Look Through My Eyes

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

A hybrid Malamute lives under the iron fist of cruel woman named Mrs. York.

Chapter 1 (v.1) - Look Through My Eyes

Submitted: April 27, 2013

Reads: 168

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Submitted: April 27, 2013




Chapter 1:


It’s a bad time when your judged by your appearance. You’re looked at with contempt and held to a status lower than a cockroach. In some parts of the country, I would be considered demonic, a monster, or a plague. In those parts my kind may be segregated by the community. Even though discrimination against blacks was considered normal for three hundred years, eventually they were seen as equals.

. I’m nothing really special, in my eyes at least. I’m standing outside the a small prisons, well an orphanage to be more precise. But that didn’t take away my restrained feeling.  I lean against the wall of the orphanage, watching humans pass me by. They were uncomfortable looking at me, probably because I wasn’t wearing anything besides a pair of snow pants.

It’s not like I needed clothes in the first place. Malamutes have thick fur, suited for cold environment. It makes me feel…like an animal, in a good way. I can do well without any clothes at all, for some time. Although, clothes are mandatory because I have human-like characteristics, so I won’t go any further. Though I’m sure if I walked out of the orphanage naked, Mrs. York would kill me, not to mention my reputation plundering even more. Despite some of the contempt faces I see, not every human in town despises hybrids.

The pastor in the Orthodox Presbyterian church welcomes anyone. Several hunters I know welcome me on a hunt, sharing some of the catches with me to take home. Though I’m sure the main reason they allow me to accompany them is for my ability to track game by scent. I have no problem with it. It’s better than being yelled by the orphanage manger, Bertha Marie York. I shake of the thought of her though.

“Hey Alaska,” I hear Sitka calling, running up to me. The eleven-year-old Inuit runs eagerly to me.

“Hey, Sitka,” I say, faking my eagerness. “What’s up?”

“There’s another at noon. Wanna come?”

Then I hear a woman scream my name. Storming out of the door, she shouts, “What are you doing out here? I told you not go outside!”

I bit back my anger. “I just came out for some fresh air, ma’am,” I say calmly.

She grabs my ear, applying pressure until I let out a small whine. “I told you not do disobey me! You belong to me. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be starving like the rest of those vagabonds.”

Anger surged throughout my body at that last statement. Those hybrids that she called ‘vagabonds’ were my brothers and sisters. I growl, “I just came to get out of the orphanage. Is it because I’m not wearing a shirt? Because if that’s the case—“

The back of her hand crashed against my face. Grunting painfully, I motion Sitka to leave. He gave me a sympathetic look before he retreats. Griping my muzzle, she sneers, “Get your furry ass in there!”

Without further complaint, I go in. Her grip still on my snout, she rushes me upstairs into the bedroom where both teenagers and children slept. With all her might, she pushes me against the back wall. I match her furious face with my own, barring my fangs. Only to get backhanded again. “Why did you go out when I told you not to? Do my words have meaning in your brain?” she asks, more like growl.

“Yeah, they do,” I say. “I went out because I’m not some house dog to be kept in all the time. My parents let me go out anytime I wanted. What’s the deal with you?” I shout.

The portly woman retorts, “Your savage parents aren’t alive anymore. They’re dead. Gone. Don’t expect them rising—“

“SHUT UP!” I scream. I shove her back. Pointing my finger accusingly at her, I threaten, “If you dare disrespect my parents again, I won’t care if I’m sent to jail I will bite that arm off!” I meant it. The one thing I never allowed was anyone disrespecting my family. I advanced on her. “Just because you’re my superior doesn’t mean I’ll take your foul words.”

Mrs. York did something I wouldn’t expect from anyone. A knife slithered from her sleeve to her hand, then with a swift motion, slashed at my chest. The pain causes me to collaps to the ground. I hold the jagged cut across my chest my paw. Looking at my wound, then at her sadistic smiling face made me freeze.

“Why did you…?” I hiss before she kicks my face to the ground.

“I told you to not disobey me,” she whispers to me, kneeling down. Her eyes were dark like a pit.

I struggle to stand. This woman was like a demon. She was the monster. The gash across my chest stung, but my anger exceeded it. “What right do you have to treat me so inhumanely?” I demanded. “There’s only five hybrids living in this orphanage and you treat us like shit!” I rarely ever swore, especially before adults. But my boiling point lowered severely I let every swear I could think of release. “Just because your forced to watch over me doesn’t mean I’ll let you walk over me like a carpet. I have rights!”

“You’re under-aged,” she countered, raiding her knife under my jaw. “And it wouldn’t matter to the state if you were killed. They’d believe me that your began the assault first.”

“Bitch…” I whisper.

I contemplate my option. My first was to ask for forgiveness, then I’d get a less severe punishment. Option two: I could kill her. But how would God think of me then. I could repent to her, but something told me to keep fighting. I watch Mrs. York’s knife-armed hand. I hated to admit it, but she won. I looked downward in defeat.

Mrs. York smiled victoriously, letting down the knife. It wasn’t worth arguing when someone was holding a knife to your neck. “Such a shame your parents aren’t alive to see how pitiful you are. I’m sure your pastor would be disappointed too.” She says, “I always knew your father as the type to go down fighting. I hear he kept fighting that day during the break-in.” She lifts my head up, my eyes staring solemnly at her. “He did everything to defend you. He gave his life for you. Such a shame that he died for nothing. I hered he was whipped until his coat was stained with his own blood, then…” she shoves me against the wall. I had to admit, for a hag, she was strong.

I didn’t bother getting up. She continues,”…they abused him in every way they could. He screamed as the mobsters invaded his body, break bones, cut his limbs…all to save a savage like you.”

Those words cut deep into my heart. I could imagine the atrocities and violations they permitted themselves against my father. Images of it…was enough to break me. Tears fell from my eyes like rushing rivers. Seeing my dad beaten and slashed played like a movie in my head.

Breath hastening, I ask to be left alone. She complies with satisfaction, closing the door behind her. I my arms arm my legs and bury my head. I began to sob. I question if she was right. The poisonous speculation tore me apart. I began to cry.


Authors Note:

Hey! It's been awhile since I last got on Booksie, so now I'm trying to get in the habit of coming back. My break is done, and my mind is flooding with knew stories. This one I plan to get published, hopefully. My previous novel, Nahgowa is now postponed. I lost the feel of it, you know? Anyway, I'd like to thank you for taking your time to read this chapter. I was inspired by previous civil rights momvements, as well some recent political eve. Comments and critiques are appreciated. Please tell me how to improve the chapter, and what you liked or didn't like. I appreciate it.  And sorry for the crappy summary.  Alaska is a temporary name.

~red-mohawk (Rokutenchi)

© Copyright 2017 Rokutenchi. All rights reserved.


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