They laughed at me.
They were bigger than me, and stronger too. Muscles rippled in their arms, their eyes bright with anticipation. I was small. I was weak.
I tried to run, sprinting for the cover of the trees. But they were anticipating it.
The tallest, strongest of them all. His green eyes gleaming, the dappled sunlight giving him an almost surreal quality. His blond hair tousled, his expression calm as he stepped out from behind the large oak.
Fredrick.
"Maple," he said, coolly. I trembled, slowly stepping backwards. A twig snapped behind me, and I knew without looking that the others had me surrounded.
I slammed the door behind me as I entered our home. I call it a home only because "house" would be an exaggeration. A fresh bruise stained my forehead purple. The stench of alcohol, vomit and stale sweat clung to the air. My father, looking up as I entered, frowned.
"You're late," he complained, grouchily, ignoring the evident bruise. I said nothing. With my father, that's all you can do. Stay silent, and hope for a painless evening.
I put some rice on to boil. My father grunted.
"Rice again?" he grumbled.
"Maybe if you didn't spend all the money on alcohol, we could afford something different," I muttered, bitterly. His fist slammed into my cheek, and I cried out, biting back the tears.
I wished my mother were there I wished she were still alive. She knew how to deal with my father. But I guess that's why he snapped. He wasn't equipped to deal with her death. And I hated him for it. But I also hated myself for blaming him.
I still remembered her. Her blonde curls, her dark eyes, her ready smile. And her smell. She always smelled of cloves.
I wanted to forgive my father. I wanted to love him again.
But when the letter came, I knew I could never forgive him.
"What's this?" I asked, confused.
"What's what?" he demanded, sourly. I held up the letter, and, to my shock, his eyes filled with tears.
"Needed the money," he whispered, taking the letter with a trembling hand.
I didn't understand, then. I only understood three weeks later, when the Peacekeepers arrived.
He had signed me up to train with Fredrick and the others.
He had signed me up to live with them.
He had signed me up to learn to kill.
For a pocketful of gold, he had sold me. He had signed me up to be a career.