Hansel and Gretel

The Forest District

Hansel

        The floors creak.  I can tell that whoever is in the other room is trying to conceal their presence there.  “Maybe its just Gretel...” I whisper as I get up and stretch out.  'No, it can't be Gretel.  She's at least as good, if not better, at sneaking around than I am.'  I silently get up and look up above me.  Gretel lays asleep there.  That only leaves three possible suspects.  Father, an intruder, or Her.  Right around the time I make my grand assumption, I start to hear the lowered voices.  Father!  He's talking to her.  I can barely make out their words, but I think I hear my name.  The voices seem to be headed for the door, and I make a split-second decision.  I drag on the coat that Gretel had painstakingly patched countless times.  I would have to ask Father for a new one next market day, but then she will have another reason to make us leave.

        Our days here are numbered.  Gretel and I both know it, as does Father, but he's just too stubborn to admit it.  Ever since Rosea came around, flaunting into our living room with her fancy clothes and expensive jewelry, everything has come tumbling down.  We use to live in poverty, but we lived.  We went without food sometimes, but we never starved.  Now, we can barely survive anymore, yet she is never really hungry.  She still has her make-up, dresses, and jewels.  I don't know exactly where she goes when Father leaves for work, because she always loses me in the heavy foot traffic around the market place.  But she always heads in the general direction of the Royal Palace.  I have no idea why she would be going there.  When she first arrived, she told us that she was from a distant land and needed a place to stay.  My father, the womanizer that he is, took her in.  It's been months and she hasn't left yet.

        I decide not to put on my torn tennis shoes, because those would make noise and leave footprints on the ground.  I sneak quietly from our room just in time to see the tail of Father's long cloak swish through the door.  That cloak is extremely important to our family.  It's been passed down through the generations.  It doesn't look like much, but it would probably sell for millions of Royal Notes in the market, enough to feed us for years.  It is one of the only relics left from the Old Civilization not in a museum or in the employ of the Empire.  Made from TechnoFoil, it never get's dirty, never needs to be cleaned, and can change it's appearance at the whims of it's owner.  When our family was noble, it was used to protect the Emperor as the cloak of my many times great-grandfather Sir Helix, the Chameleon Knight.  After we fell from the royal grace, Helix's grandson used it to keep food on the table as Axis the Wraith.  No one in our family remembers how we fell, but it happened in just one generation, going from prized protector to most wanted thief in a relatively small number of years.

        I silently run after them as the memories flash through my mind.  Dad sitting Gretel and I down at the table, explaining that we had to be on our best manners when Rosea was around.  Rosea taking money out of Father's account when she thought no one was watching.  I continue to follow them, but for some reason they're heading towards the Forest District.  “Why would they be going there?” I think aloud.  “Only those ready to die go to the Forest District...”  They're still whispering as they walk, but they've sped up now.  Rosea is leading Father by the hand into a bar.  We don't have the money for that, and I'm not allowed in, so I head home.  No use being thrown into the jail for trying to sneak into a Level Four-Clearance bar.  I walk home silently, with my head bowed so no Street Guards can see my face.

Gretel

        When I wake up, the house is empty.  Hansel is out somewhere, probably gambling what we have for the slim chance of earning more.  He's pretty good at it, too.  When our Uncle used to come around, he taught Hansel and I some gambling secrets.  I never really caught on, but Hansel took to it like wildfire.  I was the one who stole back what he lost.  A swift hand in the pocket, maybe a knife to the back, and it would soon return to us, sometimes with even a little extra added in.  But I never liked hurting and stealing from people.  I knew that most of them were just as poor as us.  But Uncle always told us to put ourselves first in hard times, because it was never any use to be a hero for others and then die yourself.  Uncle was smart like that.

        Right when I'm about to go back to sleep, I hear the door open to the room.  “We need to talk, Gret,” I can hear Hansel's words even though I can't see him in the utter darkness.  “Sure, Hans, what do you need?”  “Rosea and Father woke me with their horrible sneaking,” I can just sense the smile spread across his face with those words, “so I decided to follow them.  They went to a bar in the Forest District, Gret!  What would they be doing there?” his words had turned hushed and panicked by the end of his sentence and I could hardly bear to hear the fear in those words.  “It'll be fine, Hans,” I say as I cross the room and give him a hug, “We'll be fine.  Let's just go back to sleep and we'll talk about it tomorrow.”  I lead him to the bed, but I can feel the tears trying to escape.  'I can't cry in front of my little brother!  I can't let him see that I'm afraid of what our own Father might do to us.'  His body is wracked with tears, and I know that he is just as scared as I am.  “It'll be okay...  It'll be okay...”

        I wake up in the morning not exactly sure how I got in my bunk.  All I remember is reassuring Hansel until he fell asleep before I slowly unlatched myself from him and started crying myself.  We still have time.  We're smart, we can survive without them anyway.  We both knew that Father and Rosea went to the Forest District to start bartering our lives.  That's what people do in the Forest District.  You trade slaves, favors, money, and pretty much anything else there.  “Come on Hans, time to get up or we'll be late for the Pit,” Hansel is always difficult to wake up, but tonight he's sleeping like the dead.  The crying must have taken it out of him. 'I'll let him sleep...  We don't need the money that bad, especially now that we know we'll probably be dead in a couple of weeks.'  I walk into the kitchen and grab a notepad, hastily scribbling out a note for him.  I leave it on the bed with him, and I know it will stay in the same place, because Hansel doesn't move when he sleeps.  He only talks, and when he does, he talks about scary things.