Another World

Working the fields

As the four of you silently shuffle out the door, you pull a small loaf of bread from your bag and munch on it quietly, trying not to attract any attention. While your parents have taught you to have a sense of generosity, you know very well that there have been people in your city that were desperate enough to steal from each other and you need your strength to continue your work.

Glancing back over your shoulder at Lilia as she peers out the window, it occurs to you that you miss your childhood a little. The world wasn't any more fair, but you didn't know how cruel it could be. Aside from that, you used to play. You didn't have many toys or much to do, but so long as you completed the chores you had around your home and contributed a little to your family's value in the empire, you had free time and you had fun.

Now that you're old enough to work the fields, you will continue to do so for decades until you either meet some untimely death or grow too old to work outside. Then, like the rest of the elderly, you will be forced to do inside labors of whatever kind you can manage, be it making satchels, or rope, or other tools for farming, watching the children to keep them in line, and so forth. If you live to the point where you can no longer work at all--you grimace. The law of the land echoes in your mind: 'No mortal drone of inadequate value and productivity shall be allowed to continue in the service of the High Witch Queen.' It would sound like a means for freedom if you didn't already know that 'continue in service' meant 'stay alive.'

This path you're on now, will that really be the sum of your existence? Sleep. Eat. Work. Sleep. Eat. Work. Of course, perhaps you'll find a loving mate, begin a family, produce a couple of unfortunate children to continue the cycle of laboring for your mistress, then continue to work like a dog until you die and they have to bury you. Your fists clench in frustration. It's unfair and you know it, but what can you do about it? You're just a kid.

You stare ahead and see the gate to the fields in front of you once more. God, what you wouldn't do to just take off running right now, out into that golden expanse and into the deep woods far beyond. You'd run a thousand miles if it meant escaping this trap you're in.

The heat of the day, the smell of sweat, the ache of your muscles, and the constant sound of sickles and scythes whistling through the air all merge into a dulling, numbing haze for your senses. You have never felt more like a mere cog in a machine, just another disposable and replaceable part of a tool for someone else's use.

Two children died yesterday, yet nothing changes. Thousands of people die, but still, nothing changes. The world moves on and your life, just as theirs, is worthless in the grand scheme of it all. You are nothing in her eyes. Mankind is nothing in her eyes. You angrily swipe at the stalks in front of you, feeling no satisfaction or relief at the gesture. You feel powerless.

The hours drag on and even your anger starts to fade away into simple hopelessness. You know that no one who has ever stood against the witch and her soldiers has ever lived to tell the tale--at least, with their free will intact, and honestly, you'd rather die than be one of her minions.

When you load the last bundle of wheat onto the wagon and see the sun begin the last motions of its descent, you are one of the first to return to the city gate. You intend to meet with Lilia before it gets too dark.