Sparrow

Chapter 1: The Lost and The Damned

    I run through the streets of Morgan. Happy as ever, oblivious to the wrongdoings violating this damned city. My father chopping meat at his stand in the dimly lit market as I hurl pebbles at the ground. Not many people are out this late. The wind brings an icy chill to the air. I hear footsteps from a dingy alleyway. I stare at the man who rose from the darkness; A bigger guy wearing a dull red cloak, with a symbol of a wolf head and a knife running through it, marches past me. Most of his characteristics, concealed. Other than his eyes, they shine an unforgettable yellow.
        He marches up to my father. “Give me the money now.” The cloaked man commands.
        “I don't want any trouble, don't do this, please, my child’s here.” My father murmurs to the man.
        The man gazes at me; Flicking his wrist out from under the cloak, with not a hint of compassion in his lustrous golden eyes as he casts the shuriken at me. I could see the blade 3 feet away from my face, unable to move; Panic had taken over my body.
        Another shuriken comes hurling from the shadows, colliding with the blade inches from my face. Both the blades fall to the ground.
        “Not him!” A voice hisses from the shadows.
        My dad swings his fist at the man; Who abruptly moves to his side, drawing a thin sharp sword from his cloak so fast I barely noticed him move. He whirls it downward at my father, howling as it slices through the air, a crunch and a shriek following. My father stood there, his hand lay on the ground and blood everywhere. 
        “FATHER!” I cry, tears running down my face. 
        I was petrified. My mother had already left us; I couldn't lose him.
        “RUN BOY!” The last thing he says before his eyes close. Dropping to his side.
        I did as my father said, I fled as far and as fast as I could.
        I awoke to the crackle of thunder rumbling within the sky. I stood, soaked as rain poured down from overhead. I presume it to be about 5 A.M.
        I walk out of the alleyway where I lay unconscious. The streets are hollow and lonely this early; The rain and thunder create the perfect depiction of this decaying city crying. The atmosphere is muggy and humid, and the wet rugged cobblestone street glistens in the light.
        The rickety small homes that litter the side of the streets dark and lifeless. The only light at this hour is the scanty lamp posts here and there.
        I walk down the street attempting to ignore the dream that awoke me or the memory I relived. I walk past houses until I reach the Market Quarter of Morgan. The only place open at this time is The Drunken Pigeon.
        I walk in to escape the harsh rain outside. The place is getting ready to close. A woman tending the bar and two men in a booth on the far right corner.
        The place smells of meat and rum, with a tad bit of sweat. The wood floors have footprints on them, tables with plates of scraps.
        I hear footsteps behind me.
        “Duck!” The bartender yells.
        I duck instantly, turning around.
        One of the men swings at me; I try to move as the other guy grabs me from behind, holding me down on one of the tables.
        “Stop, please just leave! I don't want any trouble here!” The bartender pleads.
        “Quite girl!” He screams.
        The other man walks over, raising his hand, slapping her.
        She backs down reluctantly.
        “What do you want?” I questioned angrily.
        “I want all your money.”
        “I’m a poor street rat. I don't have any money. I'm wearing rags you doof,” I state.
        "Well, that's unfortunate, now isn't it?" He says, pulling out a knife, beginning to slowly cut over my stomach, just enough for it to bleed.
        I wince at the pain but, I feel the fury boiling within me.
        Once he stops, I spit in his face and kick him in the balls. I shoved myself off the other into the one holding me down, causing them both to fall. The bartender throws me a bat. I catch it, swinging at the guy with the knife. As the bat collides with his face, I kick the other in the stomach. He charges at me as I do this. I jump to the side as he trips over the guy on the ground. I grab the one off the ground and throw him out the door.
        The second man stands up, spitting blood at me.
       “That the best you got, bitch?” The man asks.
        "Come and find out,” I remark.
        I ran at him with the bat, timing my swing; This time he caught the club, pushing the club forward causing the handle to hit me in the face. I stumble back, my nose bloody. I run at him, tackling him to the ground. I flourish my hands around wildly, fists clenched, getting five good hits in. He suddenly grabs my hand as I flail my hits at him repeatedly, flipping us over.
