The Scion and The Squire - {solangelo au}

2. Never Cause an Outroar

When I was 6 years old, mom showed me the proper way to cut off a chicken's head.

"Put it down for me," she gestures towards the tree stump sitting in front of our cabin. Cabin was a generous word for what it was—a roof made out of hay and stick and walls of wood. The one and only door was cocked sideways due to the subtle, slow sinking of the right side of the house. During rainstorms, the dirt ground would become wet mud that slid out from under the stints. Sometimes it even bled through into the inside—not like that was the biggest problem. The only furniture we had to be ruined was a single twin bed that we shared and a wooden table with a lantern on it.

I held the chicken close to my chest, my small hands tightly gripping its body. I had named her Bob, and for the 4 short hours I had her, Bob was the best thing to ever happen to me. I chased her around the settlement, she sat in my lap as I introduced her to all of the flowers in the garden, and I told her all of my secrets (how a man came over sometimes to see mom, how I thought he was kind of cute, and how I had stolen a tomato from the next door cabin).

"Why?"

Mom let out a hefty sigh, hair slipping out from sphere of balled-up hair on her head. "Nico, you know why."

Of course I knew why. The comically large axe in her hands twinkled in the sunlight.

"We can keep this one."

"You know how much I have to trade for that," her voice is stern, but her eyes didn't scare me. I could see them tracing my face, and I felt a sense of hope in them. "Set it down, love, before I have to do it myself."

"No," I whispered.

"I won't ask again," she shakes her head, triggering a series of coughs. She presses the bottom of her skirt to her mouth, hacking away, and drops it back to the floor when she's done. Remnants of crimson red stain the cloth, and she carries on as if that isn't the most terrifying thing a 6 year old could witness. "Sometimes, we have to give up the things we love so we can get better things. Living? That outweighs whatever feelings you're having about that chuck."

"I love her."

"Yeah. I know," she swallows hard, bending down to her knees. "This is a life lesson, kid. Things are hard. Life is hard. It has and will always be this way for people like us. That's why you're gonna go work at the kingdom. You'll get a better life than this. Riches are the ticket to happiness, bud. Then, you can have all the chickens your heart could desire. See the difference now?"

I nod, an abnormal amount of saliva pooling into my mouth. My stomach twisted into knots.

She stands up, dusting the dirt off her clothes. She resided the axe again. "Until then, you either kill the chicken or starve."

Needless to say, that was the last time I saw Bob alive.

Survival was mom's most important rule, and the height of survival was tied to wealth and standing. That was the simplest explanation—the trouble came with actually getting there.

Hard work, reputation, and sacrifice.

Hard work, Chapter One

1. If you aren't bleeding by the time your shift is done, you haven't done enough.
2. Be married to your work, and ONLY your work.

Reputation, Chapter Two

1. Never risk an out roar (in my mom's case, having a child out of wedlock. Apparently, those kinds of things don't look good on the ol' resume.)
2. Always abide by the rules: DO AS YOU'RE TOLD!
3. Never talk back to authority.