Well, this is my story, a dream. It is about....well, just read on and you will find up! Hope you like it! PLease give me comment! Hmm.... it is a rather long story, and I will proably update it once a week.
Chapter one
The sun rose from the east, sending its warm and loving rays to the uncaring, cold and sterile people of Town Dragoon. A group of ingratitude people that cursed the sun from waking them up, instead of being grateful to the warmth it gave them, in a heavy autumn that freeze most of the indigent people in the town. People so indigent that they lived in dilapidated, run-down houses. People so indigent that they sold their children as slaves. Well, that is for the majority of the Dragoon people, at least. There is of course, exception. For instance, the town mayor, with his big and rounded belly, his thick and gray beard, and an air of superiority that he portrayed, with his dealings with people of lower status or less wealth than him. He is well known in the town for his pompous speech, that reek of superciliousness in almost every word he speaks. He looks with disdain at most of the town's inhabitants, often speaking to them in a sort of condescending tone.
Then, there are the rich merchants and the landowners who, though, were all of minorities in the town, but were so affluent that they took out the majority of Town Dragoon's wealth. Instead of using their wealth to improve the condition of the town, they wasted their money on unnecessary food, drinks, parties, and even squander their money on wines and gambling.
As such, due to the poor and harsh life of the majority of the people in Dragoon, people's hearts turned cold and loveless. Marriages were used as means to increase in wealth, instead of being an union between man and woman. Children were seen as burdens to the family, and were usually treated with little love, especially if the child was a girl. The people were so poor that they could not afford to buy thick clothes to protect them from the cold autumn. The sun's rays and the burning logs in their furnaces were their only comfort from the cold. But, instead of thanking the sun for providing them with the warmth they so desired, they cursed the sun for their another tough day of work. That was the way of the town's people. At least, that was the way for the majority of them.
Monica Green was just another poor girl of the town of Dragoon. Her family of twelve, including nine siblings and her parents lived together in one of the smallest house in Dragoon. The house did not even have a furnace. Further more, the space was so small that they lied on top of each other while they slept. There was no bed, of course. To this poor and devastated family, bed was a luxury item, and so they slept on the hays that decorated their entire house. Hays that they managed to get from a rich horse merchant that had no need for the hays. Monica slept on the hays, with two siblings lying on top of her, as she dreamt of a dream. A dream? Yes, a dream. It was a dream. A rare thing to occur to a girl who had long resigned to her harsh and poor life, and gave out on all dreams and aspirations. She was a girl, whom the harsh down-to-earth life had wiped out all dreams from her sleep and made her forget what a dream is. Yet, she was having a dream, last night and the dream lasted until this very morning.
The morning rays flowed into her house through the cracks on the wall that surrounded her house. Her house had no window. The cracks were where the light came in.
Mr. Green had already risen and was off to work, another hard day chopping woods, in his hard, inexorable life. Mrs. Green went to her eldest daughter, Monica Green, taking care not to step on her children who were spread all over the floor, leaving little space for her to walk. She pushed away the two siblings that lied on Monica, and shook the girl, violently. The girl gave a groan, but her eyes remained close. Mrs. Green shook her violently. The girl grumbled and slowly opened an eye. When she saw that it was her mother, her other eye opened, and she forced herself to sit up. Her eyes felt heavy, and her mind yearning for more sleep. But she knew that she couldn't have the luxury of another hour of sleep. No, this couldn't be. Or at least, not in her family. An extra hour of sleep means earning a few Alms less. Alms were used as money in the entire Arcanic Empire, which includes Town Dragoon.
Monica yawned and stared at her mother with her sleepy eyes. Like usual, her mother's face was cold and hard, with no warmth around her. Well, she was already used to her mother being cold. Why, then, did she hope to catch a glance of loving smile from her? Perhaps, she was just being foolish.
"Monica, you will have to go along, today, to sew the garments for Mrs. Ped. For, I am feeling a little unwell, today." Said Mrs. Green, in a tone that was quite unlike her. It was a weak tone, full of sickness. Quite unlike the matter-of-fact tone she usually portrayed. Monica nodded her head in agreement, as she had learnt since birth, never to object to any of her parents' request. A sister of hers was sold away for twenty Alms to a slave trader, because she happened to yell at Mr. Green in anger, one fine morning. Well, she missed her sister but she got to admit that the twenty Alms really brought more to her family than a day of work could have done. For once, they were able to eat chicken. Well, that was the first and last time she ever tasted chicken meat.
