Because hell, hell is for children

And you know that their little lives can become such a mess

Hell, hell is for children

And you shouldn't have to pay for your love

With your bones and your flesh

-Pat Benatar-

Meadow: Year 2185/150 Years after The Emergence

My name is Meadow Serles. I am the only child of Montegue and Sabrina Serles. My mother died when I was two, having contracted cancer of the ovaries. My life was not like other girls, I was treated as a servant and someone to be ashamed of by my father. Immediately following my graduation from the Witches Academy, I ran away from home. The night I left I was barely able to walk.

I limped from the house as fast as I could. Favoring my left ankle and my left arm tucked into my stomach, I moved as quickly as I could. I was pretty sure my father had broken my arm. My ankle as sore and twisted as it was, held up, so I was hopeful that the ankle was not broken. I was praying for no more than a sprain or some soft tissue damage. My ribs were sore as well. The bones had cracked, I feared. I didn't feel that anything internal was wrong, I wasn't coughing up blood, and my heart wasn't pumping in odd rhythms, so I held out hope.

I am sure my face looked a fright. The left eye was swollen shut, and the right was showing signs of a severe black eye. My nose was swollen, my upper lip stained from the blood that had oozed over it last night. I limped across the yard, rear corner of the house to the far corner of the lawn where the woods began. This route was the one blind spot in the yard that the security lights and anyone casually looking out a window would miss. The perfect course for a nearly blind escapee. I prayed my spell held, and Montague was still asleep.

Montague Serles constantly blamed me for my mother's death. "Nothing was wrong with your mother 'til you were born and then all of a sudden she gets cancer of the ovaries. That is the work of bad childbirth, bitch." I heard this daily as far back as I could remember. Father had me doing all the housework and acting as a slave instead of the little girl I was. I believed this was how children were raised as my father kept me around the house and away from anyone in the small community we lived in who might have told me differently.

I started at the Witch's Academy late. I only got to go to the Academy at all because the town elders came to the house and forced my father to allow me to go. The order was because the local Hunter ranks that father was a part of were low on Witches. England was still at war with shifters. The Guild in London often sent Hunter battalions over to France and Spain to protect the villagers there. Packs of shifters were always out to kill humans and steal livestock. So the local Guild chapters were responsible for the fight at home and protecting England.

I believed the problem was spreading, and shifters needed to be culled and controlled. I was also happy to be out of the house for nine hours a day and away from constant abuse. I threw myself into learning the spells that would make me useful. Perhaps I would gain freedom from the man I called father and see the world for real.

As my luck would have it, my father treated me worse for the small break of being away from him at the Academy. I was obligated to rush home each day after my lessons to take care of my father's needs and receive a beating for being "late." My father had timed the walk home so that he could tell me I was due home at a time that assured my tardiness.

I made sure every day to keep my bruises hidden and my face a mask so that no one would ever know about my pain.

Father reminded me daily, "Showing your bruises or showing pain is a sign of weakness. Others will avoid you, and some might even beat on or ridicule you for daring to look for sympathy. Your instructors will not want a student that is whining about how painful home is."

That wasn't the only reason I kept my bruises and pain hidden. I didn't want sympathy, and I didn't want anyone to know that I was powerless. As I grew up and learned more powerful spells as a Witch, I could never summon anything against my father. He held some higher power against me, fear. He had treated me so poorly from such a young age.

He loved to get right in my face. "You might be learning to be some great and powerful Witch, but don't ever forget that I am your father, and you are never going to be able to do anything against me. You belong to me, even with magic, you best not summon it to defend yourself from me, I will put you in the ground."

I could have faced the beatings from Montague. I learned how to take the pain and bruises. Hell, I had gotten to the point where all of that was just part of my daily routine. I could do nothing right. Speaking out against father's punishments just made them worse, and crying was a sure way to get beaten so badly, I would not be able to attend classes the next day. What truly made my life hell was when I turned ten, and my father began raping me. He was drinking a lot and would come home and climb into my bed. I was powerless to stop him, and my shame added power to his total control over me.

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Abigail, my one friend at the Academy, made comments to me. "I just don't understand Meadow. Why do you need to get home so quickly every day? You talk about chores that you shouldn't be responsible for." I was always making excuses for the way my father treated me.

She worked so hard always to cheer me up. Abigail took notice that I continually did my spell practice at odd times, as I had no time for it at home. I had to do it in the yard before school. I told her home chores did not allow for school work.

