Curse of the Jackalmen

perspectives

I felt very cross at the old hag and Syn for agreeing with her. My knuckles white on the neck of the jug, holding it as tightly as I could without breaking it. My knives were in the kitchen near the door and I felt naked out without them. The furrow in my brow increased and I let my feet walk me about. I ended up at the well and little pool that I had drawn water from earlier. Sighing I sat on the edge and stared at my reflection. I never really thought about my appearance.

Looking at myself, I felt my perspective change from disregard to critical. My hair was frizzy and tangled. My face was windblown and had scars on it. I couldn't remember many of the sources. For me, an injury bothered me until I got another one and forgot the first. My lips were chapped, my brow still furrowed.

I relaxed my face and cupped my hand wIth water. Washing the dirt and sweat off my face was a improvement. Frowning at my hair, I filled the jug and leaned forward dumping it over my loose locks. The stream of water coming off the end went from a gurgling rivulet to fat droplets that made a thick smat on the dusty ground. I attempted combing my hair as best I could with my fingers. Despite a few moments of near abandonment due to exceptionally bad tangles, I combed it smooth and it showed.

Despite looking nicer, I still was a rough, uncouth figure. I was no Aphrodite, not even Hestia, the homeliest main goddess. I remember going to the temples as a child and spending hours staring at the carved wood statues, painted realistically with gold accents. They were not the marble other richer temples had, but they were beautiful and I wished I could one day grow as pretty as them. Of course that never happened. Here I am scarred and worn. I don't have the ideal pale complexion, my hair is nowhere near the revered gold and my eyes are the color of earth not sea. I don't care much about my appearance, why do others? Do they think I'd look like this if I wasn't a slave?

Growling in frustration I punched the water sending ripples through my reflection. I turned sharply and sat on the dirt, leaning against the raised border around the well. I turned my glare upward and started ranting to the mocking blue sky.

"What did that old bat know about me that let her judge me? That I was a slave? That I walked in a bit roughed up? That I could fight? Her fat ass nearly looses to the task of raising herself from her chair" I spat bitterly.

People like me starve and suffer so people like her can wallow in excess. Its unfair and I abhor letting a body go to waste like that.

"I'd like to see how she held up in my life. She'd probably die from lack of comfort after a week. They expect me to bite my tongue and bear their insults, but they could never do so themselves. They can't even tolerate being viewed the wrong way. And I doubt she's slept on the floor. Or had her blood run freely from wounds as mine has. Wounds endured not for my own benefit, but as a sacrifice against the health of my master. Is not my blood worth the same as hers? Why do they all think birthplace and social rank change a person's character?! How has she more right to life than I?"

"Good questions. You almost sound like a philosopher." A boy's voice replied to my rhetorical rant. Flushing, I whirled around to see Lukios. He had that half smirk and was leaning on the other side of the well looking down at me. Standing swiftly I shot him a glare and grabbed the jug about to leave. "Hey, where you going? I know we've barely met but you seem distraught."

He grabbed my wrist and dropped the smirk. It was replaced by a look of sympathetic concern.

"I'm fine. Just.... I'm FINE." I brushed him off, bristling at having shown weakness to someone who had a high opinion of me.

"Look, I don't know much about girls and stuff but you seem insulted. And why aren't you at your master's house? You left a while ago." Luk stepped in front of me stubbornly.