Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Memiors of a Courtesan ❯ Prologue
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: TheBlackRose102 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Shounen-ai | Uploaded On: 03.01.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 425 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Shounen-ai | Uploaded On: 03.01.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 425 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Gundam Wing characters, which is a shame really. We could have had a lot of fun.
Note: A lot of things I see and read influence me greatly. So just for a heads up, you should know that this story holds similarities to the novel ‘Memories of a Geisha.’ But I’m doing it my way. I only saw the trailer so there is a very high chance this disgustingly inaccurate. Please read and review.
Life for my people, have never been easy. I was born in servitude. Like my father, and fathers father before him. We were not considered slaves, we were serfs. But I couldn’t see the difference. We might have well been slaves. If the work was not done by sunset in the fields, you would get flogged, severely.
Once, my older brother tried to break free. I remember being very young when he took my hand and kissed my head. He explained to me that I would not understand now, but one day I would, and that I would crave for freedom as he did. He was right. I didn’t understand. I cried and held onto him, begging him not to leave us. That he had to stay or I would be all alone. He replied that one day he would come back for me, when he was rich, a renowned. But that it was to dangerous now, and that I needed to stay with mother and father and my little siblings. He left at noon that night, slipping away as the sun descending from the sky, cloaking us with the pitch black darkness of night. He never made it past the forest. Soldiers surrounded him at all sides, dragging him back, in old rusted chains. He got the beating of his life that night.
The lord of the manor put him out on stocks in the middle of or small village. As a warning to all those who dare try to escape. He hung there broken and bleeding. His face was so baldly bruised and swollen it was unrecognizable to even my mother. Anyone who dared try to comfort him was beaten as well. A girl from the village made the mistake of offering water to my brother, in hopes of soothing his dry throat. She had been sent to the manor, and was never seen again. Older children told stories of dark dungeons and beatings with bamboo sticks, and rapes so bad; they left one bleeding to death. At that time I was still very young, and had no idea what the older children were talking about, but I would nod my head in agreement anyway. My mother suffered the most when my brother was let down from the stocks. He had been in them for over 3 weeks and was only gristle hanging on to bone, by the time he was dropped on or door stop. The entire time he was there he was beaten, his entire back was open. In some spots you could clearly see bone.
With loving hands my mother sewed him back together again, calling me to pick herbs from her secret garden, to brew her special teas and grind them into her medical pastes. It was an old family tradition from our home land had managed to survive after so many decades. If they knew we still practiced it, we would surely be killed. Father would send me out to play with my siblings, during the times my mother cared for my brother. He didn’t want us to hear our brother’s pain filled screams, or our mother and fathers broken sobs. My mother did the best she could in repairing him, she prayed to my peoples long lost god, and chanted for hours, but to no avail. My brother died nearly a week after he was taken home. He had been too badly beaten, that he suffered internal bleeding, as well as the numerous infected cuts in his back. The worst of infections was ganggreen; it spread all over his body rapidly, so he never stood a chance.
We serfs lived very poorly, so disease was a common thing. It was very easy to get, mainly around the colder seasons. If you lived past winter, it was pure luck. My brother did not have a proper burial like he should have. He was thrown in a pit, with other dead bodies, and set on fire to stop the spread of disease. Mother’s wails could be heard all the way in the manor. There was nothing we could do to relieve her stress, so we let her be, in hopes that she would some along on her own. It didn’t register it me at first that my brother was really dead. I knew he was gone and not coming back, but it was a fleeting feeling of sadness. Being a child I didn’t stress on one thing for to long, I lacked the ability to register true sadness at that age. The lord of the land was merciless; he demanded my family find a way to produce the same workload as before. To make up for my brothers absence my parents sent us out in the field. They had no other choose, it was either produce the same workload or die. My siblings and I though it was a kind of game. We would pile as much wheat and grains on our backs as we could and who ever had the most was the strongest. We would giggle wildly as we ran back and forth between rows of crops, picking as much as we could and piled it into huge bags on each others backs. The oldest of my siblings would always have the most at the end of the day, but all of us were too tired from our days of ‘playing’.
