Kardia

Chapter Two - Mock Our Pain

The next day began as any other, I awoke, I dressed, I rode the train, I arrived to Pleonexia on time. But it was when Skeeler Oteeta personally ushered me to his office upstairs that I noticed this day would be most unusual.

"Now Chara, do you have an excuse for only giving me three quarters of your daily energy?" He asked whilst pouring a glass of strong smelling scotch for himself behind his cluttered desk.

I'm sure his office was a work of art when it was first built, with only the finest wood for paneling, the most expensive red satin for curtains, and the most intricately carved wooden chairs. But being the slovenly glutton he was, every inch of the room was coated in dust, white cat fur, and junk he most likely hadn't used in a decade. I could only imagine what his home was like.

"Surely you concede I deserve it." He added, swallowing the shot in one, slurping gulp. "The less you pay me at a time, the longer it will take, you know."

I sat uncomfortably on one of the wooden chairs, with my legs crossed and my hands gripping the sides, as though my life were dependant upon the strength of my grip on the wood.
"Yes sir, I know. But I can't pay you any more.  I can hardly manage my own well being."

"Then you should work more hours!" He said, as though he were offering me the deal of a lifetime.

"I'm already working more hours than I can manage."  I debated saying what I felt, but I decided it needed to be spoken.  "In fact, I believe you owe me a raise."

He looked away from his paperwork and drink and stared at me with his hooded dark eyes.
"Beg your pardon?"

I felt a chill run down my spine at the fear of what he would do.

"It's just that, um, I-I've worked here a long time, and I happen...I need more energy. I need some breaks."

"Breaks?" He said eerily quietly. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have a job." He slowly stood up from his chair, the volume of his voice rising with him.  "If I didn't let you work here, you would be out on the streets begging for a crumb to eat, like your worthless parents!"

I could already feel a warmth in my throat and behind my eyes where I wanted to cry, but I refused to.

"How old were they when they died?" He asked demandingly. I couldn't bring myself to answer. He walked over to me, as he did I noticed his plump belly bulging from his tight vest.

He leaned over me and laid his burly hands on the back of the chair, squeezing it so tightly I heard the wood creak.

"They were both under twenty five," He bellowed, dappling alcohol scented spit on my cheek. "because they were worthless! Just like you!  If you'd known the value of hard work you wouldn't be in this situation!"

I desperately wanted to shove him away, and tell him that if he knew that value of human life he wouldn't be so cruel.  But I couldn't let my own pride get involved.  If I did, I'd starve by the week's end.

There are few places, other than factorys, that will hire women in Kratos.  Most are worse than Pleonexia.

He let go of the chair and walked back to his desk, breathing deeply.

I sniffled a little, straightened up, and wimpered, "I'm terribly sorry. I'll do better." in a soft voice.

"That's a good girl. I will pardon your disrespectful words, if you work an extra hour each night for the rest of the week, without pay. It's quite gracious of me not to fire you, isn't it?"

While gritting my teeth and gripping the chair as if it was the one belittling me, I reply, "Yes, it must be." He smiled, nodded, and gestured toward the door.

Grudgingly I walked back to my place in the assembly line.  I have never been to Hell, nor do I wish to go, but I imagine there is a portion that looks quite a lot like Skeeler Oteetas office.

As I unwillingly stamp numbers on each watch's face, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I turn around to see Epios.  Her white hair and wrinkled face marred by the foul smelling ink we have both known too well and long.

"Did he hit you this time?" She asked softly.  Instinctively I stop and put my hand on my cheek where he slapped me a month ago.

"No, just raised his voice a little."

She nodded and continued on.  When I was a child, I used to live in one of the rooms in the attic of the factory, the one next to hers; she practically raised me.

My parents died when I was eight, so she looked out for me. She taught me how to cook, how to mend my clothes, how to clean, and treat people with dignity.  She was a woman of grace and manners, and if I could have been half the woman she was, I would be content with myself.

I laid a hand on her frail shoulder and smiled.  She had very little energy left.  Surely she would pass any day, and I greatly didn't want to see that day.

At the end of the day, I was laying on my bed, with dinner in my stomach and my feet throbbing.

I decided that life was kinder to some than it is to others.  Why does life give riches and beauty to some so freely, while others work tooth and nail to gain even a portion of that?  I don't know, and I never have. Perhaps it's because it gives the strongest people the hardest work, or perhaps it just likes to sit in the shadows and mock our pain.