She left her house and familiar smell of bread and cakes from the baker's shop opposite her house greeted her nose. Ah such nice smell. Well, it is a good thing that at least air is free, and the wonderful smell of the bakery is free, as well. Monica strolled along the street, on her way to Mrs. Ped's garments' shop, a shop dedicated exclusively to the rich ladies of Town Dragoon. She froze when she caught sight of a beggar, sitting with his rugged clothes at a corner of the street. He was about her age, 18 years old, with waxy reddish brown hair, concealed in pair by the old cap he put on his head. A sword was by his side, with no sheathe. It was a rusty piece of sword, broad and sharp. The boy had a bowl in his hand, but the bowl was empty. No one had given him an Alm, yet. Well, it was expected. In this town, no one gives. That was why beggars always starved to death in Dragoon. The boy was not like any other beggar she had met. He was not weary nor did have the dull and lifeless eye that was seen in all the beggars she had met. No, to be exact, the dull and lifeless eyes that were seen in almost everyone she met. She probably had dull and lifeless eyes as well. The young beggar had sky-blue eyes that seem to be very determined. Determined to live. Determined to do something big. But that was not what attracted Monica to the boy. No. Monica could not care less of what the boy would do. She would have ignored the boy, had it not been for her dream. Yes, her dream. What a rare dream. It came so suddenly, even though she had not had a dream for ages. In her dream, this beggar was there. How could it be, since she had never seen this beggar before? But then, this was in deed the boy in her dream. The boy called Sport.
Monica took a breath and walked to the beggar, temporarily forgetting that she was on her way to Mrs. Ped. The beggar looked up at her. His face was dirty but it was charming. It was a more charming face than anyone she had seen in the town.
"An Alm for me, madam?" mumbled the boy, with an air of hope in his tone. He seems to be lacking food for days. Monica shook her head and replied, "I can't, sir. An Alm for me is a lot."
The boy sighed and looked back at his bowl, disappointed. He mumbled, "Then, why are you here for?"
"Sir, I am just curious. Could your name happened to be Sport?" asked Monica. The boy gazed up at Monica, with a sharp look. He pointed his sword at Monica 's throat, much to the girl's horror.
Chapter one
The sun rose from the east, sending its warm and loving rays to the uncaring, cold and sterile people of Town Dragoon. A group of ingratitude people that cursed the sun from waking them up, instead of being grateful to the warmth it gave them, in a heavy autumn that freeze most of the indigent people in the town. People so indigent that they lived in dilapidated, run-down houses. People so indigent that they sold their children as slaves. Well, that is for the majority of the Dragoon people, at least. There is of course, exception. For instance, the town mayor, with his big and rounded belly, his thick and gray beard, and an air of superiority that he portrayed, with his dealings with people of lower status or less wealth than him. He is well known in the town for his pompous speech, that reek of superciliousness in almost every word he speaks. He looks with disdain at most of the town's inhabitants, often speaking to them in a sort of condescending tone.
Then, there are the rich merchants and the landowners who, though, were all of minorities in the town, but were so affluent that they took out the majority of Town Dragoon's wealth. Instead of using their wealth to improve the condition of the town, they wasted their money on unnecessary food, drinks, parties, and even squander their money on wines and gambling.
As such, due to the poor and harsh life of the majority of the people in Dragoon, people's hearts turned cold and loveless. Marriages were used as means to increase in wealth, instead of being an union between man and woman. Children were seen as burdens to the family, and were usually treated with little love, especially if the child was a girl. The people were so poor that they could not afford to buy thick clothes to protect them from the cold autumn. The sun's rays and the burning logs in their furnaces were their only comfort from the cold. But, instead of thanking the sun for providing them with the warmth they so desired, they cursed the sun for their another tough day of work. That was the way of the town's people. At least, that was the way for the majority of them.
Monica Green was just another poor girl of the town of Dragoon. Her family of twelve, including nine siblings and her parents lived together in one of the smallest house in Dragoon. The house did not even have a furnace. Further more, the space was so small that they lied on top of each other while they slept. There was no bed, of course. To this poor and devastated family, bed was a luxury item, and so they slept on the hays that decorated their entire house. Hays that they managed to get from a rich horse merchant that had no need for the hays. Monica slept on the hays, with two siblings lying on top of her, as she dreamt of a dream. A dream? Yes, a dream. It was a dream. A rare thing to occur to a girl who had long resigned to her harsh and poor life, and gave out on all dreams and aspirations. She was a girl, whom the harsh down-to-earth life had wiped out all dreams from her sleep and made her forget what a dream is. Yet, she was having a dream, last night and the dream lasted until this very morning.
