The Whipping Boy
Based on the Newberry Medal Award Winning Novel by Sid Fleischman - with a twist.
What story is our lives telling the world?
The first time we met was in the palace dungeon. My ball went flying down the stairs and I raced to go catch it not knowing I would end up in the basement, and my ball would just happen to roll down a long hallway and stop abruptly reaching the one door at the end of it.
Of course I was scared. The only light that guided me was a candle lit high above the middle of the ceiling, forming an inner ring of light and an outer ring of darkness. That's when I heard a voice, almost a hoarse whisper.
"Is someone there?" It called.
At first I said nothing, nailing my feet to the ground too terrified to move. And then it spoke again.
"Please help me,"
They say I was taken away from my family when I was two and forced to work as a slave ever since. I barely remember my parents and I'm grateful for that. I know nothing of these walls that bind me and wouldn't care to ask if the opportunity arose. I know my future and it doesn't involve trying to escape or dreaming of freedom. For a youngster I am extremely realistic. I know that I will be a slave for the rest of my life and die one as well.
The only thing that could ever hurt me about my past is the possibility that I wasn't taken away from my parents; I was given away for money. But that's only a rumor I've heard too much about, and have been reminded of whenever the time comes to ravage an innocent slave. In times like these I wasn't always the best candidate, a back talking slave was a dead one. But I was always lucky to be alive let alone still a virgin.
The day I thought I would finally lose it came sooner than expected. Usually I would say something or rather do something to put me in some sort of bad situation. Although this time I did nothing, they just took me. It's happened to me before - heck it's happened to every slave before - but the minute I stopped trying to fight back and was at the point where all I could feel was endless pain throughout my entire body, was the second I knew I would die. They just kept going. I'm not as tough as I'd like my frail body to be and thought about the bruises I would have on my corpse when someone finally cared enough to look for me. I understand the concept of slave brutality, but for six men to beat up a ten-year-old girl just doesn't seem right to me. At least have the decency to give me a fighting chance with three people.
As soon as one of them got on top of me, I knew it couldn't get any better than this.
"No! What are you doing? We've had strict orders to never take her; she is not ours she is his!"
He is someone I never would have even imagined existed. But he is another subject to tell much later on. All I can say now is that he can never be trusted.
The next thing I know I was alone in dark room, waiting for death to take me.
That was until he came along.
I can't remember what I said exactly. It was something under the lines of desperation. My voice hurt so much, I barely recognized who was talking when I spoke.
"Please help me,"
To this day I still remember his words.
"I promise I'll protect you."
I uploaded this story a while back and thought it might be nice to uploaded it again. I made a few changes to this chapter but the story is very much the same.
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With Love,
TheVirgin