Name: Maddison Appleroot

Age: 21 years old.

Place of Birth: Lumberton, Redwood Kingdom

Employment: None

Place of Living: None

Next of Kin: None

Achievements: None

Previous employment: None

Skills: None

Likes: Singing, Dancing, Arts

Dislikes: Cooking, Cleaning, Insects

“Thank you Ms. Appleroot, we will take you into consideration, but know this should a more qualified applicant become known, we will not hesitate to hire them instead. You are dismissed.” I have heard this and other variations of this from just about everywhere I visit. From every employer of different shapes and sizes.

My resume says it all, I am of no talent and no use. I am another person out there, with no greater purpose, or greater calling. Had I been born a male, I would have been able to join the army, or even join the All Human Construction Guild. I would be able to use the army or construction guild to bolster my resume for a job I would want later, or even just make a career out of those, had I been born male. Had I been born beautiful, or at the vary least, if I wasn't an orphan, I would have been able to find a man and just watch over the house. But as I am, I am a dirty, half starved person with no marketable skills, just another beggar.

Surely there was a job for me, if only I knew where to start. I was lost in thought as I made my way toward a familiar alley that I had come to call home. It was dark and reeked of urine from stray animals. Not many people passed through the alleyways, so it was generally safe enough to sleep here. At least, for the last year or so, after I was kicked out of another awful foster home.

My thoughts return to the days of going from foster home to foster home, and sometimes back to the orphanage. From what I hear now a days, our orphanage, Mrs Heartwood's Many Seedlings, wasn't all that compared to some of the other orphanages in Zugrielia. I have heard of an orphanage that is in the neighboring city of Resintown, that they were rumored to give the children routine lashings. My time at the orphanage wasn't that great, but it was the only thing I knew. I didn't know that children of families were given at least two meals a day and not just twice a week.

The only thing I can say was that I did look forward to choir practice, it was usually right before the worst chore, cooking. I hate cooking, with a passion; I always seemed to bun myself. I would get yelled at if I burnt the food or removed it from the fire to soon, I was always made to eat my own failures. I have had so many stomach aches as a child, but I would give anything to at least have those days of rancid food, then what I have now. I would find little bits of leftover food thrown from windows or just dropped on the ground.

The were disgusting, and covered in flies, but it was better than absolutely nothing. Absolutely nothing, that was what my last foster family gave me. They housed me for three weeks, I was made to watch as they ate in front of me. I sat down and pulled the hems of my ragged dress closer to my body as I remembered the feeling of my stomach digesting itself with its juices. The Vinestans, I will never forget them. On the last night, they had a lavish feast, remembering those smells still make my mouth water to this day. There was large roast fowl that was covered in oats smothered in honey.

I do not actions, not one bit. As they were eating, they had me sitting at the table, as always, to watch them eat. I think it brought them a sick satisfaction of having someone starve, watch them gorge themselves on extravagant meals. This family the Vinestans, were all very plump and and always had greasy smiles that seemed to be full of greed, there were three of them; a large father, a plump mother, and a very round daughter. Even at the orphanage, I was afraid they were going to eat me when they stopped by to select a child.

That last night, I had enough. I was done with having being forced into this fowl play. As they were gathering the roast fowl onto their own plates, they looked at me with their greedy smiles before taking massive bites of their poultry. I stood up immediately and grabbed fists full of the meat from the giant dish in the middle and crammed them as fast I could in my mouth.

I remember seeing the agitated skin on the very large blubbery man become a deep shade of crimson. He said not a word as stood up and raised his hand. I crammed another fist full of sweet poultry into my mouth as his hand came down open palmed struck me across the face. I remember falling over and having landed on my hand funny, but not feeling it at all as my body moved on its own. It moved to the food once again, though my belly was not used to having food on it, it felt rather queasy. I did not stop forcing handfuls of this meal into my mouth, this time I glanced over at the mother and daughter. The daughter wore a face of shock as she witness the scene and sat frozen with some oats falling of the spoon she was loosely hanging on to. The mother was screaming at me, with her face just as red as her husbands. Though she was screaming, I could not hear her. I could only hear the sounds of me chewing, and the crunching of bone that I had in my mouth.

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I then felt a shiver run down my spine as I remember the scene that followed. A hand from the husband found its way around my hair, which was long at the time. He used his chubby hands to pull my hair back which caused my face to look up. The pain on my scalp was excruciating, it felt like he was trying to pull my hair from my head. Pain then shot though my throat as he took his remaining hand a repeatedly punched me in the throat, causing all of the food in my mouth to spew out. With that he threw me to the ground.

I lied there trying to breathe with futile effort. My throat wouldn't open, I couldn't breathe. I remember feeling the terror of dying on the floor, right before received a heavy boot to my abdomen, sending all of the undigested food from my stomach to my mouth and nose. Though the man with the heavy foot did not stop there, he removed his foot, and then slammed it down more force. He did this over and over again, with pain exploding from ever fiber of my being. I remember that the pain got to point of being unbearable while he was still kicking, and the woman still screaming, I found that blackness was creeping from the edges of my vision.

