A/N- this one going to be a little ficlit (so was the never ending beka's story) but I had the idea to do it from every persons pov (point of view) and then Parisindy said she wanted to read it from Harper pov.  Anyways my decision was made for me.

Authors ramble-I edited it a little, changed it a little. 

(the name changes are for a reason but they are not the people real names, I couldn't think of any names when I wrote this story.  I really hate the name Margaret but couldn't think of a better one.  So I found a baby book and had fun looking up names, Seamus is a form of James or Jayme.  Bridget means strength or protecting. Better names I thought.  (B4 someone asks Anya-gracious, Nick-victorious people, Clara-clear, bright, Seamus/James-substitute, Andromeda-rescued)

Jayme Francis Harper

The Language of the Camp

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Tell me why you are crying my son

I know you're frighten like everyone

Is it the thunder in the distance you fear

Would it help if I stayed very near

I am here

When the Day is Done

Peter Paul and Mary

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I don't remember why I wake up at the same time every morning but I do.  No matter how late I had been up the day before I am up with the sun every morning.  Maybe it was because that is when the patrols start. 

I would sit by the curtain that served as the door to our house and watch the guards wander the streets.  I had to stay hidden from their view but years had taught me how to quietly observe people unnoticed.  Sometimes I wonder if they notice us at all.  I think we are just like the flies to them, everywhere, unclean, and useless. 

I guess that is why I was so surprise to see them heading into the row of houses we lived in.  The guards only came in to claim people.  Any excuse and they would come to take someone away to be a slave on a ship.  No one lived for long once they were claimed.  It wasn't slavery on a ship it was death.  Sometimes they just took people, sent them to be 'interviewed' and shortly after they were dead.  It was just an excuse to get at the rebels or get rid of a random mudfoot.  What did they care if they beat an innocent klug to death.

Why did I bring my family here?  The only thing here was death.  I glanced over at my sleeping son and wife. 

Clara was up now her eyes asking me if anything was the matter.  I shook my head as motioned for her to go back to bed.  She shook her head back, she couldn't go back to sleep now.  She nodded towards me asking if I wanted company.  I moved over a little and she sat next to me.  How long had we been conversing without words.  Some would say it was living together for almost thirty years.  In reality talking was dangerous.  Words could be heard.  Codes could be figured out.  So after of life in the camps you stopped talking.  Some of the kids had their own languages in hand gestures.

How could the gestures show so much.  Somehow the words were replaced by simple gestures.  A long sentence was turned into a nod.  A glance now said more than spoken words.  Words were gone; glances, expression, and movements had replaced the spoken word.

Sometimes I could remember when people spoke.  I could remember my daughter Anya laughing.  Her laugher would fill the small shack that was our home.  She was such a happy baby.  From the moment she was born she was daddy's little girl.  She had my brown eyes and hair.  Clara use to call her a little me.  Until the day they took her.  They took away my little girl and the laughter in our house died.  Sometimes I would see the spark in Seamus's or Krishna's or laughter but it was rare.  I never hear a laugh from either.  They laugh silently with their eyes.

Of our five children only Seamus was left, the youngest of the gang.  Maybe that was why he still lived.  Everyone worked to keep him safe.  Nick pushed him out of the way of the slavers guns.  He took the bullet for his younger brother.  Bridget stayed up all night with him when he got sick as a young boy.  In the end she died from some illness as Shay sat by her bed.  All my children were now gone, all but Shay. 

I turned from watching my boy sleeping and back to the guards patrolling the camps.  I saw the green paper in their hands.  They were coming to claim slaves.  I held my breath waiting to see where they were going.  I pointed my head in the direction of the Neizchiens.  Clara nodded looking at the paper.  She looked back at Shay and then me.  Would they take him?  Would they take our last child?  I turned back and shook my head.  She nodded not looking me in the eyes.  We both knew the unspoken truth.

The guards grabbed a young boy by his shirt.  They shouted something at him.  He nodded and pointed at our hut.  They dropped him in the dirt as they walked towards our hut laughing.  The boy saw me and looked me in the eyes.  His eyes said run.  I turned towards Clara.  The horror in her eyes told me she had seen.  She knew just like I.  She went back into the hut and sat down next to Seamus.  He was starting to stir.  I motioned for her to hurry.  That is when I felt myself being lifted up by the guards.

"Who are you?"

"Jayme Francis Harper."

"Is Seamus Zelazny Harper here?"

"He is my son."

"That is not what we asked.  Is he here?"  I knew my next words would decide my fate as well as Seamus.  The wrong word could cost my whole families life.  One of us was going to die or being taken away today.  Why did it have to be Seamus?  I would not let them take him.  I had to tell them that.  But I was no good with words.

"Is he here?  We have papers to claim him for the slave ship towards Parfex."

"I don't know where my son is."

"You lie."  I felt myself being thrown to the ground and pain in gulfed my body.  As they stepped over them I heard Clara cry out "he is free."  He was free, he was alive.  Thank god that one of my children would live on.  With those words echoing in my head I let the darkness engulf me.

~~~*~~~

I wish I could say the right words

to lead you through this land

Wish I could play the father

and take you by the hand

Wish I could stay

But now I understand

Giles

Buffy the musical

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