The Pinky Finger of Brat
By Sith Jamie
Rating: PG (I mention child abuse in here!!! Plus lots of Angst!)
Summary: A young slave girl, Brat, is given the charge of her baby brother, only to have him threatened with the life of a slave. Brat must now choose between her own life and her brother's…
Disclaimer: Sadly the STAR WARS universe will never belong to me! Consequently suing me is a waste of time; I am currently on welfare! There is child abuse in this story! And slavery! So, if you have probs with either, don't read 'em. The character Brat is my friend's Selina's, so if one wants her you have to ask her @ rocka_baby16@yahoo.com. The rest if from my own little head where packs of pink bunnies hunt the T. Rex.
Spoilers: the JA books, maybe! I haven't read any so I wouldn't know!
Feed back: Yes! Yes! Criticism is welcome!
Thank you Selina for giving me the idea and her characters, Moon for reading this, Luna for being there when I had my first case of writer's block, and finally Artemis, who was there for me. You girls are the best! I'd also like to thank Sean, who lent me so much, including his dignity.
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Brat, silently seating herself on the cold stone steps that surrounded the hut, sucked on her thumb like any normal toddler would do when scared. Her stormy eyes were almost pelting rain as tears slipped out. Today was her birthday, and Brat was three.
Not that it mattered. She was a slave and as soon as something called profit was here, she would go away.
Brat had never been given a real name. Her master had always called her Brat. Her father would scream Brat whenever she did something, even if she didn't know what she had done. When the slaves' midwife came and asked what was the child's name her mother had screamed obscenities ending with the word Brat. So, she was named Brat.
Now her mother was howling again and Brat was to have a new brother or sister, only this time she was the oldest. The thought thrilled Brat to no end; she might finally have a playmate.
She shuddered violently. The wind hurled itself at her, throwing cold her way. The thin little jacket was no protection against the night, but she feared returning inside, an awaiting slap in her face would be her only reward and even then she would be forced outside to face the cold.
Her roseate lips were now pale blue, suffering from cold and wind. Her feet and legs bare, were blanch now as she huddled against the door of the hut in her fetal position. Her hair was long, and could be very pretty if washed and combed. She had always thought of brushing it and adding sweet Salou flowers to it, the bright crimson adding color to her copper curls.
Brat sighed. Sleep was heavy upon her, but she wanted to see her new friend. Many of the children had brothers and sisters, whom they had played with. Brat had an older brother once, he was kind to her, but then "profit" came, and he had to leave. She heard her mother say he was a slave to a hutt, whatever that was.
"Brat, Brat, come here." The midwife's voice was warm, the only warmth she had at that moment. "Come see your brother!"
Brat leaped to her feet and bounded into the door. "Where, where is he?" She yelled. Brat danced around, her skinny legs bobbing her body up and down.
"He's right here, meet your brother!" In the Midwife's arms was a tiny bundle, a baby boy with reddish hair protruding his otherwise bald head.
"A baby?" Brat looked at the bundle; this was NOT what she wanted. She had seen the other slave babies, crying, stinky things, tied to the back of a hard working mother.
"Well…yes Brat, we all start out as babies. Is something wrong?" The Midwife's brown eyes locked with Brat's. "Are you okay?"
'No, I wanted a brudder, instead I gots a stinky ole baby!' The comment almost made it's way to Brat's lips, but she held her tongue. Instead, she replied a quick "Oky-doky."
The baby was given to Brat. It cooed a couple of times, snuggled within its blanket, and curled its tiny hand around her pinky. Brat wrinkled her nose. 'Babies!'
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"Wahhhaaahhhhaaahhh!" The squeal came from the bedroom upstairs where the baby was snuggled into a crib and left there.
'The kid sure has lungs!' mused Brat. She tried to curl into the blanket on the floor, her bed, but it was useless to block out the sound from above.
And so it began a tradition. The baby would cry each night, neither of the parents bothering with it, and only Brat to hear its sad cries. In fact, the baby was much forgotten, like Brat. He was ignored constantly, no one even bothering to name it.
Brat couldn't take the crying much longer. It was like hearing a wounded animal, or someone lost and frightened. She sat up from her makeshift bed, climbed the small set of stairs, and confronted the bawling it.
Picking him up, and rocking it she left the small room. The stairs were hard for her to climb before, now they were almost impossible with the bundle in her arms. The baby was no help as it continually tried to grab her small finger.
'Silly baby!'
She moved her hand to the baby, and he grabbed her pinky instantly. That quieted him only a little, for he was hungry and needed a change.
"Shh, you'll wake Mommy and Da!" Carting her little bundle to the kitchen best she could without letting him drop, she opened a cabinet. She had heard the Midwife say the baby needed warm milk, whether it is from the mother or a formula. Brat soon spotted a bottle, filled with formula. She climbed atop the counter and grabbed the bottle, which was congealed. She then remembered how her mother had warmed frozen packaged food: She had filled a pan with water and put the package into it. It had seemed easy enough.
