Bean juice

Gangalng idk what to do no more
          
          I kinda lost motivation with all my writing during the holidays
          
          Also I'm dry on fan fictions 
          
          I'm probably gonna be mostly inactive on this account for a bit
          
          But I do have my quotev acc if U wanna follow
          
          Name is 
          Imagine pilots at the bastille boys
          
          I guess I js need to get my motivation back together 
          
          Cya

On the ‘beach’, however, most of the other spirits resided. A fair few of them had made their own makeshift volleyball court using tree branches and string. The current volleyball in question was in fact Heather Kasugas’ head. In any normal circumstance this would both disgust and terrify people, and they would more than likely call the police. But for the spirits on Wawanakwa island, it was more than normal. After being stuck on the island with those sorts of people for two years, it wasn’t really anything different. 
          It was quite a strange sight really.

“Huh.”
          Noah sat quietly on the edge of the water, his legs almost fully submerged as he attempted to read his book. The book itself was old and moldy, and its pages were falling out, but the half siren half spirit boy need something, anything to do. To remind him of the life he once had. The life that got taken away from him. The life that now subjected him to sitting on the edge of the island for the rest of eternity, to do nothing but sit and ponder in the water. 
          He had been fully immersed in the tattered words of the book, now old compared to today’s standard of writing, for at least 20 minutes before he saw it. The boy had re-read the book at least 100 times over, but it still never failed to please him. Noah did that often, tuning out the rest of the now bleak and worthless world to read his beloved books. But as he half- sat in the numblingly cold water that seemed to do nothing to him, something in the small rippling reflection caught his eye. A boat. This seemed to pique his interest. It wasn’t often that they saw boats, much less multiple life forms on a boat. 
          There was something about this particular boat that looked all but familiar to the spirit. Even from a long distance, the people on the boat held some sort of reminiscence. Like he’d seen them before. He turned his body to face the people on the beach.
          Everyone called the rocky shore a beach, but in reality, especially after years of rot, it was more of a dying tip. There was more dirt than sand, and most of the visible grains had been covered by washed up rubbish and seaweed.

. I would dare say even the pharaohs cats had been shown more freedom and love than us, treated like royalty for just existing.
          So, I guess I didn’t really have a choice around how I grew up. I don’t think anyone really does. But unfortunately, being a baby who can’t do anything doesn’t get you kicked out of the palace into a better world. If there even is one. So, I just lived in the servant quarters. Thankfully Fatima didn’t give up on me. I suppose she had some form of sympathy for me. or maybe she felt like she didn’t get a choice. I probably would feel compelled to look after a struggling infant whose mother just died that too if it were me. I will admit, it was kind of sad to see Fatima struggling because of me. In retrospect, it wasn’t actually my fault, for I didn’t ask to be born, but I suppose that knot of dread in my stomach was normal for someone in my situation. Fatima would have been torn honestly, having to do all her duties before rushing to feed me and change me or whatever I needed. I doubt she even got much sleep. Maybe that’s why she had gotten skinner as the years had gone on. My first real memory of her was probably when I was about two. It sticks out in my mind honestly, even though it isn’t significant; just her, collapsing on the bed against little me, kissing me goodnight. Oh, how I would love to be a baby again, having no responsibility. But I suppose I remember her being rather curvy back then. Not necessarily fat enough to be ashamed, but certainly larger than all the other Malnutritional servants. I don’t know how she did it really. We barely got fed after all. Maybe I did a good thing for her, making her so stressed she became like the rest of us, skin and bones.

