Author's Notes: I do not own Fairy Tail.

Name Changes: Ezra = Erza, Roberta = Rob, Simona = Simon, Aley = Wally

I remember the strong hands that grabbed me. I remember the screams that were wretch from deep within my lungs. The sound so loud and desperate it made my own ears hurt. I remember the frozen face of my doll lying down in the dirt. There was smoke and there was fire. Everywhere I looked I saw fear and pain. Everything from that night is a still image imprinted in the back of my mind. It was where I was born. Among the chaos of one cruel night everything I had known before disappeared and with every passing day I remember less and less of what came before. I know not who my family was or weather I had ever been happy. I could not tell you what house I lived in or whom my neighbors were. Sometimes I think that the life I had before is nothing more than fragments of a recurring dream that I can never recall when I wake. The only gift I have from that time is my name. My name and the knowledge that there is something better out there. There is more to life then this island.

The day was hot and the sun was blinding. I worked continuously without thought or reason. I knelt picking up rocks and placing them in a long train of mining carts. There was little else that my small frame could accomplish. My hands were caked with dirt and dotted with tiny slashes from the stones. I worked quickly and soundlessly trying to avoid the wrath of the overseers. I had learned to ignore the gauging pain that stretch down the length of my back. I did my best to detach my mind from my body and move without thinking. My brain repeating endlessly in my head that this is not pain. The ach spread as the day went on traveling down my spine into the backs on my legs and the souls of my feet. My arms felt rubbery and numb like they were just these long heavy objects that happened to be hanging off my body. I had become hinged on the repetition of my tasks. I leaned down slowly to feel the blood rush to my head and the pounding of my heart against my temples. I could feel a sickening dizziness coupled with a deaf tone rushing through my ears as bent down. My raw hands would grip the stone. I pulled the dead weight up with a burning pressure pooled at my lower back and hard pull sensation in my upper arms. I cradled the stone into my sweat soaked smock and quickly willed myself to walk over to the mine carts. My bare feet took in the heat of the sun soaked ground and scraped against its pebbly surface. The large wooden carts stood taller than me. I shakily raise the rock above my head and over the metal lip of the cart. I wait to hear the sound of it cracking against the other stones before turning to search for another stone.

I wasn't the only worker clearing stones. Most of the younger children did this work. Sometimes I liked to watch the other's work so I could remember I am not alone but not now. I could do nothing but swim in the repetition of discomforts and concentrate on continuing on. I learned to never look forward to the end because sometime it felt like it would never come. I only ever focused on the now. I did my task with my mind reseeding more and more into the back of my consciousness only there to register my numbed limbs.

The harsh sound of a whip broke the chain of my being. I allowed my eyes to rise from the field of stones and look at something other than; my hands, the rocks, the cart. I always wish that I didn't. The cruel sounds are bad enough but seeing the boneless shell of a human lying with their face ground into to the dirt was just too much. The lump of flesh would shudder with each strike and the skin would tear. Red would seep into the ground rolling of them in rivulets. The cracking of the whip would usually be accompanied by the shattered cry of the victim. Sometimes the screams would die but the whips lashes would keep striking. It would slash at lifeless flesh just to turn the earth more red. I turned away as soon as I glanced at their face. I needed to see who they were and show them as best I could with my eyes that they were not alone. No one ever wished this upon themselves. I for one found my gut swimming in sickening relief every time it wasn't me. I had taken my turn before. The only retribution I had was that each heinous act would be remembered. Every pain filled face I saw would never forget that pain. I would remember them and maybe some would remember me. Together someday not too far in the future maybe we could find justice for ourselves.

As the lashings continued I tried to shield myself from the sight and sound of it. I went back to focusing on; my hands, the rocks, the cart. It never work. I could always hear the screams and always see the reddened earth. I am convinced this island is made of blood and earth.

Red. I picked up a stone. Scarlet red the color of fresh blood. I walked to the cart placing the stone on the metal edge and letting it drop down. My mind brushed over the barest of thoughts jarred by the whipping. I remembered seeing the color red. I turn toward the open field and my eyes search out the color.

I see the soft brown of the dry earth and the uniform white smocks of the workers. The large beast they kept to frighten us had a dark rose coat. The magenta coats and white circular masks of the overseers always showed their presence. My eyes ghosted over the form of the man with bright red streams of blood blossoming form his back. He was struggling to rise on trembling limbs. I forced my gaze away and turning to see the land behind me as I picked up my next stone. I found it, that beautiful scarlet color.

It belonged to a boy.

I didn't know his name. He is the quiet kind. The type that pretended nothing bothered him but was secretly just as scared as the rest of us. He sleeps in the same cell as me and I remember the first day he arrived. He was one of the many new children from Rosemary village. He came with a girl. They both were trembling and crying although he tried not to show it. The first thing I thought of was what beautiful hair he had. It was such a fitting color. It was tousled and shaggy but just long enough to hide his eyes from the rest of the slaves in the cell. He stayed were the guards had left him pushed down on the ground not have the courage or will to get up. It was the old lady who approached them first. Grandma Roberta is the kindest of souls. She serves as a pillar strength for all of the children and is the closest thing any of us have left to a mother.

She knelt down and touched his shoulder giving the little girl a withered smiled. The girl let out a loud cry before launching herself at her. She cried into her shoulder clutch onto the thin material of her shirt. Roberta held onto her tightly not taking her eyes off of the redhead.

"Have they won against you boy?"

He flinched but didn't look up.

She gripped his shoulder tighter. "You can't let them know you are scared or that they have gotten to you," she continued in her soft voice.

