Dager of the Tasman Empire (Excerpt)

Chapter One

The miserable old woman glared at her young charge with those all too familiar steel grey eyes.  Instantly he cowered and shrunk back against the wall, causing the hag’s mood to soften.  But only a little.  And even that was short lived.  She straightened and leaned toward him.

“You little pond scum!  How many times have I told you?  I want this floor spotless!”  Her intimidating voice was deep, rough and loud.  She threw the pitch fork that only moments before, had been raised high above him like a battle weapon ready to strike, to the ground at his feet.  She lifted her heavy skirts, and stormed out of the chicken coop.  He heard the lock click shut behind her, and only then did he breathe a sigh of relief.  At least she was gone.  And he knew that no matter how hard he tried, or how clean he got that floor, it would never, ever be good enough to satisfy his master.

The little guy picked up his fork, turned it to its side and began scraping the stubborn chicken droppings from the old worn out floor.  His movements were quick, experienced and rhythmic; and so they should be.  He’d been doing this now for more than two years.  With calloused hands that had no business belonging to a five year old boy, he scraped and scratched and pulled the dung to the far corner of the little room, and then reopened the trap on the floor.  In the next moment, the little room was bare, except for him and the fork.  Now all that was left for him to do was wait for her return.  He slumped down onto his bottom, against the wall across from the door and rested.  And chances are he would have nodded off right away, sitting there like that in the dark and quiet, if not for the hunger pains that gnawed ever so constantly at his empty insides.

Nominated for the 2005 Prix Aurora award!