It went like this for quit sometime, maybe a few years at most. I was nearly 6 years old when everything changed permanently. The duke, the owner of the land we served, had been at war with surrounding lands for sometime. Some of the oldest boys in the village were sent to fight, as well as the men not manning the fields. Recently another invader had come; they had been breaking down our barriers little by little for a long time. Until there was nothing left to keep them back. They came like a swarm of wasps, destroying everything in their paths. My village and the village surrounding it were burnt to the ground. Our village was the last to be attacked, so the black plumes of smoke and showers of ashes could be heard and seen from all sides. Everyone in the village were in a frenzy, trying to steal everything they could, in an attempt to leave and protect themselves.
We were never given the chance to protect ourselves, they came at night, with torches and more soldiers then we had ever seen. The entire village was gone before morning, there was nothing left but ash, debris, and me. When the smoke began to fill the air, mother had taken me by my hand and lead into the basement. She told me to hide amongst the dried food and vegetables, and to not come out no matter what I hear. She gave me one last hug and a kiss on my head, like my brother had done. I knew even then that it was the last time I would see her. The thick smoke made my throat burn and my eyes water but I stayed put, after only a little while I lost consciences. I woke up in the carriage of a very expensive carriage, I had only ever seen these things from the outside, do I was awed as I looked around. A woman in a finely made dress held me to her bosom. Her dress was like the ones my mother told us about when I was very small. It was made of a fabric called ‘silk’. It shimmered and flowed like water ever time the woman moved. Her face bared resemblance to my families as well, only hers was stark white, and she had funny looking things in her hair. She smiled down at me tenderly, and asked me my name in a soft accented voice. It was she was singing to me. Her voice was so soft a melodic; it could have been a beautiful song. When I tried to speak, I couldn’t because my throat was to dry and damaged from inhaling smoke. I had though she would be angry that I coughed on her, but she only cooed softly and held me tighter to her bosom. After a while I feel asleep, from fatigue, when I woke my life would officially begin.
DestineysMistake: right here’s the prologue, hope you like please review ta! #blows kiss#
Note: A lot of things I see and read influence me greatly. So just for a heads up, you should know that this story holds similarities to the novel ‘Memories of a Geisha.’ But I’m doing it my way. I only saw the trailer so there is a very high chance this disgustingly inaccurate. Please read and review.
Life for my people, have never been easy. I was born in servitude. Like my father, and fathers father before him. We were not considered slaves, we were serfs. But I couldn’t see the difference. We might have well been slaves. If the work was not done by sunset in the fields, you would get flogged, severely.
Once, my older brother tried to break free. I remember being very young when he took my hand and kissed my head. He explained to me that I would not understand now, but one day I would, and that I would crave for freedom as he did. He was right. I didn’t understand. I cried and held onto him, begging him not to leave us. That he had to stay or I would be all alone. He replied that one day he would come back for me, when he was rich, a renowned. But that it was to dangerous now, and that I needed to stay with mother and father and my little siblings. He left at noon that night, slipping away as the sun descending from the sky, cloaking us with the pitch black darkness of night. He never made it past the forest. Soldiers surrounded him at all sides, dragging him back, in old rusted chains. He got the beating of his life that night.
The lord of the manor put him out on stocks in the middle of or small village. As a warning to all those who dare try to escape. He hung there broken and bleeding. His face was so baldly bruised and swollen it was unrecognizable to even my mother. Anyone who dared try to comfort him was beaten as well. A girl from the village made the mistake of offering water to my brother, in hopes of soothing his dry throat. She had been sent to the manor, and was never seen again. Older children told stories of dark dungeons and beatings with bamboo sticks, and rapes so bad; they left one bleeding to death. At that time I was still very young, and had no idea what the older children were talking about, but I would nod my head in agreement anyway. My mother suffered the most when my brother was let down from the stocks. He had been in them for over 3 weeks and was only gristle hanging on to bone, by the time he was dropped on or door stop. The entire time he was there he was beaten, his entire back was open. In some spots you could clearly see bone.
