Pain; that was all he could feel. There was pain radiating in his arms as he brought down a pickaxe onto a heavy, hard slab of rock. There was pain aching in his feet and legs from the excruciating work and from the times he had missed the rock and hit his foot instead. There was the pain on his back from the harsh rays of the sun burning his pale white skin, and the many whips that were brought down on his back whenever he made a mistake or looked an officer in the eye. What had he done to deserve such a harsh, cold fate? Gilbert had done what he had to do to preserve the life of his precious, sick, starving baby brother. But oh, the law didn't care. The law only knew what they thought to be just, and acted upon it. The law felt no mercy for who they convicted. How foolish Gilbert had been… he had thought, those 19 long years ago, that nothing could be worse than the life he had lived, scraping and begging for food, most of the time being kicked away or chased, because of his strange appearance. He had thought that living in the shadows of the streets, having to do everything he could to keep himself and his brother alive was the worst fate the so called 'god' could bestow upon him. He was wrong. 'God' had sent him to the living heck, forsaking him to let him suffer—after all, why would 'God' care for an outcast such as him? Why would anyone care about himself—or his probably long-dead brother? Moans of pain, the cracks of whips, and cries for mercy from that so called 'God' filled the air around Gilbert, none of them being his own.
"24601!" A man barked, dragging Gilbert to his feet roughly. It was that man… that man that Gilbert despised over every other human being… it was Inspector Roderich Edelstein, a man who thought his self to be the personification of justice itself, and was a so-called 'respectable' man. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Roderich was an insensitive, uncompassionate, shallow man who would convict a mere child if given evidence that they were a so-called criminal. The poor and the people who wandered the streets in search of food and warmth were a dark, irremovable stain on a white silk tablecloth to him. Gilbert could not stand him. He glared at the horrid inspector through hateful crimson eyes, dimmed of their previous mischievous spark through years of torturously hard labor. Roderich simply glared back through his own pair of spiteful violet orbs and handed the albino inmate a yellow slip with neat handwriting on it.
"That is your Yellow-ticket-of-leave. Do you understand what that means, scum?" Roderich sneered, his eyes twinkling with resentment towards the prisoner. But at that moment, Gilbert could hardly care about what Roderich was doing. At that moment, the small slip of yellow paper was the most beautiful thing in the world to Gilbert. It was his freedom.
"I-it means I'm free." Gilbert murmured in a small, weak voice, happiness overwhelming him. Finally, he was going to be able to get out of this living hell. A hard smack across his cheek shook the man back into reality, leaving a bright red handprint on his right cheek. Roderich was shaking his head impatiently.
"No, 24601! It means that your parole has begun. You're still nothing but a worthless criminal. It means that since you survived prison, you're being sent out to go die in the world you good-for-nothings have been dreaming about being in ever since you were put in here." Roderich snapped, making Gilbert slightly angry. He had not done anything that should be considered a crime. He was not a criminal. What right did that inspector have to judge him? Roderich had sentenced many innocent men and women to their doom without a second thought. Women who stole to feed their babies were convicted, without a second thought of how those children would survive. Men who fought back to protect their wives and children were convicted, without having another thought on the children and mother were to go on without the protection of a man, or the money from his work. Roderich had torn families apart and orphaned children, and Gilbert was the criminal and good-for-nothing?
"My name is not '24601.' My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt." Gilbert snapped, earning a scoff from Roderich, who replied
"And my name is Roderich Edelstein. I suggest you do not forget my name, you disgusting pig. Now get out." The inspector pointed to a door, his facial features twisted into an angry, hateful scowl. Gilbert grinned back, all anger disappearing at the thought of leaving. He could start a new life now. Gilbert ran out the door and straight out of the filthy prison and into the warm air and brightness of summer. He now was free, and he was going to be able to get a job and work for himself now—or at least that was what he had thought. How wrong he was.
