White Eye

Short Story (5k words) for a contest with the theme 'Toxic and Benign' about a girl who lives in a world where the children of the poor are currency. Boys are sold based on their skills. Girls are sold based on their beauty and home-making skills.

Enslavement or death? I always prided myself on saying I would choose the latter. But when hypothetical scenarios turned reality, I realised how truly difficult a choice that was.

To understand what I mean, you first must know where I come from. I’m Kaela Haldis, a twenty-year-old girl from a family of eleven. That’s right, eleven. I have eight siblings, and I just happen to be the youngest. Do you know what happens when someone has that many kids? Well, if you’re poor like my parents are, children become currency.

From a young age, my parents taught my brothers to chop wood, work metal, and build walls. Whatever they could learn to become valuable as an apprentice for anyone willing to pay. On the other hand, my sisters were taught to clean, cook, and look pretty. This last one being the most important. It increased a girl’s value. The craft of scrubbing the floor or maintaining a household apparently isn’t as impressive as sharpening a knife to perfection. So, a girl’s value was vastly measured by their attractiveness. Their new masters must have something pretty to look at, right?

Unfortunately for my parents, their genetic combination created everything but attractive people. Of my eight siblings, five were men who seemed to have been hit in the face a few times. Some had crooked noses, some wonky eyebrows, and one even a lazy eye. The same features were bestowed upon the girls. No one understood where they came from since my parents' faces were relatively simple, but after two failed daughters, they gave up trying.

I wasn’t trained like my sisters and was only given the bare minimum to survive. Knowing that whatever money they’d get from selling me would cover less than a third of what they spent raising me, my parents decided it was wisest to cut costs until my twenty-first birthday. After that, when it was socially accepted to disown a child, I’d be on my own.

So, you might be asking yourself what my deformity was to receive such treatment from my own flesh and blood. Well, I was born with one eye. I mean, one working eye. The left works fine, thank the Gods, but the right one came out white as a ghost. The nasty looks I got growing up taught me to hide it behind my hair. It made my life tolerable until I stopped giving a damn. No one stayed long enough once they saw it anyway, so why not be upfront about it? Besides, if I were auctioned, my hair would be tied into a ponytail for the buyers to “evaluate the product” properly. And believe me, no one would buy damaged goods. Not for the right reasons, at least.

Luckily for me, my parents had a sliver of pride attached to their name, hoping it would one day mean something. Better to have a daughter who’s invisible and nameless than to have her sold for a penny, right? Who’d want their name tarnished like that? Who would go through the humiliation of having their daughter be sold for less than a month’s worth of food?

No one would, that’s who. So I did my part. I became the invisible daughter my parents preferred me to be. I didn’t spend all day cleaning and cooking like my sisters. Instead, I observed. I observed how my sisters cleaned, which products they used and how they scrubbed. I observed how some of my brothers chopped wood, held the axe and hit the logs. I observed how my oldest brother worked the hot metal fresh out of the oven and formed it into a sharp knife. My parents didn’t want to teach me how to survive, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t learn it myself. So, I observed everything and everyone.

Outside my family, I learned from merchants to negotiate, from fishermen to fish, from thieves to steal. And, as I learned, I told myself that if the day came that my parents, for some reason, did end up selling me for a penny, I would run away. If that weren’t an option, I would end my life. The last thing I wanted was to be caged by some asshole for the rest of my life, cleaning the same floors, washing the same clothes day in and day out with no prospects in life. I wouldn’t have that, meaning that until I was twenty-one, I had no idea how many days I still had to live. So, I lived as much as possible so that if the time came, I wouldn’t have a single regret stopping me from ending it all. Sure, I went days without food because no fish took my bait, and my parents refused to feed me, but my life was good. My life. No one else’s. That is until it all changed on that dreadful day when I had to choose between death and enslavement.

It all started on a bright, warm spring morning. I headed to Central Square like every other Tuesday. It was the one day of the week I knew I wouldn’t go hungry because it was Market Day. So, like clockwork, I found the merchants preparing their booths and offered them a hand in exchange for anything they could spare. I was rewarded with half a loaf of bread fresh out of the oven and a few cheese slices.

With my stomach full and warm, I gleefully roamed the market, checking the booths with things I could never buy. I drifted along with the people without realising I was being guided to the last place I wanted to be.

I’d forgotten entirely. It was that time of the month.

When realisation sank in, I tried paddling back, away from the commotion, but the more I struggled, the faster the crowd pushed me towards it. Without fail, on the first Tuesday of every month, an auction was held. Even since I witnessed my first one when I was seven, I tried avoiding it like the plague. Somehow, I now found myself in the front row facing two girls, their eyes red, hair tight in a ponytail, and probably dressed in the best clothes their parents could afford.

A man with a greasy moustache curled at its ends, his lack of hair hidden by his hat, walked to the podium. I shivered. I would recognise him anywhere. He was the same nasty man who introduced the girls when I was seven. He apologised to the audience for the lack of “specimens” this time. Hearing him talk about the girls like that, with his slimy voice and hissing tongue, made my toes curl.

