| Subject: Callie's Past |
Author:
Callie
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Date Posted: 18:37:09 05/09/02 Thu
In reply to:
Alveta
's message, "callie gets angry" on 17:35:35 05/08/02 Wed
Callie stuffed her hands into the pockets of her skirt and pulled her cloak tighter around her. Despite the warm night she shivered. After shoving Manuelo's body into the river that ran behind her house she had fallen asleep on the red couch--the same one that Manuelo had so eagerly waited on before he was killed. She had stared at him, long and hard and as usual had felt nothing. She had seen his face, twisted in a endless cry of pain, seen his red blood pour out of his wounds, still fresh and red and she had felt nothing...nothing at all. Alveta had taken the small flask she had filled with Manuelo's blood to their employer and had returned later with gold coins for each of them. She had dropped Callie's coins onto the table where they still lay, marking their territory in the dust. The table hadn't been used since the last time Alveta had come to visit--nearly 4 years ago...
As Callie walked throught the streets of Cala Armon, the moonlight falling in soft beams across the cobblestone path, she remembered her first night in this town...how she had hated it then and how she had come to love it over time...
It had been a warm night like this...she had been running, running from her first home...from the people who wanted her dead--her family. She had secretly helped her friend, Canaada escape from the prison where she was being held for murder. Her family had found out in less than a week and had tried to kill her. Callie still had a long scar across her left shoulder blade from the knife her brother had used to cut her. She had stumbled out of the house, bleeding from her nose, ears, wrists, and nearly everywhere else...They had beat her and left her for dead, lying on the kitchen floor. Callie had walked all night in a state of delerium and had awakened to find herself lying in a warm bed at the home of Jacques, her first employer. She had been but a frightened child of 16 then, and it was Jacques who shaped her to be what she was today... It was Jacques who had taught her, trained her, pushed her...It was Jacques who was dead now because of her.
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