Part 1: An Ogre's Past
Shrek sniffed the questionable cuisine that his foster mother had made. "What is this, Mother?"
"Dinna call me that, ya li'l monster!"
The plump woman nearly threw a cup at him, and he dropped his head slightly, his ears drooping. "Sorry, Brenna," he said lamely. He slumped in his seat and raised his fork to his lips, trying not to notice the slimy feel of the meat. She always saved the worst parts of the roast for him. "It sure does taste good tonight."
"'Course it does, ya big, stupid, ugly thing!" She spat it hatefully at him and then turned back to her sewing.
He quickly downed the rest of the meat, needing the nutrition. He had just as little food as the rest of the children, possibly less, and he was nearly skin and bones. When he was finished, he stood. "I'll just be gettin' back ta the chores then."
"You'd best have that fire wood done t'night or there'll be no breakfast fer ya in the mornin'!" Brenna said forcefully, not looking up.
"Yes, M-Brenna." He quickly walked outside and down the hill, squinting against the setting sun. There was so much left to do and so little time. He hefted the somewhat comforting weight of the axe and placed a chunk of wood on the stump before him, pausing a moment to watch it before splitting it easily. He let his mind wander as he worked on the pile of firewood before him.
The work kept him stronger than anyone else in their little "family", even his foster father, Stratton, at the age of 12. He didn't have to stay, but he had nowhere else to go since his mother had died. Well, even she wasn't his real mother. His real mother had been killed trying to defend their house from an attack from the villagers when he was only three months old, and her friend Aileen had taken him in. Ogres did not live in close quarters to each other as a general rule, and Aileen had had no idea where the next ogre family was. Realizing that she was the only human within miles who didn't persecute them, she'd taken him in and raised him as her own son, until she'd suddenly gotten the sickness that was taking half the town and died when he was eight.
Brenna had promised at Aileen's deathbed to take care of him, but she had no love of ogres and was a cruel, unfeeling slave driver. The family all shared her opinion of him, with the exception of the oldest daughter, Sorcha, who was only a few months younger than he. Her looks did not resemble her mother's, leading him to believe that she was perhaps from Stratton's first marriage. His first wife had died, but he wasn't sure when. Brenna treated the girl with the same contempt she showed him, only quite a few notches lower on the hatred scale. He split another log and watched the pieces fall away with a tear in his eye.
Suddenly he felt something hit his back, and he turned to see a group of the younger children standing behind him with a small pile of rocks. Fachtna, age seven, led the group. He hefted a stone in his hand and tossed it up a few times. "Hey, Ogre."
"Mah name's Shrek," he said testily, turning back to his work. Let them throw their stones. They can't hurt me.
"You don't deserve a name."
He ignored them and continued chopping wood. After a few moments, he felt rocks hitting his back, but none of the children were able to get up enough throwing power to actually hurt him, so he ignored it.
Suddenly, he heard a stern voice calling out. "Stop that! Stop it!"
He turned around to see Sorcha walking briskly towards them.
"Why should we?" Fachtna sneered.
"Because if you don't, I'll tell Mother that you were feeding sweets to the hens again!"
Fachtna scowled and backed down. "Fine. Stupid ogre-lover." He and the other kids ran off towards the house, giggling at his joke.
Sorcha watched them leave, then walked over and put a hand on Shrek's shoulder gently. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"
He could feel his face flushing. "Of course not, Sorcha. The likes o' them could never injure a brute like myself," he said teasingly, a note of sorrow and anger leaking out against his will.
"I suppose I should have realized that, Shrek. But I just don't like it that they're so unfeeling towards you." She dropped her hand and looked up the hill to the house they all shared. "You could leave, you know. I have to stay, but you could leave."
"I've nowhere ta go, Sorcha. I'll be stayin' here."
"…Just…don't stay for me, okay?"
He frowned down at her. "What do ya mean?"
"I mean that if you want to leave, you should. I can take care of myself, you know."
He nodded and turned back to his work. "Ya'd best be gettin' back to the house before Brenna comes lookin' fer ya."
Sorcha nodded, walking back up the hill. She paused halfway up and turned to watch him again as he worked, then sighed and continued up to the house.
After half a night of tossing and turning on this cot in the barn, for that was the only place where there was room for him, Shrek stood and decided to get about doing some of the work he would need to do in the morning. No use in just laying there when he couldn't sleep anyway. He was halfway done hoeing the field when he heard raised voices coming from the house, and he quickly ran over to investigate.
He sat below the window, listening to the now softened sounds of Brenna and Stratton arguing.
"He'd be better off on 'is own anyway, Brenna. All 'e gets here is jeers and jibes."
"I'll not be goin' back on my promise to Aileen, Stratton! I'm ta look after …the ogre…until he's fit to look after 'imself."
"An' when will that be?" Stratton said testily, his voice rising again. "He's already taken over most o' my jobs, an' the rest o' the children hardly 'ave ta work at all. Ya dinna think that possibly havin' Shrek do most o' the chores 'round here is a bad idea?"
"No, an' I dinna see why ye would either."
There was silence for a few moments after that, and Shrek wondered if the discussion was over. Finally, Stratton's voice was audible again, though labored and tired sounding. "Ya jus' want 'im here so you can hurt 'im." Silence reigned again while Brenna took in what he said.
