Turn it Back; Just Turn it Around.

The city was amazing! Alive and bright at even the latest hours, people went back and forth with selling goods at an auction, or visiting the bank, or seeing any new papers attached to the call-board. Some people looking for anyone with a particular skill in certain professions, whilst others advertised their own skills to try to make profit in gold coins. The buildings were tall, and very bright for it being so late into the night. I assumed that this was a trading and business district of the city, for there was few houses, most of them being family businesses, and only one inn in the entirety of the district.

"Hmm, an inn sounds good right now. I haven't slept in. . ." I say to myself, pausing when I realize that I have no idea when I last slept, or even if I ever slept. Try as I might, I cannot think back of when I slept-- of when or if I did anything in my life. The fall still taking a toll on my memory, I push myself to remember. I enter into my room I rented out for the night, and sit in a chair, concentrating as hard as I can. Suddenly I see something I wish I didn't see. .

". . . Amanalii! Why did you drop your food?! Do you think that such a meal comes cheap, especially in these parts!" roared a large man. He stood at a height that easily was triple that of mine, and thick enough to be three-hundred fifty pounds. I look away from his ominous, hurtful gaze to where my meal now lay: in a pile of mud and filth, ruined and no longer edible. A boiled potato and a small bit of meat, likely from a cow, now lay ruined by the earth.

My face burns red, my hair matching its color, and tears swell in my eyes as I look into the glare of the man. "I- I- I- I'm s-sorry," I stammer "I-i-it was an acciden--" 
"SILENCE!" He roars, slapping me across the face, sending me flying like a rag doll  spiraling towards the ground. "I don't care if it was an accident or not; You cost me an entire meal, and I don't have money to constantly spend buying you food if you don't bring in enough money yourself! You hardly benefit me as is. You waste food, you don't bring me money, you act so weak, and you take space here in my house. In essence, you're merely dead weight."

I pick myself up off the floor, brushing myself off, preparing for a painful and hungry night. "You know," he continues "You should be thankful that I'm so kind to you. Others might kill you, or even worse." 
"What could be worse?" I ask boldly. 
He only laughs, and then replies "Kick you out into the night to leave you to whatever fate any crook or animal has in mind. Murder would be merciful. Leaving you broken, beaten, and abused on the side of the street where people pass you by, as you cry helplessly, until you die. Or they may just sell you around, to put it softly."

I wasn't sure what to think, but I wasn't happy. My cheek, for instance, was hurting and swollen. A bit of blood trickled out the corner of my mouth. I had nothing to say. Maybe I should be thankful, but how I ended up here-- How did I end up there? What was that? WHERE was that? The memory vanishes.

Questions flooded my mind, but all I could think was that my childhood was built around some sort of job. What a funny word to use, now that I think about it. 'Childhood' repeats in my mind over and over, again and again. Did I really even have one? I look out my window and see some middle aged kids in a group walking down the street, laughing and enjoying the great night that it is, not caring at all about the world around.

A tear rolls down my face. . .
(To be continued)