kusanagi's story.chapt.2

e-mail:fft_teta_hyral@yabal.com

============================================================================ ======the next three years of my life spent in st.anthony's would be pure hell...chores by morning, beatngs by noon, and rejected by yet another cpiple because of my bruises and cuts...there was only one good thing that came from those beatings...it seemed i had a natural talent for self defence...i found myself.. as the beatings became more harsher, and the blows more heavy, i learned to block quite accurately.a blow to the head easily deflected by an upheld arm,a clumsily thrown punch to the stomach easily avoided by rolling to the side...though i was getting good at blocking and taking more damage without pasing out i had not found the courage to try punch back...maybe it was my lack of self confidence or fear of punishment from the head master of the orphanage.. beating may be bad but a week of mucking out chocobo stalls and laundry dutyis enough to make anyone wish they had never thrown a single punch....but other then that things werent too bad.. the orphanage would try to provide some of the children with a basic bit of schooling...learning to read and write..but not much more...this i took advantage of and learned everything i was able within these very limited sources of education.once i reached age eight the orphanage had started a program to train children 7 years of age or older to be soldiers...though the only jobs they would train you for were the most basic of classes....the lowly ranks of squires and chemists...once completion of our training was acomplished we would be sent to various cities to act as last minute reinforcements....this would be my first time leaving goland...=================================================================== ============= i, with a group of twenty other children were sent to fort zeakden...only half made it there...we were forced to walk the entire trip from goland to zeakden...st.anothys was too cheap to provide chocobos for us...not even three or four to pull cart with us in it...it was harsh traveling...with only the clothses on our backs, what few accesories we had and managed to keep upon entering st.anthonys, where thievery among friends was quite common... i, had managed to hide an old dark blue feather mantle trimmed with gold fur around the edges and gold buttons dulled by time and being hidden under my thin matress that had once belonged to my father...it was the only item i had left of my home and my parents...i cherished it for that and for what little warmth and protection it could provide from the rain. we walked through those cold muddy streets huddled together friend and enemy alike...alll afraid of being attacked or worse as we trudged on to our uncertain fate at fort zeakden...within days of reaching dorter many of us had the sniffles or bad coughs that didnt seem to want to go away...we were just passing a deserted shed in the dorter slums when the first of us finally gave in to lack of food shelter and good health...many tears were shed for the girl with dark blonde hair and once cheerfull grey eyes that were now expressionless and blank as most corpses eyes were...i was the unlucky person chosen to take care of her body...i believe her name was erica...i found a bent and dented old shovel coated with rust inside the rickety old shed and tried my best to dig her a grave...this was my first taate of death and i did not like it one bit...it was about three am before i finally managed to put her soul to rest...covered head to foot with mud and my dark hair plastered to my now pale face as i mumbled a barely remebered prayer for the girl...as i made my bd for the night in what litle space remained of the floor of the old shack with the other surviving orphans i made a decision..by sunup i would be gone..on my own...i wanted no part of fort zeakden where i knew more death and destruction awaited.. i would head south...and pray for the souls of my comrades as they bravely mmarched onwards..TBC