CH 1: REALITY
The world was a very unforgiving place. If you are different, if you are poor, if you make a mistake, you will be ridiculed. I suppose that you could say that I too suffered under those conditions, which is why I am now able to write and reflect on my experiences from that time. There was a civil war in the past; the region that I lived in was split to two sides. The two sides fought for their own ideals, their own ideas, and their pride. My parents too were involved in this war. They fought bravely and valiantly for what they believed in, and I to this day believe that they were right. However, they lost the war, and the other side won. Right and wrong in this world is not decided by justice and conversation, but by who is left standing, and that was exactly the case. My parents were of course brutally executed. My father had played many important roles and partaken in many important fights and was of course hated by the “winners” of the battle. I was not there to see their deaths because they had hid me before the final decisive battle. I was later found and treated as an orphan. A lot of people did not know who exactly my parents were, but for some strange reason, the people who adopted me did. Despite knowing that, they still adopted me.
I can clearly tell you the reason now, for revenge.
Every day was akin to a living hell. Every day I was forced to slave away. I was forced to clean, farm, and do many other physically challenging chores. What I was given in return was a slice of bread at every meal. No meat, no vegetables, simply a slice of bread. For sleeping quarters, I was given cold hard floor to sleep on at night with a thin blanket for the cold days. I certainly was not happy with my situation; it was not a favorable position to be in by many means. In such a position, who could possibly not wish for more? I began to wonder, I began to think that it might have been better for me to have simply died with my parents. Death, to the very least would have been kinder than my current family. For the moment however, I refused to allow myself to give in to despair. My parents had given me a chance for life, and so I would live that life, no matter how painful it was. That was what I had thought. If I could just grow up to be an adult, I would be free from my adoptive parents and siblings. Even though it would take a long time, if I could keep myself in check and alive, I would have a chance at living a life that wasn’t painful to live.
I heard some senseless noise from above. The noise roused my senses and I awoke. Within the dimly lit cellar, I let my eyes slowly adjust to the dim light. They then focused upon my own body. No one within my household would compliment me, but according to the various shop owners that I see when I run errands, I have a fairly balanced body. It is however, thinner than recommended. That is the obvious result of only having bread each and every day for all three meals. Unfortunately, scattered overtop of my skin were marks and bruises. Some of the marks and bruises were from my work, from pushing my body to its limit to manage the animals, to cater to the vegetables, and to clean the house, but the majority of them were from my adoptive family beating me. They had however been careful not to touch any part of my body that might be visible, so simply by wearing clothing, all of the pain, scars, and bruises were hidden from others. If I told anyone of my situation, there would likely be consequences, so I avoided that at all costs. The clothing that I wore above that aching body of mine was a patchwork of many cloths. The dress was made of cloths of many different colors and many different textures, all of them cheap of course. Any time there was a rip or a tear, a new color was added. As my mind came to focus on the real world now, I heard my stepmother’s voice bellow.
“Cinderella?! What are you doing? Where’s our food?!” You might find it strange that I am the one cooking since I previously described my meals to be amazingly lacking. I however, had decided that as long as it was physically possible, I would live with pride and honor; just as my parents had. Such things might sound meaningless and even stupid in my situation, but if possible, I wanted to live a life that my deceased parents could be proud of.
Regardless, with those few words, yet another laborious day had begun.