I do not remember passing out, but by the time I came to, I was in this alleyway, on the other side of the city. I have made this place my home, not because I like it, but because no body comes here. Apparently there is a church nearby, though I have not use for a church, for I am not religious, for what god has given me anything?

A slight breeze rolls in the remote alleyway, it sends a violent shiver down my spine and the thin hairs on my arms rise on end, the cold months will be here shortly. I need to find more cloth, or perhaps find more stray animals to make uneasy survival alliance for the coming winter months. Strays do not like other strays, but I find that they are willing to cooperate for winter, as their survival kicks in. Seeing as that I am no better than another stray on the streets, I am sometimes allowed in the mildly warm nests. The fur really does stink though, and it is often sticky, but I would rather that than to freeze to death as the frigid winds rip the little clothing I have.

Pushing the matters of the ever approaching winter to the back of my mind, I hobble my way toward a nearby busy street. There are many people walking to and from many places, all at once. Almost none take notice of me in shade of the entrance to the alley. Those that do look at me sheer disgust. I know I am not pretty to look at, nor what I do is very noble, or appealing, but I do it all the same. I watch the streets, waiting. Waiting for some one to either accidentally drop or purposefully throw left over food away.

Sometimes there are no bits of food, especially during a holiday, where everyone is at home. Only after holidays do they throw left overs out, truly a holiday for the homeless. I watch the streets today and I see a boy that I recognize from a season ago, 'accidentally' drop a piece of bread. Normally, I would scurry toward the bread, then quickly run away before to many people see me, though they all know I am there.

I say normally but this boy I have come to recognize as a someone really cruel. Last season, when the boy 'accidentally' dropped bread, it turned out to be poisoned. I was vomiting blood for awhile, I do not know how I recovered, but I am thankful, that I did not die. The bread this funny tasting white powder on it, I believe the powder was the poison.

From the park bench, the boy looks at me with a nasty smile and kicks the bread toward me. I watched the bread bounce toward me and roll to a stop at my feet. I glanced back up at the blonde haired boy, in his formal attire, staring at me, daring me to eat it. I look back at the bread and noticed that it was completely covered in white powder, so much so that clumps of it fell off consistently. I look back at him as he gives me a devilish smile before getting up darting off to play with other children that passed by. He glanced back once more and flashed an evil grin.

Hmm, today is no good either, huh? I was about to turn around and walk to the other street that my alley connect to, until I heard a man speak up, his words were directed to me, “Poor thing, stop by the church, we provide the homeless a meal once a day. It isn't much but it is something.” The man dressed in white, priestly robes addressed his low, baritone voice at me.

I tried to look him in the eye but I couldn't because his smile was dazzling. He held out his hand, which caused me flinch reflexively. I did hear that men of the clothe could not lie when I was a child, so I decided I would trust another human once more. Slowly, I reached out and placed my battered hand onto his rough, calloused hands. Of which, he stood from his crouch and started to lead me away from the safety of the alley. I couldn't control my heart as we walked further and further from my home. It was then I noticed everyone looking at me, even sneering at me with eyes of disdain. It was as if they were angry at me for being plain sight and not in my safe alley. They said not one word, nor did they approach, as the man who led me was tall, and built. I actually didn't know he was crouching when he first spoke out to me, but now that he was standing tall, it felt like I was staring up at the summit of a mountain.

With his height towering over me as so, and his shoulders as broad as such, with him leading me by the hand, I did not feel like a starved twenty year old, instead, I felt like a lost child being led by her father. My heart was set a flutter with the very thought. I shake my vigorously to banish the thought. It was then that the man stopped and ask, “Is something the matter? Are you hungry perhaps?” He tilted his head while flashing that dazzling smile. I couldn't help but nod, I was curious what he would do next.

I think ones stomach would normally growl when one is smells food while starving. Certainly, my sense of smell has reached such a height that I can smell something being prepared to cook, deep within the stone structure before us, that I guessed was a church. Yes, indeed, had it been before the incident with Vinestans, my stomach would have definitely growled, how since that incident, my stomach is incapable of growling. I noticed that I have trouble digesting things as well, as my stool still somewhat resembles what I ate. Hmm, maybe I won't be alive in a few years, but I can't bring myself to really care at this point.

Once again, the man took a hold of my hand and gently guided me past the threshold of the church. The atmosphere was very different in this place, it almost reminded me of the orphanage, with a fire crackling in the stone fireplace. It was then I felt a tear slide from my eye, that's funny, I didn't know they could do that any more.

My tear didn't go unnoticed, the giant man kneeled and wrapped me in the warmest hug I have ever felt. This is kindness? “You do not have to worry anymore, lost sheep. For Icaldir wills it, this be your new home. Submit your life to the servitude of the cloth, and forever be in the graces of the god of man, the god of the Light! What say you?”

He only released me from his embrace to ask me this question. Me being of the cloth? Why? What have I done to deserve your kindness? What have I done to be given this chance? What's this? More tears? I do not know what to do. I opened my mouth to speak, but only a dry wheeze came out. It seems, I have forgotten how to talk. I hung my head, because I had no idea what to do or even how to reciprocate this man's kindness.

That is when I felt a hand on my shoulder that was warm to the touch, I looked up at the man smiling that radiant smile again, he said “Let's get you cleaned up.”