Brat filled the pan with water and put the bottle into the pan. She clicked on the heating unit, and waited until steam clouded the space around her. Taking the formula out of the pan, she stuck it into the baby's mouth. The baby suddenly screamed, the formula falling to the floor. "Shh! Please!" Lifting the formula up she sniffed in. Brat put the bottle into her own mouth, and dropped it instantly. The liquid was molten hot! No wonder the baby had screamed. She set the bottle on the table, waiting for it to cool. At last, after six small sips later, the bottle seemed at the right temperature.
Brat smiled at the bundle before her. It was just hungry. When the baby had finished, Brat slung him over her shoulder, and patted him on the back as she had seen the Midwife do. The baby made a small burp and something warm traced lined down her back. Brat just smiled. Somehow, she felt as if she could never be mad at the tiny thing.
The baby, now fed and burped, struggled again to hold her small pinky. Brat relented; the babe's fingers enclosed her tiniest one. "Mine!" she smirked. "My pinky and my baby!"
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From then on, things changed around the little hut. The baby was fed and changed each night, and soon became Brat's only companion. He was often seen strapped to Brat's own back as she gathered herbs for supper or fetched water from the local well. Brat was soon given the nickname of tikh bendra (little mother). She was the joke of the slave village.
Brat would often fall asleep near the babe's crib, a sign of her watchful vigil. It was also an escape from her Mother and Father…and even then, the baby could not protect her from her father's wrath.
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Brat awoke from her usual position by the crib. A foot poked and prodded her stomach… her father was awake!
"Getup! I mean's it ya lil maggot!" Her father was angry, causing his words to come out slurred. Brat didn't move; fear kept her still. "GET UP! NOW!" His hand then came down on Brat's cheek, and stung like a thousand hornets. Brat looked up at his face; shock lay within her void eyes. However, Brat had still not moved. With that, her father yanked her up by the roots of her hair. Brat screamed the words were almost not decipherable. "DON'T HURT MY BRUDDER!" It came out as one long word, but either her father chose to ignore her plea or didn't understand what she had said, for the screams of Brat could be heard two miles away, while a small baby boy cried for the pains of his sister.
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No one in the slave village asked about Brat's black eye or any other visible welts. Brat, instead, took her baby away. The baby continued to hold onto her smallest finger.
Brat looked at her bruise around her eye, it was black, swelling still, and darkened her once pretty gray eyes.
The baby cooed snuggling in her arms. Brat sighed. Brat began to lament for the life her brother would lead, soon. Either a worker in the fields or he would disappear. It wasn't fair! Brat stopped crying. Her brother would NOT disappear or go and work! Brat slowly stood up from her perch of the uglandra tree. The pink fruit would soon turn a garnet purple when the dry season came within two more moons. If she had known that within that time he would be gone, maybe she would have acted faster…
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Voices came from Brat's hovel as she neared her home. Brat listened in to the voices from the open window.
"The boy will be sold?" Her father's voice. "Of course, profits are up, boy slaves are in the need. You say he is force sensitive, that will give us a greater demand for Brat's little brother!"
Brat did not understand most of what was said, but she had heard the words "Profit" and "Brat's Little Brother". She could not let them take him away!
Brat looked at the sleepy infant. " I love you!" It was the first time Brat had ever said those words. It would be the last!
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Brat didn't know whom to turn to. Instead she ran, away from the hut, away from her imprisonment, away from it all. Fear pressed the child on to the only one who knew any kindness, the Midwife.
The Midwife gladly opened the door of her simple hut to the child. Every breath that entered Brat's lungs stung and burned.
. "Once the profit comes, he won't be here no more. He's my baby…no one's elses!"
The Midwife locked eyes with the tiny child. She didn't understand that the baby was a slave baby, one, who would never live with Brat in the fantasy world she had thought up for him.
"Brat, profit is the money Master gets from selling slaves, us. He, this baby, will never get to stay here. He will be sold should the master see it fit. I am sorry!"
"No, no, NO! He won't go away, I won't let him! NO, NO, NO!" Brat threw a small tantrum. Something she would have never done before. She sniffed, filling her nose back up, and wiped the last of it on her dirty sleeve.
The midwife turned away from her. There was another way…but the child would never be hers, Brat would lose him, perhaps forever. No, it would get Brat killed.
"I am sorry!"
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Brat awoke to the baby's howls. She remembered the man, the man with silver-brown hair. His aquiline and leonine like features were kind. Maybe he could help her! Maybe he could save her baby.
Creeping towards the crib, she picked up the baby. "You need a real name. I can't keep calling you baby…I always wanted a real name… your name is…" she thought for a moment. "Your name is Gabriel, cause I heard a man talk abouts angels."
The baby squealed, laughed, and grabbed hold of her finger. Gabriel sucked on it, coating it with its gooey spit. All Brat did was laugh.
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The Midwife watched Brat cart the baby on her back. Silent tears were coming, as were the days of the slave auctions. She realized that Brat loved this baby more than her own life…tears flowed out of her eyes.
