Being Chosen

Chapter 1

Evening's p.o.v.

I wake up to the birds chirping, and my legs freezing. Half way through the night, my sister Amber stole my blanket, wrapping it snuggly around her smaller than average frame. I look at my sister with so much love reflecting in my eyes. Lifting my hand I slip a piece of black hair behind her ear. I get up quietly, careful not to wake up a sleeping Amber. Mom and I always let her sleep in on market days. I go to the corner of the small mud room, both our clothes divided into two neat piles on the floor. I don't have many clothes. Only 3 outfits really: my overalls for work, a pair of jeans and a plain blue t-shirt for market day, and leggings with my older brother's t-shirt that serve as pjs. I get dressed in my market day get up, tying my hair in a sleek ponytail. Heading out the door and into the only other room in the house. It's the main room, but it's not that big, maybe 100 sqft, if even that. It serves my family well though, quadrupling as a living room, dining room, kitchen, and my parents bed room.

"Evening can you go to the market and try to get some bread." My mom's voice ringing in my ears as it echoes throughout our small shack; laying $1.25 on the dining room table. It's all the money we have for that week. As a 7 we're lucky to get that much; we get more in the summer when the weather's nicer, because we get better jobs gardening but in the fall and winter everything is dying and all the leaves have already falling off the trees. We made bank a couple weeks ago, there was a wind storm that blew all the leaves off the trees. We got really good jobs that week, of course since the wind blew all the leaves off the trees, it means I have to wait until it might snow to get a decent job with ok pay.

"Sure mom." I grab the money and run out of the door, if you call it a door, it's really just an old sheet hanging over the opening of a hut. When the wind blows we have to take down the sheet, we can't risk the chance of it blowing away. 7's can't afford new doors.

The market is not far, maybe a mile away; I get there in under eight minutes running a little jog. It's early in the morning, but already the market place is crammed full of people, and vendors. The colorful fruits make me drool, and the smell of baked pastries is almost too much to bear on my empty stomach. I start to walk around the market place. New people set up shop every week, and the prices changes depending on how well the economy is doing, and how lavish the parties at the palace are. I hate the royal family; they are so stuck up and selfish. Throwing parties every other weekend, and balls once a month, that only the highest ranking members are allowed into. As I'm walking I bump into a boy, drawing me out of my train of thought, and back into reality.

"Hey! Watch were you're going." I yell after the boy. I continue to search the booth's looking and comparing each of the prices. After being there 20 minutes I come to the conclusion that the cheapest bread I can find is $2.50. I can't believe I'm a dollar short. The bread isn't even that appetizing. It's "7's" bread. Meaning the vendors know we can't afford that much, and think they are above us give us the bread that's just slightly above stale and moldy.

I still grab the hard loaf, and stand in the line. When I get up to the front, the woman's smile turns into a scowl as soon as she identifies my rank. "Ma'am, please, I'm sure you're well respected here, and have wonderful bread. My family is very poor and I only have $1.25, is there any way I can have this bread." By the end, and the deepening scowl on her face, my voice cracks as tears come to my eyes. I try my best to hold them back, I never have let anyone seen me cry since that one day, but that's in my past and shall remain that way. To my surprise the woman smiles.

"Oh, Honey, of course dear. Hand me that yuck loaf and I'll let you have one you deserve." I let out a sigh of relief, handing her the loaf in my hand, and still placing the money on the counter to show my gratitude. The woman pocks the money in her robe, and bends down and gives me a loaf of bread from behind the booth. I do almost shed a tear when I see the loaf she gives me. Her smile turns into a smirk, laughing at my pitiful expression. The loaf I was given is about 2 weeks beyond stale, and covered in spots of green mold. "Did you really thing I was going to give you bread, you stupid girl; get lost."

I turn to go, until I remember a very cruel detail; "Hey, give me back my money." "No can do sweetie, finders keepers, just be thankful you got bread out of it." I see red, but hold myself back from arguing. I don't want to repeat what happened 4 years ago. I want to yell and scream at her so badly I'm shacking, me not getting this bread meant no food for the whole week.

I slowly start to make my way out of line when a deep voice behind me says, "I can't believe I'm doing this." I turn around to see a boy behind me grab the nicest loaf of bread on the booth and stuffs it in his satchel. Turning to me, hand outstretched he grabs a hold of my arm yanking me away. "Run!" I take off running as the boy runs right beside me, as we run I laugh, missing the rush of adrenaline that comes from stealing. As we run, our shoes hitting the dirt ground, stirring up dust; I take the lead pulling him along to get to a safe place, away from the wretched guards that keep watch in the market place. Once we're safe and out of sight, in a hidden alleyway between two old builds; I let out a hoot, bending over in laughter.

"Thank you so much," I say to the mysterious, but very handsome stranger.

"Your welcome, you seemed to have fun, as we were running for are lives." He laughs along with me, before an emotional mask sets on his face, hardening those once bright ocean blue eyes of his. "I'm sorry, I have to go, now."

He starts to turn and leave the alleyway but before he does I grab his arm "I hope I see you around, by the way this means a lot." I tear off the end of the bread, giving it to him, like a piece offering, or a promise. He moves slowly, reaching his hand out and cautiously accepts my offering.

"Sorry, but I don't get out much." And with that he's gone.