        He reaches back, grabbing the knife behind him, thrusting it down on my face. I clench his hands, pushing the blade away from my face; As from behind, the bartender takes one of the stools, hitting him across the head with it. He falls on his side, dropping the knife. I roll away, kicking the knife in the process. Unfortunately, it didn't take long for him to recover. He gets up and grabs the bartender by the throat.
        “You little-” He grunts before getting cut off by the loud bang of the guard's musket. The bullet flies past him.
        "Enough, you're both under arrest!" The guard yells.
        I instinctively put my hands behind my head and get on my knees.
        They arrest the man, then go to arrest me but the bartender stops them.
        “He didn't do anything! He was defending himself and me! Please leave him alone!” She pleads with the guard.
        The guard rolls his eyes.
        “Fine, but if I catch you causing problems again little, Sparrow, then I'll have you hanged myself for disturbing my market!” He threatens bitterly.
        The guards leave with the man. I stand up, rubbing my jaw.
       “Sparrow your stomach!” The bartender yells.
        I look down to see blood from my stomach flowing through my tattered shirt, dripping onto the ground.
        “Oh,” I say, remembering I got cut.
        She grabs my hand and leads me behind the bar, sitting me down in a chair; Pulling out bandages, needles, thread, and alcohol, from a cabinet.
        She begins cleaning the cut as she questions, “What did that guard mean by if you cause trouble again?” She asks.
        “Let's just say I have a reputation,”
        “Okay,”
        “Who were those guys?” I ask.
        “Some low lives, who won't leave when we close. Boss told me to just let them stay, don't want any trouble." 
        “You won't get in any trouble for what happened, right?” I question worried
        “No, I’ll be fine trust me,” I could tell she was lying but there was nothing I could do now. “All done, all patched up,”
        “Okay, thank you. I must be going now; I don't think your boss will be too happy that I'm still here when it's nearly morning.” I say.
        “Yea, thanks for trying to help me,” She says, blushing
       “No problem,” 
        I walk out, now early morning and the market is full of people. I walk through the market, anticipating the right moment to take some food. I study a patch of apples, the man peddling them observes me cautiously.
    Pretending to stumble, I knock over a basket of pairs. “Oh, I’m so sorry, clumsy me,”
        “Yeah, yeah.” The man grumbles.
        He bends down to pick them up as I grab two apples, marching away quickly, but someone must have seen me.
        “That boy just stole his apples!” I hear a woman yell.
        I pick up the pace, hearing the clanging of the bulky armor the guards wear.
        I dip into an alleyway and swiftly slide into a scanty window that leads to a cellar of a deserted house.
        I land on the hard ground. My leg now stings. As I stand up I hear whispers around me.
        The room, littered with wood crates and barrels. The room overall was dirty. The ground was damp, I infer that rain floods here. The walls were moldy stone. The ceiling had mold hanging from it as water dripped through. To my left was a small path that looked like the sewage way.
        “It is Sparrow.” I hear a young voice say.
        “Do we come out?” I hear what sounds like a young girl questions.
        “Yes.”
        Four different kids come out from behind different objects in the room.
        The kids barely have anything on. There are two boys and two girls. The girls, wearing dirty and ripped dresses. The boys wear nothing but tattered trousers.
        “How do you know my name?” I ask the children.
        “We heard our masters talking about a boy named Sparrow, matching your description.” The boy, who looks like the oldest, answers nervously.
        “Do you mean your parents?” I asked, wondering why they said, master.
        “No, we don't remember our parents. When we were young we were taken from our homes. They said we were their slaves and that they were our masters. Anyone who rebelled, was beaten. Some got taken upstairs and they never came back. We believe that they were allowed to leave. We one day hope to go upstairs and leave too.” The boy responds.
        “What's all of your names?” I question.
        The oldest boy steps up. 
        “I’m Conner. This is Ricky,” He points to the other boy. “This is Kyle and Rebeca.” He points to the two girls.