It had been a month since Gilbert had been freed from the prison, and so far, life was horrible. He lived and wandered on the streets, begging for work and always being denied. All because of that horrid parole slip. It was because of that parole slip that Gilbert wasn't able to find a decent job. Everyone thought him to be a dangerous criminal; they all judged him for the piece of paper that he carried in his pocket. He was hungry and cold, having to dig around in garbage cans for food and sleep in soiled hay for warmth. The way he had lived before being put into prison was a higher quality of living. At least then, kind strangers had given him a scrap of bread or a few pennies once in a while. But now, people could not care less about him. Gilbert stumbled past a church, where a bishop and a few nuns resided. The bishop, whom had just happened to look out his window and Gilbert was walking by, couldn't bear to see any man suffer out on the streets. It was very often that the bishop invited the poor and the down trod into his church, letting them seek sanctuary for the night. The bishop dashed out the church door and waved his hand, beckoning Gilbert.
"Come, come! You look tired and hungry. We do not have much, but we share what we do have." The bishop lead Gilbert into the cozy, warm church. He sat the weary man down at his table and poured him wine and fed him bread and cheese. Gilbert was then bathed and shown to a very comfortable and plush bed. It was weird, why the bishop was being so gracious towards him. Surely the religious man viewed him just as everyone else did, as a criminal? Once the nuns and the kind bishop had retired to their beds, Gilbert got up and quietly went down to leave. He eyed a few silver plates and spoons, before stuffing those into his knapsack. The silver would help pay for food and rent, and surely he needed it more than that bishop and his nuns did. After stuffing his sack full of silver, Gilbert took off into the night, expecting never to return to that church. He was wrong.
That morning, Gilbert was being hauled back to the church by the police. They had caught him 'snooping' about the streets, looked through his knapsack, and discovered his stolen silver. He had lied and claimed that the silver was a gift from the bishop. So, the police had decided to take him to the church to verify his claims. Gilbert simply knew that the bishop was going to reveal him and condemn him to 20 more years in that hell. The thought made Gilbert want to cry, but he wasn't going to. He was too strong- no, he was too awesome to cry. The police then threw Gilbert on the ground at the bishop's feet and emptied his knapsack; letting all of the silver Gilbert had stolen pour out of the bag.
"This man," The inspector pointed at Gilbert. "This man has claimed that you have given this all to him as a gift. Is that true?" The inspector asked, causing the Bishop to smile gently down at Gilbert.
"Why, of course. But my dear friend, you left so soon—you forgot something else I gave you." The bishop then bestowed a pair of fine silver candlesticks to the bewildered and shocked Gilbert. "Surely you wouldn't want to leave the best behind?" The bishop chuckled and turned to face the inspectors, waving them off. "As you can see, this man has spoken truth. I commend you from your duty, may God's blessing rest with you." He smiled as the inspectors left, and then turned back to the trembling Gilbert.
"Now remember this, my brother…" the bishop sighed and helped Gilbert to his feet. "See, in this some higher plan… you must use this precious silver to become an honest man." He patted Gilbert on the shoulder. "I have bought your soul for good." He breathed slightly and bowed a little, before turning away from the former fugitive and went back into his church, leaving Gilbert with his own guilt.
Gilbert stumbled along the road, thinking back to the recent events. What had he done? What was he thinking? That man had invited him into his home and shown him kindness and a bed to rest him, and Gilbert had unawesomely repaid the kind deed by stealing the silver which belonged to the church and making off with it in the night. Then when the Bishop had the choice to let the inspectors take him back to the horrible prison, but instead, he saved Gilbert and let him go free. Had Gilbert come to hate this world so much, to the point where he would ruthlessly steal from churches? Was he really that unawesome? No. Gilbert was going to start on a fresh slate. He took out the hated yellow slip from his pocket and quickly tore it to bits; it was the last proof of his former self. Gilbert was nothing now; that part of his story was over. It was time to start a new volume of his life's story.
First chapter fin.