The boy didn't move but it was clear that he was listening.

"They will only win if you let them. The only thing they have to control us is our own fear. Don't let that fear control you. Don't let them break your spirit."

The little girl's soft cries was the only sound echoing through the whole cell. She had all of us listening. Her words giving strength not only to the boy but all of us.

When his spoke his voice sounded angry and guttural from trying to choke back sobs, "who said I was going to?"

He looked up for the first time. His eyes were fierce and dark glittering with the wetness of tears.

Grandma Roberta nodded and smiled again, "Come in you both must be hungry." I learned later that the girl's name was Simona. She was friendly and nice to talk to in the evenings sometimes.

He had that same fierce look in his eyes now as he worked. He glared angrily at the rocks in front of him as if his emotions alone could complete his task. He swung the heavy pick axes over his head with strained, shaking arms. He brought it down with a heavy crack letting gravity pull him threw his swing. The shock reverberated through his form. I could see the exhaustion set deep in his body. His form was slumped; his shoulders heaving with the intake of breath. His arms must have felt dead. He grit his teeth and heaved the heavy tool above his head again bring it down. I could see the pattern in his work. He was strung along on repetition just like the rest of us. It was the only thing keeping himself from collapsing. I watched the movement of his arms and the up and down of the lacrima cords strung to each of his wrist cuffs.

I snuck glances at his form as I continued my own pattern of movement. I could see his red fiery hair wave in the slight breeze. The shaggy strands seemed to almost melt into the hot flush of his face. The heat was affecting him. The hot press of the air and the constant fight for breath turned his flesh a beat red.

His head turned so suddenly it caught me off guard. I realized I had been staring at him. I caught myself before the guards did and started moving toward the cart again. His dark intense eyes followed me as I walked.

I heard the pounding of his axe against the earth as he began to work again. He's awareness of me now made me self-conscious. I kept my eyes fixed on the ground of the rest of the day.

We were lead to our cell for an evening of rest. Sleeping on the cold stone floor of the cell was a talent I learned to develop. The freezing chill of the night differed so vastly from the blistering heat of the day it was hard to believe we were in the same place. This island is nothing but extremes. Our purpose here being the largest extreme.

I ate my daily rations in silence feeling embarrassed about today. I was trying not to taste it too much. Most nights I didn't know what I was eating and I didn't care to be enlightened either. To be honest the need to eat was just too strong for me to care. I felt eyes on me while I ate. The uncomfortable gnawing feeling of being watched made me conscious of my motions as I munched on stale bread. I instinctively glanced up quickly to see who it was and looked away even quicker when I realized it was the red haired boy. His dark brooding eyed bore into me. I swallowed hard and tried to distract myself with something. Tracing the lines of the stone floor with my eyes I realized just how little there was to do in the cell. Of course there wasn't much I wanted to do after the day I had. My body clamored for sleep but I could get comfortable with red hair staring at me.

I sighed gathering up the numbness of my body rising to cross the room. I saw him sitting close by the other children in the cell. I wasn't sure what to say and don't really know how making friends works. So I did the simplest thing I could think off.

"Hi," I said to know one in particular but my eyes seemed to focus on the red haired boy.

"Hey," I heard a feminine voice say to my right. I turned to look at them. She was sitting cross legged on the floor with a stupid grin on her face. She had short black hair and a dirt smudged face. I recognized her. She did the same labor I did. She seemed oddly happy considering where we were. "It took you long enough to join us. We all might as well be friends since we're all in this together. I'm Aley Buchanan."

"I'm Jellal Fernandez," I said trying to sound confident.

"That's going to be a pain to remember," she commented and I couldn't believe she said it. It wasn't that strange. "It' like a tongue twister of some kind."

I smiled teasing her back, "coming from a girl named Aley Buchanan. I know I'll forget that."

She smiled wider rubbing the back of her head. "Hey Ezra what about you?"

I stopped and looked at the red haired boy. Ezra his name was Ezra. For the first time in a while I felt a smile on my own face.

"I'm Ezra," he said simply his dark eyes staring deeply at both of us. He must have seen my face fall because he quickly added, "just plain Ezra."

He turned his head slightly looking away from us. His shaggy scarlet locks moved in front of his eyes. "That's kind of sad…" I let my thoughts slip out of my head. It was no secret that we all didn't have families. Every one of us was alone in this world besides the bonds we made with each other. There was no place we could call home. Even the threadbare clothes on our backs weren't ours. The only thing I had that truly belonged to me was my name. It was all I had left of my life outside this island. It was small but even having something as simple as a name meant a lot to me. It meant I was a human being and that I was my own person. As much as these people wanted to think they owned me they didn't as long as I had my name. Ezra was a great name, pretty even if you can say that for a guy but he needed more than that.

I saw the movement of red as he turned angling his head even further down toward the floor. Of course, his scarlet hair. The thing that attracted me to him in the first place. I approached him unthinkingly letting my hands run through the soft strands.

He jumped whipping his head away from me, "What?" he said sounding pissed.

"Nothing, I just think it's a beautiful scarlet."

"Scarlet," he repeated softly.

"I know," I said letting my excitement slip into my voice, "Let's name you Ezra Scarlet."

"What you can't just name someone," Aley said sounding amused at the idea.

"Scarlet," he repeated touching his hair softly, "Ezra Scarlet."

"He likes it?" Simona scuffed under her breath.

He let a soft smile grace his features. It was the first time I've seen him smile. It was nice to see. I like it better on him than his usual stoic expression.

"I'll never forget it. All's I'll have to do is remember the color of your pretty hair."