"That is simply not true, Stratton, an' you know it!" came a cry, followed by the shattering of some thrown object. "How dare ye accuse me o' such a vile thing!"
"Because it's the truth!" he shouted back. "Ye've never forgiven 'im fer bein' who he is, and ye never will! He can't help it, Brenna. He didn't ask ta be an ogre, he didn't ask ta have 'is both 'is mothers killed, and 'e certainly didn't ask fer you ta hate 'im!"
"And what are you suggestin', Stratton?"
"That you treat the boy with a little more tolerance."
"Why? He's jus' a big, stupid ogre. He prolly doesn't even know I'm treatin' 'm any different than the other kids."
"Fine. I'm goin' out fer a while."
Hearing this, Shrek scrambled to stand, wiping his face quickly, but he wasn't fast enough to make himself scarce by the time Stratton had exited the house. He tried to dry his face of the tears he'd been unable to stop, looking hurt and confused anyway.
Stratton glanced over at Shrek and lit a pipe while he was composing himself, then motioned for the young ogre to follow him away from the house. A little ways away from the house, Stratton turned around. "So, ya heard all that, did ya?"
Shrek nodded miserably, staring at the ground.
"Ya know I'm right, Shrek. It's time fer ye ta strike out on yer own. We're only hindering ye." He puffed on his pipe. "I've never condoned the way Brenna treated ya, Shrek, but she's right on one account. Ye'll never fit in here."
He nodded again, his ears drooping even more.
"I can give ye a little money and some tools, and a'course ye can take all the clothing ya use now. Brenna isn't goin' ta like this, but it has ta be done."
"…I'll leave tomorrow…"
Stratton nodded and wandered back towards the house, leaving Shrek to himself.
"Sorcha!"
She mumbled something and rolled over in her cot, white moonlight dimly outlining her form.
"…Sorcha, wake up!"
She sat up and looked around the dark room, trying to find the soft voice. "…Shrek? Is that you?"
"Aye!"
Trying to stay quiet, Sorcha made her way to the window, where she saw the ogre standing with a pack over his back, his eyes wide. "What do you need at this hour, Shrek?" she whispered gently, "Brenna would have you flogged if she knew you were here."
"I'm leavin'."
As soon as he said it, it seemed like everything stopped, even her own pulse. "…Leaving?"
"Brenna doesn't want me, nor do any o' yer siblings. Stratton thinks it best if I go." He stared into her eyes for a moment. "Would ye come with me if I asked ye?"
"Oh…Shrek. I- I can't."
"Yes ya can." He reached up and took her hand, surprised anew at the difference of size. "We'd be out of the province before any o' them even notice we're gone."
"Shrek, we- we're only children. You can't take care of the both of us. You go. I'll stay here."
"I'm not leavin' without ya, Sorcha."
"You have to." She withdrew her hands and made her voice as biting as she could. "Why would I want to run away with a big, ugly ogre like you?"
Shrek jerked back slightly, confused. "But-but ya said-"
"I know what I said, Shrek, now get out of here. I never want to see you again!"
He looked stricken. "…Sorcha…ya can't mean that…"
"I do! Leave!"
Their voices had risen in volume and intensity and now there was a group of children gathered behind Sorcha, adding their voices to her request.
Shrek examined them all incredulously, his ears drooping in disbelief and sorrow, before he turned and ran. He wasn't sure where he was running to; he didn't have a plan or any idea of what to do. But he did know that he didn't want to stay there. And he knew that it hurt.
After a while he paused in his running and stopped before a large tree, sobs wracking his body. After his breathing was back to normal, he looked around, trying to orient himself.
For all of his running, he couldn't tell which direction he'd come. It was nearly dawn. He'd need somewhere to take shelter during the day so the nearby villagers wouldn't see him, but he had no idea where such shelter could be found.
"Over here!" called a soft, female voice.
His head shot in the direction of the voice, and he saw a figure running behind a tree. He quickly followed the figure. "Hey, wait!"
"Shh…follow me!" it said again, seeming to come from all around him now. He could see the white clad form running in front of him, and he followed it until he entered some sort of a clearing. The figure and the voice were gone now. He searched for another flash of white, but saw none. Stepping, he heard a squishing noise.
Shrek picked up his foot and looked at it with some disgust and then looked at the clearing again. Most of it was wet and green, and a huge, tree sat in the center. It appeared to be dead, hollow. It was…
"…Perfect…" He ran forward and rapped on the tree with his fist, hearing an echoing inside. "Just perfect." He gripped a nearby log and used it to cave in a small area so he could walk in. Looking around, he saw that there was plenty of room for everything he needed. It would take a lot of work, but it could be done. And no one would ever bother him again.
Thoughts such as that reminded him on Sorcha, and he quietly hoped that the ache it left in his heart would leave. But he knew that it would be a long time before he could forget.
Sorcha looked out into the night after the smaller children had been ushered back to bed. A tear coursed down her cheek unheeded. I'm so sorry, Shrek… She hadn't meant it, any of it. But he had to go away, somewhere where he wouldn't be pushed down. He had to be able to become whatever he could, and that would never have happened there.
She quietly got back into bed and prayed to be forgiven for what she had just done.