Disclaimer: FullMetal Alchemist and all associated characters, concepts, and areas belong to Hiromu Arakawa.
A/N:: If there are any Spelling, Grammatical, or otherwise errors, please tell me in a review or message.
I am a young writer, so my work isn't always the best, I understand. Trust me, the FMA part is coming, but this is just the buildup. Don't quit on me now!
It Never Ends…
The pain and suffering of the slaves around me. That would never end. They would die in the hellholes they'd been sold into. I wasn't going to let it continue like that. During the night, I crawled through my window and dropped lightly to the ground. The guards of the Slavehouse noticed me only after I'd slipped between the bars that made up a hefty gate. The fence keeping us away from the outside world and from freedom. Metals bars reached to the sky, the top lined with sharp points meant to skewer any that tried to climb over it. The only weakness was that the smaller slaves, such as myself, could fit between the bars. But who said it was easy? Why the guards saw me was that there was quite a bit of grunting and silent cursing going on. An alarm sounded quickly, and I panicked my way out of the bar trap I'd squeezed into. Slightly bruised, I fell onto my hands and knees for a moment, no longer. The men were already rushing towards me, and I had no time to lose. Not a moment to spare, or I'd certainly feel the guillotine as the demon blade sliced through my neck. And I didn't believe in God, so what would happen to me? Well, I'd already spent half my life in Hell, so there couldn't be anything worse. I made a mad dash for the river, which was under one-hundred feet from the Slavehouse, and flew over it. Guns raised and the familiar sound of a gunshot penetrated my eardrums. I froze. An ominous 'twang' came from beside me. Something flew past my ear. A guard slumped to the ground, an arrow protruding from his chest.
To my right, a native sat crouched behind the river bank. I knelt down next to him and smiled. He never returned the gesture. Instead, the boy stood and made a signal for me to follow him. Startled, I darted after him, as he had begun a quick weave through the forest, and I would soon lose sight of him. Their village wasn't far from the Slavehouse. It was no wonder they stole food so often, being right there. The moment I entered the little village, arrows were aimed at my heart from every direction. The natives obviously didn't trust Whites. I didn't blame them. There was a bloodstained history behind my people and the ones who had lived here long before us. Constant wars left Indian populations small and frail. The Whites pillaged their lands, driving the Natives far away, leaving them without shelter, food, or territory. Sometimes, in my history of slavery, I met young Natives, stolen from their villages. From their families, tribes, and friends. I knew how the life felt. It was awful, and many slaves had attempted to kill themselves while working in the kitchen or Butcheryard. One of my close friends had fallen to that fate.
Not wishing to dwell on the thought, I turned back to the situation at hand. Arrows, sharp and poison-tipped, were aimed at me from every direction. Was I going to die then and there? And had the Native lead me into a trap? Luckily, I managed to stay calm in order to wait through the situation. Native or not, part of the Tribe or not, my escort seemed to be attempting to convince the others that I was not an enemy. Slowly, and seemingly regretfully, the Tribe lowered their bows. One, a young man of fifteen years, hesitated more than the others. I learned later that he'd had a hard past with the Whites. They'd taken his mother from him, and his father had died long before that. It didn't matter to him that I meant no harm.
Over the next few days, the Natives introduced me to everyone. Their chief was a very kind, gentle man, far into his years. He didn't seem to mind my presence, but the aforementioned young man never trusted me, watching from the shadows. Of course, I didn't notice him at the time. They taught me their ways, showing me how to live for the first time I'd ever done so. I'd always done work for another, cut off completely from the world around me. I'd never noticed all the wonders of nature. I'd never known that Milkweed juice could be used as a natural glue, or that red mushrooms weren't poisonous, and some white ones were. My eyes had been opened to the world, and they would never be closed. I was a fast learner, but I never fully learned their language. I just didn't have enough time.
Finally the day I would officially be accepted into the Tribe had arrived. Natives sat in a massive circle around the tree where their ceremonies were held. I sat on the roots of the tree, and the Chieftan stood beside me, calling to the Tribe, who answered. He ushered for me to stand, and so I did. I heard a wet 'thump', and a sharp pain in my back. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. They say your life flashes before your eyes when looking at the face of Death. Well, it didn't, and I'm grateful. I hadn't really had the best of lives. It was quick, even with the slowed time. Poison spread through my body, painlessly, which I was grateful for, and the world went black. Nothing more.
Well, until the last little detail. White light almost blinded me, and before me stood a massive stone Gate.
To Be Continued...
Well, I'd like to know how I did with my first story that I've ever had a storyline in mind for... I'll try to update once or twice a week.
Please leave a review! Thanks!