Princess of the boys

Chapter One - The Crew

I looked around the large, outdoor stage, trying to remember why I was here. I was surrounded by crowds of women, loud and demanding. I pressed against my mother, Empress Eliza, and she hugged around my shoulders with her arm.

I craned my neck and looked closer at the stage. I saw boys of all shapes and colors. Some were older than me and some were younger than my few eight years. Most of them looked raw and terrified. Most older boys were tied to posts with thick ropes and forced to kneel. They had scars that crossed along their backs, meaning many whippings of a trouble maker.

Little me looked up at my mother and tugged on her shirt. “Momma?” I asked softly.

Eliza looked down at me. “Yes dear?”

“Why are we here?”

“We’re here to get you a crew of slaves.” Eliza said calmly, even though this question had been asked a thousand times.

“Will they be nice?” I asked softly.

“Honey, no boys are nice. That’s why I’m in charge.”

“Oh.” I said softly.

An announcer had come to the stage and started calling numbers. Our conversation came to an end as we listened closely. I remembered that our number was nine. I waited, slightly impatiently, until the announcer called our number. I kept fidgeting in the crowd and trying to see over all the women in the plaza. Finally our announcer called our number and Eliza led me up the stairs. A strange hush fell over the crowd, but I didn’t understand why. It was just my mom and I. It happened every time we went out into public.

The boys on the stage started shooting sexist terms at us, sneering at us as we walked closer. I couldn’t help but feel a bit indignant. What did I ever do to them? I may only be eight, but I was no coward. I walked boldly across the stage with my head high and one of the boys spat at me. I hesitated and considered him, then spat back, sticking out my tongue in the process.

The crows started grumbling, but the boys grinned at me. They now looked at me with curious and appraising faces.

I walked closer to one of the boys who hadn’t reacted to me. His head was down and his shaggy black hair was covering his face. I softly poked his shoulder. He didn’t respond so I poked him again. When he still didn’t respond I whined softly in annoyance. That noise always got me whatever I wanted. Yet, he still didn’t acknowledge me. Biting my bottom lip I stared at him, wondering how to get him to react to me.

Softly I went around to his back and pulled up his shirt. His back had nothing but scars and I couldn’t even see the original flesh. He obviously didn’t like authority. I heard the women in the crowd shouting at me to strike him because he was ignoring me. I looked up at mother curiously, wondering what to do, and she nodded encouragingly. I poked him a couple times, then when he still ignored him, I smacked his back. I did it again, when he didn't answer, and still yet again. But, nothing. I bit my lip as the crowd roared for me to do it again, while my mother encouraged it.

Softly I touched his back when I had hit him and I let my palm rest there. The crowd was screaming, but I ignored them. I felt his body contract under my hand, expecting another hit, but I didn’t hit him again. Cautiously and slowly his body relaxed under my hand and I pulled it away. Softly I put it there again and his body was just as rigid as before. I left it there and his back relaxed again. I did it again, and this time it took less time. The fourth time I did it, his back stayed relaxed. I grinned. Then the boys started yelling at me and I winced.

They were mad at me for hitting him.

Biting my lip again, I didn’t know what to do. Letting out the softest of breathes, I walked closer to the boy with the shaggy black hair. Suddenly I grinned and the boys quieted, watching me. I softly leaned down and kissed his back.