part 3
          The system here is brutal huh? Even after pregnancy she was still forced to work. Slave away perhaps. Whatever one would call it. Through all the cramps and pain and vomit. You would expect the others to feel remorse. Sympathy. But instead, the people on her level, at the same wretched status as she looked down upon it. Pregnancy without a husband was a wretched thing to our people after all. Because then nobody could be a provider. The one making all the income to support the family. Not that anyone in the palace walls was getting paid. 
          From what I have been told, Fatima herself was the only one who noticed her convulsing in pain. Screaming as contractions hit. She was the only one who helped. Whether that is completely true or not I don’t know. But without any other information about my birth, It’s the only source I have. So that is the source I have stuck with. And from what Fatima had told me; it wasn’t a pretty birth. I feel rather sympathetic for my mother, considering how much pain she has been in. Bleeding out all over the place, the soul being sucked out of her body. Its kind of crazy to think that was my fault that she was in so much pain, even if it wasn’t a choice. But unfortunately, fate had decided against up poverty-struck Egyptian women, Egyptian slaves even, and my mother had died giving birth to me. I would very much imagine the image of her body on the ground, covered in blood and dried guts to be appalling. Maybe even more so after seeing baby me, screaming and cold in Fatimas arms. But alas, everyone would have most likely been used to that sort of thing, and it would’ve been treated as an afterthought. Who knows what could have happened though? Maybe they did feel sympathy, disgust, agony even and just masked it. Servants were not meant to show emotion, just to serve like puppets, being forced to do whatever the people above them in the Unfair hierarchy said to.

part two
          We were scum, lowlife compared to the supposedly powerful men of our country. 
          After being forced into work, she spent about five years working. Just day and night, night and day. Work eats sleep repeat. She didn’t even get paid. I mean what reason would she need to be? There was no one outside to help her. Neither inside, I suppose. All the women and men who worked in the palace may as well have been ghosts. Nobody really talked. Just did their job. It would drive one mad really. Many of the slaves would kill themselves in a state of mental insanity. And then within the week they will be replaced. Nobody would say anything. No Crying. No public Mourning. They would simply keep working.
          Now my mother was a deeply empathetic person. She craved emotional connections more than anything. But nobody at the palace had the emotional capacity to help her. She knew that. So, she blended in. Simply stayed under the radar. Until she met my “dad.”
          
          I use the term dad loosely because he was never present in my life. The only things I know about him come from Fatima. From what I’ve pieced together, he and my mother never actually had any meaningful conversations. He was indeed in it for sexual input. But my mother was the perfect pawn. He could tell she craved someone wanting her and loving her, so he took her under his arm. Tended to her desires. And oh, she probably felt so safe in his arms.  I feel bad now, thinking about it. She just wanted someone to love her, and he lied, using her to get to his own pleasure. So, it was no surprise she got pregnant with me. But the real breaking point was him shooting himself in the foot. Dead. Everyone assumed he had gone insane. Only my mother knew the truth. Not like she could tell anyone.

here 
          this is gonna take a while
          
          The rough tug at the blankets startles me from my slumber, as I collapse to the floor in an ungraceful heap. “Fatima!” 
          I shriek, running a hand through my hair as I stand up slowly. “Jeez. Could’ve been gentler, no?”
           Fatima sighs, rubbing her temples. “Well, it’s already six o clock. We’ve got a duty you know.”
           I resist the urge to roll my eyes, leaning the rest of my agile weight against the rotting bedframe. “Right.”
           I mutter exasperatedly under my breath, bending down to pick up the rotten, moldy white blanket and throw it lazily over the bed. Fatima glares at me sternly, even though there’s no malice behind her eyes. “You know the drill.” 
          She says sharply, the usual joyful tone in her voice replaced by a sense of tiredness. I sigh, nodding my head slightly as I straighten up the bed sheets. “I know, I know.”
           I drawl in a monotone voice. Fatima nods curtly, then turns around to continue working. She turns her head back for just a split second as she walks, her gaze softening as her eyes land on mine, before she waddles off into the distance. I let out groan, hauling myself away from my bed as I got ready for the long, exhausting day ahead.
          
          I suppose to really understand my position as a servant; you must first understand my backstory. My mother had been conscripted to the palace when she was 14. Her parents had sold her off to slave the rest of her life so they could stably support their 13 other kids. She had been under the assumption it would be like how one pictures a holiday, a carefree short time where she would be fed as much as she wanted. Sadly, this was not the case. She had had little idea at the time that this one decision would ruin her life: her career, her family, her soul. She didn’t know that this would ruin life for both and her child (me); forced into becoming a servant for the richer white male in the insatiable hierarchy that was Egypt.

Hey thanks for the follow! 

https://www.wattpad.com/story/394853826-island-of-the-slaughter-reboot-remasterd
          
          For more context if you havent read it yet