A background story I'm still writing for my character in a competition scene for school.
| My name is Lucy Meddlings Fain. I was born and raised in Luxembourg. I had three sisters and five brothers who were all older than me. We lived in a small cottage hidden well into the woods. Our mother, Margaret Meddlings, was a seamstress for the nobles. Our father, John Meddlings, was a hunter. He would catch game for the butchers every now and then, but what I don't normally tell anyone is that he mainly hunted people.
My father was a murderer. He had never planned to be, but it didn't change who he was. He was sent on charges by the king himself to murder innocent people who knew about the king's plan. I didn't know anything about the plan, but I knew it was dangerous. My father would find the people, and kill them mercilessly. The people trusted him. Just like they used to trust me. When I had turned eight, my father had taken me and my eldest brother, James, on one of his charges. He gave me a small dagger to keep hidden in my apron with instructions only to pull it out when danger came.
James and I were told to go to the barn to wait for our father, and there we were sitting. My father had gone straight into the house. I saw it through the back doors of the barn. They, the targets, were sitting under the shade of a tree; their backs to the house. Their little boy, eight at the time, ran away as if told to collect something, excitement bubbling in his smile. I realized he was headed for the barn.
James tried to pull me away from the doors, afraid I would see it or be seen, but I held fast. My father crept slowly closer to the parents when the boy was halfway to the barn. I saw him pull out a dagger similar to the one I held in my apron. Then he lunged forward. Her white dress had a pool of blood on it within seconds. James hurled his dagger over my head and into the man's chest. Instantly, the little boy ran from sight, as James shoved past me and ran to our father.
I was afraid. I was alone. A large hand dropped onto my shoulder. My hand gripped the dagger. I heard a deep gravely voice calling me 'sweetheart.' I spun around quickly, not realizing I pulled the dagger out of my apron. It sank deep into the stomach of the man. He held his wound with bloodied hands and staggered backward. As he fell to the ground, the hood he had over his face fell, revealing a disturbing factor. I had killed the crowned prince.
I dropped the dagger, looked at my hand's covered with a dead man's blood, and fell to my knees. I gingerly picked up the dagger and dropped it into my apron, thinking the murder would be reversed. But it hadn't been a murder. It was an accident. And it still wasn't reversed. The prince was still dead. I tried to hold back my tears, but they came flooding out.
I heard a twig snap behind me, and my bloody hands tightened on my dagger again. There was a hitching breath, almost like a hiccup from a haystack. I stood up slowly, careful not to show the dagger, and saw the little boy sitting behind the hay. His face was tearstained, and I could see the fear piercing through his pale green eyes.
I wiped my hands quickly in the apron and across my wet eyes, and stepped toward the boy. He quickly dodged into cover. I called to him softly, promising not to hurt him. He was such a small boy to be the same age as me, I noted when he finally crawled out and stood. I brushed my fingers through his thick, dark brown hair, picking out all the loose pieces of hay I could. He told me his name was Jack. Jack Fain.
I smiled at him and opened my mouth to respond when I heard a scream. Jack ran behind me, and the back door was flooded with shadow. "Lucy!" my father yelled from the doorway. I felt Jack bury his face in my long, blond hair. "They know, Lucy! Grab your knife and run! Kill them, if you have to. Just run!" my father yelled with such a great fear I never knew my father (remembered now as a murderous leech) could possess. Then, another scream ripped through the air. It belonged to James.
"James!" I yelled. Reaching behind me, I grabbed Jack's small hand and ran for the doors at the front of the barn, determined to reach my brother even if my father could block both exits. My father caught my apron anyway, and sent me flying to the ground. The dagger flew out of my apron, and Jack screamed at it. My father swung his arm at Jack and knocked him to the floor. I saw his eyes flash before he fell unconscious. "Jack!" I screamed, for I thought my father had murdered him, too.
"Lucy, leave him. We have to go. James is dead by now. I don't want to lose another child," my father said (I later learned he had said he didn't want to lose a third child). Tears filled my eyes. James couldn't be dead. I wouldn't believe it. My father must have been mistaken. I couldn't hold my tears in any more than I could when I had realized I killed the prince. "Lucy? Lucy, did you do this? Did you kill the prince?" my father asked in a mad panic.
I stood up and ran to my father, wrapping my arms around his coarse neck and confessing my accidental murder. The tears kept pooling down my face, and my father looked into my eyes. He kissed my cheek gently, and said, "We all make mistakes, Lucy. We could say he fell onto a pitchfork. You must lie to save yourself now. But no matter what happens, Lucy, I will always love you." That was the last thing I ever heard John Meddlings say before he stabbed himself.
I was not aware of the tiny hand that clutched mine as I watched the life drain from my father's eyes and the blood pooling from his wound. Jack had woken up, but I was too far into misery to notice. He reached over and brushed the tears off my face, and I finally saw him there. I wrapped my arms around his small form, and we both cried. A man ran into the barn and saw all the blood. He yelled to some people who were waiting outside, and walked over to Jack and me.
I quickly broke away from Jack and slipped my dagger into my boot. The man picked up Jack and carried him out the door. More men came rushing in. A few men carried the dead bodies of my father and the prince out the back door, and the rest of them were cleaning up the blood. No one seemed to notice me in the center of the floor.
I felt strong arms wrap around me. I thought it might be my father's ghost, but when I looked I saw that it was the man who had taken Jack. He lifted me to his chest and gently carried me into the bright sun. Jack was sitting in the back of a small cart, looking at me with fear and sadness. The man gently set me down on a pile of hay nest to Jack. Then, he climbed up to the front of the cart and guided the houses toward my house, pulling Jack and my little cart with him.
Jack laid his head in my lap, and he was soon fast asleep. I wondered how he could sleep at a time like this. Both of his parents had been murdered by two members of my family, he had seen me kill the prince, and he had seen my father die. I didn't know how he could even cope being in the same cart with me at the time. I laid my head back onto the hay and gently ran my fingers through Jack's hair, pondering the happenings. Before I could tell, I was fast asleep, too.
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