Chapter 1: Broken at Birth
My first memory was my mother attempting to drown me in the cold water on Bestine IV. I didn't really blame her, as I've always felt an unusual hatred for myself. I vividly recall opening my eyes under the water and seeing bubbles float to the surface, obscuring the already blurry image of my angry mother above the surface. All I could hear was a muffled tone of disdain as I felt her grasp grow tighter and tighter around my throat with each obscenity she spit at me. As I struggled to unglue her hands from my neck, I realized I had very little time left before I fell unconscious beneath the surface. The only thing I could think to do was to kick her as hard as I could and hope it caught her off balance enough for me to escape. I swiftly kicked up from the water and aimed at where I thought to be her leg. I heard a sharp, distorted yell and felt her let go of me almost at the same time. Being released, I thrust my head up from under the water and took the biggest breath of air I could. Panting hard, I looked to the shore where my mother had been holding me under the waves, and saw her ankle twisted out of place, and her on the ground rocking and crying.
"You worthless, ignorant child! Look what you've done to me!" she yelled as loudly as she could.
As an eight year old, I had no reply to her. I was still in shock at the strength of my kick, and couldn't understand how I had mutilated her ankle to such a degree. Floating around in the water, for a brief second I considered just turning into the seemingly endless ocean landscape and swimming away. But that thought quickly dissolved as the local slave owners rushed to my mother's side to see what all the commotion was about. Most of the slaves on the planet were humans, as were the slave owners. You could obviously tell the two apart though because slaves wore ripped up rags and the owners wore elegant robes with lavish jewelry on their hands.
"That bastard child broke my ankle! Look at it, oh God, I don't know if I'll ever walk again!"
She was always good at turning the tables on me and making me look like the enemy. She knew with our distance away from the camp, no one would have any idea what happened. And of course between her and I, her word carries a lot more trust than mine.
"You, boy in the water, come onto the shore immediately!" the slave owner shouted at me.
I knew what was in store for me, as I knew the ways of slavery. Act good, nothing bad happens besides, of course, the starvation, overexertion and lack of hope. Act poorly and you're sent to the "dark place". Nine times out of ten, the slave put there never came out alive, but occasionally there was a survivor. Somehow, I had no fear of the "dark place", as I couldn't imagine anything worse than what my mother already put me through.
"I'm getting out," I said and slowly swam to the shore. I took my time and enjoyed my last moments of freedom.
When I got onto the shore, I was immediately restrained by the owner's guards and put in security shackles. I saw my mother with a sick twisted smile on her face, and a look in her eyes as if her soul no longer existed.
"Get up and walk, boy. Head down", the guard said shoving a sharp staff into my spine to show he meant business. I cringed at the feeling of the blade ripping my flesh open.
"I hope you die in there, scum. I hope I never have to see you again," mother whispered as quietly as a dove; so quietly that I questioned if she had actually said anything at all.
As the guards escorted me away from the ocean shore, I began wondering what the "dark place" would be like. Is it literally a dark place, or simply dark feeling? Was there anyone else there, or was I simply alone, left to fend for myself. I felt surprisingly strong for a mere eight year old after seeing what my kick had done to my mother. Was this a false sense of security, or something about me that made me unique? My mother's twisted ankle flashed into my head as I felt another sharp jab from the guards spear, only this time it was aimed at my leg. I stumbled forward, and noticed we were no longer in the city. We were slowly walking up what appeared to be a trail into the woods. I had never been into the woods, as slaves are forbidden to leave the city and docks. I felt my heart accelerate with each step, not knowing what was in store for me, but expecting the worst.
I had no idea how long the guards escorted me into the woods, but I knew it had to have been at least a couple of hours since the sun was now setting on the horizon. It grew increasingly hard to see where I was walking, and my legs were sore from the steep terrain. The dim torches along the path did very little to assist me. Finally, when I was almost to the point of collapsing, one of the guards shouted, "Stop right there, boy."
I immediately halted since I didn't want to feel the searing blade in my spine again. Suddenly, I felt a harsh shove at my back and I stumbled forward into the darkness. I reached my hands out to stop my fall, but I stumbled over the edge of what appeared to be a giant chasm. With lightning fast reflexes, I grabbed the ledge with one of my hands and dangled there for a moment.
"Ha-ha-ha… He thinks he can hold onto the ledge and escape his fate. What do you think?" I heard the guards joking from above, but didn't know what would come next.
"I don't think he has a chance of surviving the fall, either way", the other guard chimed in.
Next, I felt an immense pain from my hand and realized the guard had stomped on it. I continued to hold on, suffering through the pain with ease. This was nothing compared to the beatings mother used to put me through. I felt another stomp and another. With the last one, I heard a physical "crack" come from my hand and I finally released my grip. I shouted out in terror and pain and held my disfigured hand close to my body. I plunged into the unknown, inky blackness below, unaware of the horrors that would soon haunt me.