The morning rays flowed into her house through the cracks on the wall that surrounded her house. Her house had no window. The cracks were where the light came in.
Mr. Green had already risen and was off to work, another hard day chopping woods, in his hard, inexorable life. Mrs. Green went to her eldest daughter, Monica Green, taking care not to step on her children who were spread all over the floor, leaving little space for her to walk. She pushed away the two siblings that lied on Monica, and shook the girl, violently. The girl gave a groan, but her eyes remained close. Mrs. Green shook her violently. The girl grumbled and slowly opened an eye. When she saw that it was her mother, her other eye opened, and she forced herself to sit up. Her eyes felt heavy, and her mind yearning for more sleep. But she knew that she couldn't have the luxury of another hour of sleep. No, this couldn't be. Or at least, not in her family. An extra hour of sleep means earning a few Alms less. Alms were used as money in the entire Arcanic Empire, which includes Town Dragoon.
Monica yawned and stared at her mother with her sleepy eyes. Like usual, her mother's face was cold and hard, with no warmth around her. Well, she was already used to her mother being cold. Why, then, did she hope to catch a glance of loving smile from her? Perhaps, she was just being foolish.
"Monica, you will have to go along, today, to sew the garments for Mrs. Ped. For, I am feeling a little unwell, today." Said Mrs. Green, in a tone that was quite unlike her. It was a weak tone, full of sickness. Quite unlike the matter-of-fact tone she usually portrayed. Monica nodded her head in agreement, as she had learnt since birth, never to object to any of her parents' request. A sister of hers was sold away for twenty Alms to a slave trader, because she happened to yell at Mr. Green in anger, one fine morning. Well, she missed her sister but she got to admit that the twenty Alms really brought more to her family than a day of work could have done. For once, they were able to eat chicken. Well, that was the first and last time she ever tasted chicken meat.
She left her house and familiar smell of bread and cakes from the baker's shop opposite her house greeted her nose. Ah such nice smell. Well, it is a good thing that at least air is free, and the wonderful smell of the bakery is free, as well. Monica strolled along the street, on her way to Mrs. Ped's garments' shop, a shop dedicated exclusively to the rich ladies of Town Dragoon. She froze when she caught sight of a beggar, sitting with his rugged clothes at a corner of the street. He was about her age, 18 years old, with waxy reddish brown hair, concealed in pair by the old cap he put on his head. A sword was by his side, with no sheathe. It was a rusty piece of sword, broad and sharp. The boy had a bowl in his hand, but the bowl was empty. No one had given him an Alm, yet. Well, it was expected. In this town, no one gives. That was why beggars always starved to death in Dragoon. The boy was not like any other beggar she had met. He was not weary nor did have the dull and lifeless eye that was seen in all the beggars she had met. No, to be exact, the dull and lifeless eyes that were seen in almost everyone she met. She probably had dull and lifeless eyes as well. The young beggar had sky-blue eyes that seem to be very determined. Determined to live. Determined to do something big. But that was not what attracted Monica to the boy. No. Monica could not care less of what the boy would do. She would have ignored the boy, had it not been for her dream. Yes, her dream. What a rare dream. It came so suddenly, even though she had not had a dream for ages. In her dream, this beggar was there. How could it be, since she had never seen this beggar before? But then, this was in deed the boy in her dream. The boy called Sport.
Monica took a breath and walked to the beggar, temporarily forgetting that she was on her way to Mrs. Ped. The beggar looked up at her. His face was dirty but it was charming. It was a more charming face than anyone she had seen in the town.
"An Alm for me, madam?" mumbled the boy, with an air of hope in his tone. He seems to be lacking food for days. Monica shook her head and replied, "I can't, sir. An Alm for me is a lot."
The boy sighed and looked back at his bowl, disappointed. He mumbled, "Then, why are you here for?"
"Sir, I am just curious. Could your name happened to be Sport?" asked Monica. The boy gazed up at Monica, with a sharp look. He pointed his sword at Monica 's throat, much to the girl's horror.
