My name is "Solona." It means "The Crushed Rose" in The Language of Old. The Old Ones gave me my name. My parents left me at the House of Time. Usually, my parents would've picked my name off of the list The Old Ones would give them. I like to think they would've picked "Desus," which means "Bird." All of our names come from The Language of Old. Who are "we?" That's right. You don't know me yet. You don't know my story. Which part of it should I tell you? There are so many things I could tell you! How about how I found my Wae?
A couple of years ago, I was at The House of Time. Even though I was only a teenager, I had a full-time job. I had no schooling; I was too busy taking care of myself. Now, after years of faithfully serving, I was being kicked out,
"Please. Let me stay! I can work harder than anyone here!" I stood there, in The Room, or a courtroom, pleading for my livelihood.
"The people of Waeny need jobs. You are nothing but an Orphan Child. You will leave," Old Le coldly replied. His voice was like stones grinding together. There was never a Mr-Nice-Guy with him. He despised people of lower status. Anger rose in my chest as he stared down his large nose at me. I was tempted to snap at him, but I didn't see anything good happening from that. They would never listen to me anyway, I thought. I hated The Room. Nothing good ever happened here. At least, not to poor people. And an Orphan Child is very poor.
"She's just a child. You don't need to be so harsh," Old Lav said, her voice strange and contorted. She was in charge of defending the poor. That was her punishment for talking back when one of The Old Ones insulted her. She was given the most despised job; helping people of lower status.
"Old Le is right," someone said from a shadowy corner. "The people need work. She is last in line." A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Five minutes went by while they waited for The Oldest. The shuffling of papers and sporadic coughs and sneezes filled me with pure agony. Finally, The Oldest came in, wearing regal purple robes that trailed behind her, standing a head above everyone in the room. Her gray hair was tied in a swooping bun, and she wore a broach on her robes. No one knew her real name. It was long forgotten, replaced by her title. I'm not even sure The Oldest herself knows her name. Why would anyone need to know her name? Just her presence could make your blood freeze and your spine snap.
She took one look at me and gave a fake laugh. "Why are we wasting our time on her?" Her voice was high and girlish, yet it cut me like knives. "She will leave," The Oldest said, addressing the Old Ones. "Go," she said to me, making a shoo-ing motion with her hand. "Go and get your few belongings." I wanted to protest, to yell "Shut your wrinkly mouth up," anything, but The Oldest stood there, her hands folded perfectly against her chest, a smile on her lips that whispered I dare you. So I nodded my head, spun on my heel, and left.
"Go get your few belongings," I mimicked. I could hear Old Le's snort of laughter perfectly in my head. I so wished I could say something to them! But, if I did, I would be thrown in Locked, our prison, and no one would remember me. I was climbing the last flight of stairs when I finally thought of the perfect comeback. "Why don't you go and mind your own business?" Ok, maybe not that perfect.
I reached the very top of the building and opened the only door. The one that led to the Orphan Child's room. Inside was a bed, my clothes and toiletries, three books, and a stuffed bunny. I picked up the bunny, and it's giant, oversized ears covered its eyes. "Yep," I sighed. "No one seems to see or hear me unless they hate me." I looked around outside and found a plastic bag. I stuffed all my stuff in it, and I took the sheet, blanket, and pillow off the bed. The bed was too heavy to carry. Last, I packed my books: Customs of Old, The Story of the New Language, and The Princess and the Frog. I didn't know how to read any of them, but I liked the pictures. Except in The Customs of Old. Some of those were just plain scary.
I looked around the sad little room and sighed. It wasn't much, but it was home. Well, was home. I trudged down the cobwebbed stairs, leaving the only place I had ever known. I should have been planning for this day. I should have been prepared. I should have had a back-up plan.
Too late now.
*****
This is part of a book I am writing.
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