Abigail gave me an impatient snort. "How are you expected to become a competent Witch and work to protect a town or a Hunter Battalion? You are never allowed the correct amount of spell work time on your own!" I had no answer for her.

The physical abuse continued and increased as I got older. Montague, as I was beginning to think of him, was smart, he knew to hurt me in places that would not be seen by the common eye. Areas like my ribs and stomach and upper legs, never on my lower legs, arms, or face. A few bruises showed when I was in year six. I had gym class, and the new gym teacher had given all the students specific shorts as a "uniform" for the course. I was not allowed to wear my sweats as usual. The Academy called the village elders as I was becoming a prize student by this time, and the council called on our house to find out what had happened.

Montague explained this quickly. "Meadow was practicing her flying, and she crashed into the large pine behind the house. She crashed down through the entire tree. I think she hit every branch on her way to the ground."

The seemed to satisfy as a cause for the bruises in question. I feared Montague enough never to contradict the man. I was hoping it would save me an extra beating. Even after explaining how my teacher had discovered the bruising, Montague beat me enough to keep me home from the Academy for several days. I received a black mark at the Academy as we were only supposed to fly on academy grounds for those very safety reasons.

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I stared at my image in the mirror on the dresser and saw a cute girl who had done well enough in her finals that she had aced her spell crafting. I looked at her carefully. Platinum blonde hair inherited from my mother, cut in an asymmetrical bob, framed a heart-shaped face. Green eyes perched above a small nose and a tiny mouth. I stood five feet and a smidge, never forget the smidge, tall. I smiled. I was to give a speech at the party my class was having. I was also to be offered an excellent place in the hunter ranks immediately at the village meeting the following Monday.

The truly unique quality about me was that I was finishing school about four years early. I mastered spell crafting and had even had taken on some that were not required, on my own. The party was to celebrate those graduating but also the fact that I was such an overachiever.

I read over the speech I had written and then crumpled the paper up and threw it away. I knew I would never get away with telling everyone about what my life was really like at such a gathering. I believed a speech like this would be seen as a plea for sympathy and interpreted as weakness. I read my second speech and sighed. The new address was a watered-down version of my original.

As I gave the second string speech, I kept my eyes above my classmates. "I want us all to remember how hard academy life was on all of us, students. I think we should all be grateful for the friends we had made. The students in this class who are leaving in one way or another have helped each other through these tough years. Be it studying or emotional support, all of you can relate to what I am saying."

It was at this point that I threw the class for a loop. I talked about Abigail. My one friend that I had made during my time at the Academy.

"Abigail sat behind me in class on the first day of year four. I resisted Abigail's overtures of friendship, but for some reason, Abigail would not back down. I eventually gave in and began hanging out with her out of sheer self-defense. Abigail and I studied together during free time at school, ate lunch together and partnered in every lab and group activity presented in class. She is the reason that I survived the Academy. I love you, Abigail, forever."

The rest of the class all looked around at each other and just now realized how lonely I was. I was always there, but none considered me a friend, but then again, no one ever made the time to get to know me. I was invisible. I was the youngling that was always there and ignored because I was moving at my own pace. Again the only person that ever paid any attention to me was Abigail.

When I finished my speech, I turned to the headmistress, who herself was fighting tears, and clearly, with conviction, stated, "Please hold my Certificates and such. I will send for them when I am ready. I cannot handle being here with everyone looking at me with pity."

I had bared my soul, and the wounds bled with the scabs that I had pulled off tonight. I hoped that my fellow students would go on to whatever jobs they would and remember to make friends. I wanted them to all remember me and look to those that didn't seem to be the popular person where there were. As I left I noticed that the only face not showing pity was Barbara, she just looked at me like I had insulted her with my speech. I wasn't surprised. Barbara and I had always competed in everything. Maybe this was for the best. It was a more genuine reaction than any I would get from anyone else.

I headed home and knew that my class would go on to have a great time at the party. I simply did not have the energy to participate. When I arrived home, I found Montague standing in the living-room, seething.

I looked at Montague and tried to determine what I had done wrong. He held up several recruitment forms for the hunters' guilds in London that he had found in my desk. He then also held up the crumpled speech I had discarded earlier. I bowed my head. I knew I should have never come home. The beating lasted long into the early morning hours. I was pretty sure that I had been out for the entire day as when I finally awoke, it was night again.

Montague had screamed the whole time he beat me, "You are never going to leave this place unless it is in a pine box, and if the speech I found was the one you gave at the party and the authorities come, you had best start praying there is a heaven!"