One-shots [Reqs: 5]

That one.

Cross was a sweet boy, the people of his village said. Selfless, cheerful, optimistic, only good things were said of him. He helped whenever he could, he did his best to keep them smiling, he gave them more than they asked for. There was not one person who didn't know who he was, no way that they didn't with how small the village was.

Everyone knew everyone. News spread fast once it was shared. And the sweet boy's sudden disappearance was soon widely known. The town turned itself inside out and upside down, searching for the boy, praying to whatever gods were up there that he was safe.

They gathered at the child's home, a small tent secured with rocks, and found nothing but a small doll. It was a ragged thing, the seams messy and the button eyes lopsided. Thin reeds of straw poked out in various spots and the tattered clothing was soiled. Bearskin was sown haggardly to its lumpy head, the fur acting as hair. The doll's beady eyes judged the villagers, looking like it was angry at them for losing their little star.

The town descended into panic, not knowing that the young boy was long gone; halfway across the neighboring country in the back of a wagon. They hadn't realized that the trading caravan had come two months early.

   ҉ ҉ ҉      ҉ ҉ ҉      ҉ ҉ ҉      ҉ ҉ ҉      ҉ ҉ ҉      ҉ ҉ ҉

Cross jerked up, breath panicked as his eyelights whipped around. He whimpered when he found several people sitting around him. "Karriopa meh?", he quietly asked, and received no answer. He repeated himself, more loudly, his voice quivering. "Akequo jhu? Karriopa meh? Huier??" A woman, her arms bound so tightly that the rope was blood-stained, shook her head. Cross didn't understand what she said. "Quiet."

Her eyes were wide, oily strands of thin hair dangling in her face, and her skin was marred with gnarled tissue. A series of numbers was branded into her bare chest, her breasts unhealthily shriveled and scarred. She wore nothing but a simple rag around her waist that hid her parts. She was skinny, starved. "55486" the numbers read.

"Ypyk frenishla." He tried to tell her. He got the same urgently whispered word. This time, from a small teen. "79645" was inked on his shoulder. Cross shuddered at the scars. "Yetaj hiera?"  A bear attack, he wondered. The last two people hissed at him, speaking in the same foreign language. "Hush now, child!" He flinched, instinctively going to grab his doll. His fingers touched dense wood. Desperately searching, finding nothing, Cross stiffened. His lower jaw trembled, sockets welling with tears. "Karriode Gara? Karrio karrio karrio!!"

Where was his precious doll?! Where was Chara?!? With this, finally, came the realization: The realization that he was not safe. He was somewhere he didn't know with people he didn't know and he didn't remember how he got there. And Chara was nowhere to be found. He was alone.

A sob worked its way up his throat, tears slipping down his cheeks. His hands shook at his sides, rattling the chains and making the wood beneath him creak. "Ga-..Gara!! Gara!! Gytanish Gara!!" The wagon rumbled to a stop, and the people stiffened. The woman started to shake. "No, no, no, shut up! You're going to get us in trouble!" But it was too late.

Sunlight flooded the room, two annoyed men peering in at them. One held a steel-tipped whip. The end split into multiple jagged wires. Cross wailed, crying for his doll, not once stopping to consider the danger in front of him. "Shut up." He cried harder. He didn't understand.

He choked mid-cry as his chains where harshly yanked, dragging the poor boy from his spot. He kicked and screamed, trying to dig his heels into the wood. It was pointless.

He yelped when the floor dropped from beneath him. Cross landed with a pained cry, the fall sending little clouds of dirt into the air. He didn't have a moment to process why he was outside. The whip cracked and-