The sand turned in the wind. Making it stick to my face drenched with sweat. While the others were walking behind and in front of us. We who were in the middle had to deal with the infants. Their constant scream for food, change or sleep. Left us exhausted in the middle of the night. Almost every night we would stay awake and whisper stories of our future even though we knew they would never come true so long as we were being sold.
Being sold for the family wasn't as easy as it sounded. It actually hurt very much to be abandoned by your family for food, drink or money. This might sound unsightly to those with present ears. Might sound like child abuse...I don't really know what it sounds like to tell the truth only I know what it sounds like to be a story weaver.
I make up stories of the seas and royalty to amuse the rich masters who own me. I tell tales of doors that a appear at night with only a few words. I tell stories o not so harsh dream lands so others seek a better life. But every night with my friends I would tell a tale were doors opened for those who wished so badly for an escape. A World were you could walk on clouds. And the sun was blue instead of yellow. Were trees grew upside down in the sky and animals could talk their minds. Were shooting stars would touch your forehead to bless the hero's.
I whispered my tales to sooth my friends and the other children and they would look around themselves as if they were already there. I cried sometimes over my own tales because sometimes it hurt to see the awe in their faces. What was I doing but only lying to them. They were my friends and my new family. Why was I telling tales that got their hopes up?
I thought my life was going end the moment we first got into the cities. Some of my friends by then had already died. I hadn't mourned them when they left the world. What a good friend I was to not mourn her friends. When I walked past booths selling their wears. They stopped and starred and pointed at me. I must at admit for a slave girl I was too pretty to be a slave but the never the less I was never bought. Something about being cursed for a slave. When we set up shop in the middle of the square people came instantly. Pawing over my friends and the children. It hurt to see most of my friends go. As well as the other children.
Nivirae, Nivirae, the children called to me. Tell us a tale, Nivirae. Make us forget this place for only a little while they pleaded to me. I sighed, knowing this was the only thing I was good at. Find me a stool I whispered to one of the near by children. The child came running back eagerly with a stranger in tow, saying the stranger would only lend it to us if only he could listen to my tale. Sighing, I nodded.
I sat and patted my lap for any one willing child. One very small child that I called mouse came towards me hesitantly. Smiling I beckoned to him. He had kinky brown hair that that fluffed out in all directions and it was almond colored. His skin too was that color because of the dirt and grim. He came over and lifted his arms. I picked him up and settled him on my lap. Now what do want me to tell a tale about I asked the little children all sitting around me eagerly.
Insisting hands rose to get their chance at their say in a tale. But a tale came to mind in my head . So I gestured with my hands for silence. They all instantly fell silent and dropped their hands. I began a tale with a circus bear... The circus bear rolled on his ball standing on his hind legs wearing a pleaded vest and hat. He spoke too, He said; come one come all come see our legends of animals. See a dragon, see a werewolf and come see our beautiful fortune teller Missy.... While I was telling my setory the children began to stnd play around as if they were in the circus. Doing leaps and twirls and roaring like a dragon. I laughed at mouse when he got on to another boys shoulders and started towards me smiling his cute smile. The Stranger who was sitting next to me was looking at me... How are you doing this he asked me. I stopped my tale with; And the dragon roared a mighty roar that spouted fire from his lungs. When I stopped. All the children stopped as if they were only puppets with expecting looks on their faces.
