Board Thread:Roleplaying Boards/@comment-28819748-20160731174511/@comment-26814804-20160807213946

It had been a year. A full year that Iram had lived in the village's little jail, just a wooden building with two cells. He'd hardly seen the sun through his room's tiny windows, and the rations he was afforded were barely enough to survive. If it weren't for his family secretly sneaking him extra food, he could very well have died in that year. He still didn't understand it. He couldn't figure out why everything was so bad.

And the door opened. Iram shielded his eyes against the sudden light as he was roughly pulled out of the cell by two of the town's warriors.

"H-hey! W-what's going on?"

"You're going where you belong, you piece of trash!"

"H-huh?"

The men carried him all the way to the Hole.

"N-no! You can't!"

The whole town was there, and Iram saw his grandfather trying to push through the crowd to get to him.

"Iram!"

"Grandpa!"

One of the guards let go of Iram for a moment to turn to his grandfather, roughly striking his gauntlet against the aged man's chest.

"Nobody is protecting this piece of trash, old man. He's going where he belongs!"

"H-he'll die in there!"

"Just like the rest of his kind, I hope!"

The last thing Iram remembered before he fell was the faces of his parents just two other figures in the crowd. Both were silent, taking no action. His mother's eyes were watering, but nothing more than that, and his father seemed completely stoic.

They didn't care about him at all.

None of them did.

These Humans... they were the real monsters. These pieces of trash.

And Iram fell.