Assault of Dreams
A/N:
Author(A): Don't look at me. I dreamed this up. It's weird.
Zel: VERY weird.
A: Yeah.
The Slave Compound. The worst place you could ever imagine. Dirty, cramped, smelly. Once it was my home.
Do the best you can, and imagine thousands of bodies cramped together in a log-shaped building, none haven taken a bath in over three years, all starving, and slowly wasting away.
Hell, you say? Hardly. That was heaven compared to our working place: An enormous cube crawling with black machinery, a titanic furnace in the middle of it, with all the aforementioned hellish qualities.
Needless to say, it wasn't a very happy existence.
Me? I was thirteen when I was taken from my loving family, and thrown into this place. And when I eventually thought to wonder how long I had been here, far to many days had gone by to be accurate.
But now I'm ranting. Back to the past.
I was in the factory (called the Foul Factory when the slave beaters couldn't here us) when the announcement came.
Exhaustedly, I thought I was hallucinating when the whistle for work to stop came.
'What?! My shift ends at sundown!' I screamed mentally.
But no- there they were! An armed escort of guards accompanying her, the raven-haired angel strode lightly into our midst.
All work had by now stopped, all eyes riveted on her.
A familiar anger welled up within my chest, it was her imprisoning us, she was the reason so many had died! I managed to placate the fury with the thought of someday achieving revenge.
Suffering from day dreams of her gory demise, I almost missed the announcement.
"Ladies and gentlemen," She said, soft voice ringing through the silent and still building. It was a silence of hateful resignation.
"My friends"-yeah, we're her friends when she needs somebody to go die for her-"I am in need of a brave individual's assistance. A journey must be taken- a perilous one."
What did I just say?
She continued, "An artifact of mine has been stolen, and I am in need of it." The girl turned a cold stare upon us, daring someone to volunteer.
Yeah right, like somebody is stupid enough to go look for your god-damn- Wait. Go look for it? Get out of this hellhole?! I gotta be the one to be picked!
Just as I came to this conclusion, a voice rang out.
"I'll do it."
As one, we all turned to the speaker. He was dark-haired, yellow-eyed (many of us, including me, had similar deficiencies), young and strong.
Damn.
Sylphiel smiled sugar sweetly, and beckoned him closer.
A second whistle sounded, and the crowd turned back to their machinery. All except me.
I stared as the man- no, boy, strutted up to the witch, watched as she whispered to him, until a stinging pain reminded me I had work to do.
"Hurry it up, kid," Growled the beater, waving his now red- stained with my blood- whip at me threateningly, leering.
I turned back to the crank I worked, tears stinging my eyes.
I will never know if they were from pain- or disappointment.
I fingered the key in my hand, fighting to hold back the trembling.
The door guard squinted at me, as if he knew I was not the boy he was supposed to see.
I was sure of my disguise- dirt had dimmed it's normally vibrant color, and it was a known fact that the boy- Terinn, was his name- had eyes that changed colors.
The guard seemed to be able to tell I was faulty.
When he turned, I was certain I was going to be killed. He was going to call his friends, they would take me to Sylphiel, I would be sentenced to execution and-
"You're good to go. Good luck, Terinn."
Huh?
The portal/door opened, sliding smoothly on it's oft oiled hinges, not making the smallest whisper of noise.
I stared for a few moments at the forest floor, listening to the crickets chirp, for a full five minutes.
Finally, I turned to the guard, my eyes wide like a frightened deer.
"Go on." He smiled encouragingly, and made little shooing gestures.
Oh L-Sama, the guard smiled!
I stepped out of the compound, almost as if in a daze.
The door slid shut near silently.
I'm… Free.
DISCLAIMER: A doesn't own Slayers, and she is sure she read this before, but that's probably her paranoid side speaking (Caitlin: Oh, is that what people refer to me as? 'The paranoid side'? I don't have a name anymore?).