Soul Bound: The City Of Almara

Chapter One: Massacre

It was raining, pouring, the thunder was crashing and lighting filled the streets of Almara. A little girl, her mother and her mothers Salmara, a dingo, stood on the side of the path, watching in horror. A protest was being held, women where being dragged by their wrists and where punched multiple times, a punishment for standing up for their basic human rights.

The mother tried to block her child's sensitive mind but the child pulled away. The mothers Salmara licked the Childs cheek in comfort. Women where screaming, their Salmaras, their souls in animal form, howling and spitting in anger.

For too long the city of Almara has been tainted by men, men who found it amusing and pleasurable to be ruling over the women. The king and queen had agreed, women think they where delusional.

Many women had theories, and many of them where killed for conspiring against the king and queen, many of which where female, anyone who came close to something, where executed the same night, there was much wrong in the city of Almara, people who deserved to be free, people who also deserve to die due to their evil.

Now the women where on the streets fighting for their lives to be returned to them, for the freedom they had back in the two-thousands. Still the girl and mother watched, to horror struck to move, to run away. They where witnessing a mass failure, a mass murder, something of which would have been in a horror movie they had watched when the man was away.

The little girls sea blue eyes widened as she saw a woman get shot, the woman crumpled to the floor, her head bleeding so quickly, she drowned in her own blood and her Salmara crawling to her to lay with her in their final breaths. The little girl curled into a ball and started to sob. Her mothers Salmara sat beside her to warm her up while her mother covered her mouth. She had planned to join the riot, to bring her child into that, but now all she saw was a huge mistake, if she had joined... She looked at her child, the dingo soul trying to cheer her up and keep her warm.

The man that owned them walked out of the house and laughed, a twisted sick and tired old laugh. "Stupid women," He said with a cigar hanging out his mouth, his voice choked from all his years of smoking, his skin and eyes where yellow with liver disease. "Your all so pathetic, thinking you can change the law, your Salmaras aren't effective and they say they are what we men should fear." He scoffed, watching with enjoyment as yet another young woman was tackled and held down, a man on top of her, punching her until she fell limp, her Salmara, a beautiful white fox dropped, limp like her human half.

His evil deep brown eyes watched intelligently on, a gas bomb was thrown, chocking the air around everyone, and in truth, made him feel sick. His name was Brandon, and although he enjoyed giving his females a flog, he did not think it right to kill them. He looked at the young female crying on the floor, her exposed arms brushed and swollen. He smiled in satisfaction, his crooked, yellow, broken teeth showed.

Then he saw the dingo, indignantly glowering at him, in secret he had feared this Salmara, he had been secretly studying Salmaras, but he knew very little about them, and he hated the fact that only women got them, but it was against law to touch a woman's Salmara, it was against the law to even speak to their Salmaras, due to it being their soul, the very thing that keeps them alive.

Then a thought occurred to him, as he watched the massacre, each of the women that died, so did their Salmaras. The woman would fall and at the same time, so would their Salmara, he narrowed his eyes and fell into a coughing fit. He blinked his grogginess away and walked back inside, leaving the females soaking in the rain.

All he and anyone knew of Salmaras was that a Salmara was a woman's soul, it stays out of the humans body and takes form of an animal that resembles their personality. Each woman gets her Salmara by the age of ten, they fall violently ill, their soul is leaving their body, some don't survive the separation, but the sickness is forgotten quickly after the Salmara has taken form and is cuddled up with its human half.

This little girls name is Nora, she hasn't gotten her Salmara yet, she was only six, curled into a ball and sobbing in fear and the protest ceased. The women where dragged home to be punished, beaten and probably killed.