        “How old are you guys?” I ask. 
        “I’m 13, Ricky and Kyle are 8, and Rebecca 6. What about you?” Conner asks.
        “15,” I say.
        BOOM, A door slams open.
        “Hide,” Conner says.
        I hide behind a crate trying to stay quiet, watching as a man shuffles up to Conner while the other kids hide. The man has a ruff ungroomed beard, wearing a dirty linen shirt and brown trousers, he has rough hands and jagged nails. 
       He grabs Conner by the jaw and lifts him to wear his feet barely touching the ground.
        “What's my name boy!?” He spits.
        “M..m..master." Conner barely answers.
        “Good now clean up this mess,”
        “What mess?”
    He knocks over a crate of glass bottles, shattering, glass shards going everywhere.
        “That mess,” He remarks gaily.
        As Conner picks up the shards, the man steps on the hand with the glass in it.
        “Oppps,” He says, as he twists his boot on his hand, laughing.
    My blood began to boil at this act. Why do these children take this? I grab a bottle next to me and throw it at the man, hitting him in the face.
        “Ahhh! Which one of you little brats!” He gets interrupted by me tackling him.
    Or, trying to anyway.
    The guy laughs as I try to tackle him, not moving an inch. He picks me up by my arm.
    “Who’s this?? A new slave?” The alcohol in his breath burns my nostrils.
    I use my other arm to swing, hitting the man in the face, causing him to drop me.
    He only laughs and charges at me; I quickly jump to the side, glass stabs into my falling apart shoes, making me wince in pain. I grab a piece of wood from the broken crate. He rushes at me again, I prepare to dodge, but he stops dead in his tracks. Falling to the ground with a sharp piece of wood in his neck.
    I look over to the youngest of girls, who stands there not fazed at all.
    “Die you old fool,” Rebeca remarks angrily. “What are you staring at?” She asks as if not knowing.
    “Come on, I'll help you guys out the window I came in. We need to leave now,” I say.
    I help the youngest first. Once it was just me and Conner, I decided to ask him something.
    “You know what happens to the kids when they go upstairs right?”
    “Yes I know, but these kids need something to hope for,” Conner states looking away.
    Before he can climb out, the guy from The Drunken Pigeon comes in.
    “You little!" He yells.
    He runs after me, and I quickly help Conner out the window. The man dives on top of me. I attempt to struggle out, but I can't break his grasp.
    “You messed with the wrong people, kid,” He remarks.
    He lifts his fist, punching me, over, and over, and over. Suddenly Conner jumps on top of him, causing them to go rolling to the side. The guy pulls out a knife, hovering it over Conner’s face. Conner tries pushing the knife away, but I can tell he's getting overpowered. I ran over, kicking the guy in the face. Only to repeatedly abuse his stomach while he's down.
    “Conner run!” I yell.
    He runs to the window jumping to the ledge and climbing through.
    I decided to end my assault on the man when I heard 5 other men run downstairs.
    “Get him!!” Someone orders.
    I run into the sewers and don't stop until I see light. A sudden sharp pain bursts from my leg, causing me to fall to one knee. I examine my leg, noticing a shuriken an inch deep into my thigh.
    Behind me lies the men who killed my parents, the same red cloak, the same weapon, everything. I pull the shuriken out and run, or try to, falling immediately.
    I get up, stumbling towards the hole in the wall. I try to run. Once again instantly falling to my knees. The ground is rough and hurts my feet as I run. My ears are ringing, my head, back, leg, and stomach ache. I get up once more, walking towards the light in the cave. When I finally got out, I could still hear the thugs behind me. I run into the woods going through thorns, trees, and bushes. 
    The grass under my feet is soft but gives me an itchy feeling. The twigs and thorns leave cuts all over me. I see a rock in my path. I jump over the rock. The last thing I saw before I hit the ground was a branch straight in front of me.
    I look up. My head hurts worse than before; My ears ring even louder than before. My visions blurry, going in and out until darkness surrounds my sight