This is a story won a (rather pathetic) prize for in my guild. I'm fairly
proud of it.
When I was very young, I lived with my owner, in a two-room straw shack on the edge of the metropolis of Neopia Central. There was just her, me, and my older sister, Gemmalia, a soft-furred blue uni. Back then, I was a wocky, small and red. I was innocent and trusting then, and I knew my owner would always love me.
We were poor, so poor that Gemmalia and I spent much of our time hanging around the Soup Kitchen, trying to push our way into the queue for food. The thing that is clearest to me about those times was the hunger, the constant gnawing in my stomach that was only occasionally, if ever, appeased. Every month, we would get a special treat – an apple, perhaps, to share between the two of us, or if we were lucky, a furry orange fuzzle, to replace an older, broken one.
Most of the time, my owner was gone, off playing games, she said. She was very good – she had several trophies, that she kept locked up in the glass- fronted cupboard in the bedroom. Strange, that I never wondered where the money went. But then, I was always out on the streets if I was not at the Soup Kitchen, not the bright, wide paths of the main shops, but the dark, stinking alleys that twisted through the lower part of the city. Young though I was, I learnt to steal, cheat and lie, and my best friend was a green gelert who lived on the streets and was a part-time thief and pickpocket.
And then came the day when I was exploring the slimy drains, trying to find out if the long drain that went under Rainbow Lane really did lead to the elite Winding Wood Drive. It did. As I crawled out of the muck, with my best friend, Gelert, (she didn't have an owner, and the thieves and strays she lived with called her that) behind me. It was very beautiful. The road was made of smooth white stones fitted together. It gently curved through masses of bright green trees, and among the branches, glimpses of neohomes could be seen, made of bright, shining marble, silver and gold, with the occasional shimmer of cloud.
One house in particular stood out. Tall, made of glowing gold and shaped like a pyramid, with a garden full of rare, exotic plants. Around a heart tree, a faerie chia fluttered gently, a tiny pikis floating behind.
"Maaa!!" It – she – yelled, and a tall woman with steely blond hair went up towards her. She seemed familiar somehow… And then she spoke. And I knew her. I had heard her voice many times before – it was the low, melodious voice of my owner. Underneath my fur, my skin turned white. This was where she spent most of her time. This was where the missing money went. And it was then I knew that I could never trust her again. Gemmalia and I were just a cover for an account used to make fast money. I knew that, deep down. And I hated her for it. I thought she loved me. I had idolized her. And yet…
Something one of my other best friends had said came back to me suddenly. Kitsubii was – still is – a wocky, just like me. He's blue, though, and unlike Gelert, he had an owner, once, and a name. But his owner betrayed him, and Kitsubii fled to the streets. Once, he told me that no matter how much you loved an owner, they sold you and broke your heart, still smiling as they did so. I realized how true that was that day.
When I was very young, I lived with my owner, in a two-room straw shack on the edge of the metropolis of Neopia Central. There was just her, me, and my older sister, Gemmalia, a soft-furred blue uni. Back then, I was a wocky, small and red. I was innocent and trusting then, and I knew my owner would always love me.
We were poor, so poor that Gemmalia and I spent much of our time hanging around the Soup Kitchen, trying to push our way into the queue for food. The thing that is clearest to me about those times was the hunger, the constant gnawing in my stomach that was only occasionally, if ever, appeased. Every month, we would get a special treat – an apple, perhaps, to share between the two of us, or if we were lucky, a furry orange fuzzle, to replace an older, broken one.
Most of the time, my owner was gone, off playing games, she said. She was very good – she had several trophies, that she kept locked up in the glass- fronted cupboard in the bedroom. Strange, that I never wondered where the money went. But then, I was always out on the streets if I was not at the Soup Kitchen, not the bright, wide paths of the main shops, but the dark, stinking alleys that twisted through the lower part of the city. Young though I was, I learnt to steal, cheat and lie, and my best friend was a green gelert who lived on the streets and was a part-time thief and pickpocket.
And then came the day when I was exploring the slimy drains, trying to find out if the long drain that went under Rainbow Lane really did lead to the elite Winding Wood Drive. It did. As I crawled out of the muck, with my best friend, Gelert, (she didn't have an owner, and the thieves and strays she lived with called her that) behind me. It was very beautiful. The road was made of smooth white stones fitted together. It gently curved through masses of bright green trees, and among the branches, glimpses of neohomes could be seen, made of bright, shining marble, silver and gold, with the occasional shimmer of cloud.
One house in particular stood out. Tall, made of glowing gold and shaped like a pyramid, with a garden full of rare, exotic plants. Around a heart tree, a faerie chia fluttered gently, a tiny pikis floating behind.
"Maaa!!" It – she – yelled, and a tall woman with steely blond hair went up towards her. She seemed familiar somehow… And then she spoke. And I knew her. I had heard her voice many times before – it was the low, melodious voice of my owner. Underneath my fur, my skin turned white. This was where she spent most of her time. This was where the missing money went. And it was then I knew that I could never trust her again. Gemmalia and I were just a cover for an account used to make fast money. I knew that, deep down. And I hated her for it. I thought she loved me. I had idolized her. And yet…
Something one of my other best friends had said came back to me suddenly. Kitsubii was – still is – a wocky, just like me. He's blue, though, and unlike Gelert, he had an owner, once, and a name. But his owner betrayed him, and Kitsubii fled to the streets. Once, he told me that no matter how much you loved an owner, they sold you and broke your heart, still smiling as they did so. I realized how true that was that day.