"Brat, come tonight." The Midwife called to her. "Bring the baby."
With that, the Midwife turned and climbed the stone path that led to her house.
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Brat hefted Gabriel onto her tiny and wan back. The back soon to be marked with carmine welts from the whips that would scar her for life.
She waited until the footsteps of her parents disappeared into the darkness of the hallway. Brat came out of the shadows, slinking towards the door. She opened it, a hard task for the malnourished child. The lock snapped open, and Brat left the comfort of her home for the uncertain darkness
She soon arrived at the shabby house of the Midwife. "Brat, hurry in!" Brat opened the door, and sunk into the light of the room.
"Now, Brat, there is a way to save the baby. Unfortunately, it will mean you will have to give him up."
Brat's eyes were filled with bewilderment. "What choo talkin' about?"
The Midwife let out her breath slowly. Her words were being chosen carefully. "Brat, the baby can leave a good life! He can be free. Do you know what free is?" Brat shook her head no. "Well Free is where you aren't whipped or hurt. There is no "master" who makes you do things without you thinking about it first. It means the child can become whatever he wants when he grows up. Do you understand?"
"I think so…" Brat said with a lost look. "Brat, your baby can be loved by a family" Brat may have not understood free but loved was something she understood, and wanted direly.
"Your baby" the Midwife continued "will never have to hurt again. Do you want him to have that?"
Brat nodded. "When can we have that?"
This time, the Midwife cried. Regret spilled onto the dirt floor. She hugged Brat, not wanting to let her go. "Oh Brat, honey, you can't have freedom. The slave collar is too hard to get off. And if we tried, it would blow up. Your brother on the other hand…"
"NO! I WANT HIM AND ME TO LIVE FREE! IT'S NOT FAIR!" Brat jumped from her arms.
"Brat…" The Midwife pressed. " I'm afraid only he can be free, right now. You may never see him again. Never, but at least he won't have the life you had!"
Brat sniffed. Brat wanted a happy ending, like the stories the mothers told their children. Those children who were free, they had stories, and love, and no one hurt them. Gabriel…he could get that. He could be free!
Brat turned to the Midwife. "Will he be okay? Will he have all those things?" The Midwife nodded.
Brat looked up. "How can he get some freedom?"
The Midwife smiled, but it was a grin of sorrow. "Tonight, run! Run to the village! There you will find a family who will take him. Then return here. Brat, I am sorry!"
Brat turned, and ran. She just ran.
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Morning sprinkled pinks and lavender all around the small city. Brat had run all night. On her back was the baby, asleep.
She sighed. Brat didn't know where to find the promised family. She turned this way and that through a maze of shops and cantanas, almost crushed several times by larger people.
Finally, worn out and out of breath, she leaned against a wall. Tears wormed their way from her eyes to her pale cheeks.
"Excuse me, miss, perhaps you can tell…Are you okay?" A man looked at her. He had called her "miss". She looked behind him seeing a woman. She, too, seemed nice.
Brat looked up. "Is she your wife?" she asked. "Well, uh…yes…" He replied obviously confused by the question.
Brat smiled at an idea she had. "I am sorry, I'm looking for my doll, would you hold my brudder?" The man did as he was asked, and Brat ran of into the crowd. She looked back only once. She had never said goodbye. Gabriel was free. Never to feel pain! Brat turned away, tears soaking her face.
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Brat climbed the stone path back home. It was almost nightfall. Her eyes were inflated and red from the tears and dust that had caught her eyes.
The Midwife watched from her window as the child went home, never expecting punishment. Never expecting the pain she was going to feel. Never seeing Death float around her, constantly grabbing her soul.
"Mommy!" Brat called from the door. A hand reached out and snatched her shoulder, pressing firmly into the flesh. "You ungrateful little brat! Where in Sith is your brother?" Her father smashed his hand into her face and dragged her to the master, the same master who would order her whipping until she was dead. But Brat would not die, only her soul would fly away, leaving an empty shell of her self. Brat's screaming would be heard from village to village, until Brat would hang limply, and two slaves would drag her body away, onto her favorite hill, just leaving her there. Neither of parents would weep or care. The only funeral the tiny mother would have was a baby named Ben cry out for his sister's small finger, and the Midwife who stayed within her hut crying. The slaves later found her cold lifeless body, smiling. On the window pane outside was the view of Brat's favorite hill, the Midwife's last look onto the world. Some say the Midwife dies of a broken heart. Others say the little slave girl came back for her, came back to show her a life with no pain.
The Salou flowers would cover her favorite hill, the vines spilling out into the land. Young, pretty girls would pick the flowers, make chains, or braid them into their hair. It was well known those were the most beautiful flowers anyone would ever see.
Brat loved her brother very much, and her name was never forgotten. Her brother would never know pain or fear as she had. He would sleep in a warm place, with a family. He would become a Jedi Padawan. But your sister , too, would never know pain again.
She smiles at you, young Kenobi.