this chance, there always too small and weak for training. I learned as much as I could as fast as I could, eager to prove myself, eager to leave behind my chains and become a real person to them. Latha watched me grow, she became like my mother as she was to many of us. Though she wore chains, she was freer than any of us, mainly because she accepted her role in life. Slowly, I was treated better, my food rations raised and the guards stopped picking on me so much. I was always singled out though, my odd colouring always making it easy to pick me out of a crow. I was set aside by this fact, and that fact only. I wasn�t top of the class, though I tried hard, I wasn�t even a good

Worker. But my Crimson hair, and deep eyes as they say, made me a strong pawn in the game of life. My hair was always a crimson colour, a few strands of gold entwined it in it, and my eyes matched, crimson with flickers of gold if you looked hard enough. It made it hard growing up I couldn't get away with anything, but as a guard in training a few people understood I had a chance in life, and took a fall for me. To this day I regret it.

When I was 14, a full-fledged guard decided I was old enough, and addressed me in my tent. I thought maybe I was in for a level up, but it turns out he wanted something else. Within moments the man had stripped me of my pride, my hope and all that I was. My chains bound me even tighter that night, as he showed me what I was born to do as a female slave. He made me feel dirty, like I had filth on me I couldn't get off. I remember bathing for hours the next day in my spare time, scrubbing ever inch of me. I hadn�t cried when he took away my innocence, I wouldn�t have given the man the satisfaction. Instead I played like it was all right, though I didn�t help him I didn�t fight him either. I knew I couldn�t. I cried after though, after he had fled my tent with his grin that made me want to rip his cock off. I invented many imaginative ways to show them how I feel�I never got to do any of them.

Every slave is bound by shackles in their spare time, even guards in training. The shackles held my pain, my past. I guess the guard bragged about it or something, because I soon found myself with more and more encounters with other guards. I never cried for them, no matter how they treated me.� There isn�t a time, I can remember not crying after. Crying for all I wanted but couldn�t have. I was selfish then, thought only of my feelings, thought other girls could do it instead of me, and soon I grew cold inside and accepted what I was being used for with grim hatred. A guard left his axe in tent after he was done with me; his stupidity brought his my freedom. I used it, on my chains, to break the links between each shackle cuff. Each time it hit its mark, denting it bringing me closer to freedom. I could hear my mom and dad, my brother and twin, all whispering their pleads not to be killed, I was determined not to end up like that.

After I had free my hands, I freed my feet, and took for Latha�s tent. She would have none of it though, said her place was with the rest of them. I begged her to come, the thought of losing the only mother I had known since my own was taken away too much for me. She made me go though, told me of a place called the path and sent me there.

She said I would meet all sorts of wonderful people, people who wouldn�t care I was a run away slave, people who would help me if I needed it. I�m 17 now. Lost alone and frightened, I don�t know how to live in this world of freedom, but I won�t go back. I won�t go back to the shame and pain I managed to leave behind.

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