With loving hands my mother sewed him back together again, calling me to pick herbs from her secret garden, to brew her special teas and grind them into her medical pastes. It was an old family tradition from our home land had managed to survive after so many decades. If they knew we still practiced it, we would surely be killed. Father would send me out to play with my siblings, during the times my mother cared for my brother. He didn’t want us to hear our brother’s pain filled screams, or our mother and fathers broken sobs. My mother did the best she could in repairing him, she prayed to my peoples long lost god, and chanted for hours, but to no avail. My brother died nearly a week after he was taken home. He had been too badly beaten, that he suffered internal bleeding, as well as the numerous infected cuts in his back. The worst of infections was ganggreen; it spread all over his body rapidly, so he never stood a chance.
We serfs lived very poorly, so disease was a common thing. It was very easy to get, mainly around the colder seasons. If you lived past winter, it was pure luck. My brother did not have a proper burial like he should have. He was thrown in a pit, with other dead bodies, and set on fire to stop the spread of disease. Mother’s wails could be heard all the way in the manor. There was nothing we could do to relieve her stress, so we let her be, in hopes that she would some along on her own. It didn’t register it me at first that my brother was really dead. I knew he was gone and not coming back, but it was a fleeting feeling of sadness. Being a child I didn’t stress on one thing for to long, I lacked the ability to register true sadness at that age. The lord of the land was merciless; he demanded my family find a way to produce the same workload as before. To make up for my brothers absence my parents sent us out in the field. They had no other choose, it was either produce the same workload or die. My siblings and I though it was a kind of game. We would pile as much wheat and grains on our backs as we could and who ever had the most was the strongest. We would giggle wildly as we ran back and forth between rows of crops, picking as much as we could and piled it into huge bags on each others backs. The oldest of my siblings would always have the most at the end of the day, but all of us were too tired from our days of ‘playing’.
It went like this for quit sometime, maybe a few years at most. I was nearly 6 years old when everything changed permanently. The duke, the owner of the land we served, had been at war with surrounding lands for sometime. Some of the oldest boys in the village were sent to fight, as well as the men not manning the fields. Recently another invader had come; they had been breaking down our barriers little by little for a long time. Until there was nothing left to keep them back. They came like a swarm of wasps, destroying everything in their paths. My village and the village surrounding it were burnt to the ground. Our village was the last to be attacked, so the black plumes of smoke and showers of ashes could be heard and seen from all sides. Everyone in the village were in a frenzy, trying to steal everything they could, in an attempt to leave and protect themselves.
We were never given the chance to protect ourselves, they came at night, with torches and more soldiers then we had ever seen. The entire village was gone before morning, there was nothing left but ash, debris, and me. When the smoke began to fill the air, mother had taken me by my hand and lead into the basement. She told me to hide amongst the dried food and vegetables, and to not come out no matter what I hear. She gave me one last hug and a kiss on my head, like my brother had done. I knew even then that it was the last time I would see her. The thick smoke made my throat burn and my eyes water but I stayed put, after only a little while I lost consciences. I woke up in the carriage of a very expensive carriage, I had only ever seen these things from the outside, do I was awed as I looked around. A woman in a finely made dress held me to her bosom. Her dress was like the ones my mother told us about when I was very small. It was made of a fabric called ‘silk’. It shimmered and flowed like water ever time the woman moved. Her face bared resemblance to my families as well, only hers was stark white, and she had funny looking things in her hair. She smiled down at me tenderly, and asked me my name in a soft accented voice. It was she was singing to me. Her voice was so soft a melodic; it could have been a beautiful song. When I tried to speak, I couldn’t because my throat was to dry and damaged from inhaling smoke. I had though she would be angry that I coughed on her, but she only cooed softly and held me tighter to her bosom. After a while I feel asleep, from fatigue, when I woke my life would officially begin.
DestineysMistake: right here’s the prologue, hope you like please review ta! #blows kiss#