He pulled the first girl to his side. From the look on her face, his grip held her firmly in place. He began reciting everything the girl was great at and how well she could be used before setting a low price of three pennies as the starting bid. The poor girl’s eyes widened as she searched the crowd, probably for her family.

A sigh of relief escaped me when she was sold for three silver. Yes, I was against everything the auction signified, but I still wished the girls forced into that position nothing but the best. It was clear they were not there by choice.

The man grabbed the second girl, who couldn’t be over fifteen. Her green eyes and curly hair allowed him to initiate the bidding at four silver. She immediately brightened up. Standing straight and facing the crown, her beautiful and innocent smile caused an uproar from the crowd. I could barely keep up with all the bids coming in, but I didn’t have to. The last and highest number was all that mattered.

Everyone applauded when she was sold for two gold and four silver. The girl, proud of having served her family well, descended the podium with her head held high. How could anyone raise their daughter to make them think that being sold like that was something good? Especially to someone like the man who won. The way he stared so intensively at the girl with his sickening grin made me recoil.

The auctioneer apologised to everyone who didn’t get a chance to purchase a new specimen, saying he would do his best to have a fuller auction next month. He was waving everyone goodbye when a carrier pulled over on the side of the podium. The crowd froze. Everyone knew who it belonged to.

An expensively dressed servant rushed to open the door. Slowly, a tall, blond man exited the vehicle while everyone around me suppressed their breath and pinned their eyes to the ground. If there was anyone with money you didn’t want to upset, that would be the man now pacing towards the auctioneer. Sir Edmund Hastings.

From the stories circulating the streets, he’d come to town once every blue moon to purchase some new specimen for his collection. He’d bring them to his estate and parade them around until he found a better replacement. Rumours had it he would hunt them to death in the most creative ways when he got tired of them. If they were lucky to escape, they were awarded their freedom.

As you can imagine, the stories attached to his name were despicable and torturous. In one of them, he made girls create and care for a labyrinth for months, only to be later used as the grounds on which they fought for their lives. You might think it easy, right? You built it. You know the exits. Expect they change them before putting you in there in the middle of the night, together with wild animals that have starved for weeks. Repulsive.

His games were designed to build up your hope. Build it as high as they could only to then, at the very last moment, snatch it from underneath your feet, jerk you to the ground and finish you off. How messed up was that?

Sir Edmund scanned the crowd as he walked across the podium, his lips twitching upwards. Was he aware of how people viewed him? Or did he think them avoiding his stare was an act of respect? I couldn’t tell and wasn’t given the time either. He stopped a few steps from the auctioneer, his gaze locked with mine. His blue eyes pierced through me, and I somehow felt naked. I wanted to look away, to run, but I couldn’t. My eye was glued to his, and I couldn’t breathe.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity with my heart in my throat, he broke contact and faced the auctioneer.

I gulped for air.

“What do you have for me today?” his voice, smoother than expected, echoed through the Square.

“I-I… I’m sorry, sir. I’m all out today,” the auctioneer stuttered.

“All out? You dare refusing me? I came prepared to spend, so find me more.” He didn´t raise his voice, but sharpness replaced the softness. Without waiting for an answer, he returned to his carrier.

It took the auctioneer too long—long after the carrier door closed and it didn´t ride off—to shake his head and turn to his servants. With a simple flick of the hand, they scattered—no words needed.

Somehow, they came back with five girls in less than twenty minutes. All of them sobbing and clearly not dressed for an auction. Had the servants snatched them out of their homes? Out of their parents' arms without consent? Or had their parents offered to auction a daughter they never intended to when they heard who was in town?

Whatever the reason, my heart ached for them. None deserved the future that awaited them if chosen. No one did, except maybe for the auctioneer with his greasy moustache and slimy smile full of greed. His actions just now shouldn’t go unpunished, but who would do anything about it? The rich incentivised such behaviour by arriving unannounced and demanding what wasn’t available. The same rich people who had the power to change this god-forsaken place for the better.

Disgust boiled inside me for the man who exited his carrier for the second time like this was a regular Tuesday. I spit on the ground when his gaze scanned the crowd once more. To hell if he saw it, he should know his actions weren’t wanted by everyone.

He moved differently this time. His steps were controlled and purposeful, like a predator sizing up its next meal, waiting for one of the girls to run away so he could start the game. His upper body barely moved as he paced silently, giving him time to evaluate each girl before continuing to the next. I could understand why the rumours had spread. He only lacked the wicked smile to finish off the picture many had depicted of him.

Scanning the girls, I saw two pretty enough to be subjected to a feverous auction, just like the curly-haired girl. I assumed he would choose one of them or maybe even both, but after scanning the last girl in line, he said, “I don’t want any of them.”

I swallowed a gasp, the girls’ shoulders sagged, and the auctioneer’s back stiffened. A smile tucked in my lips. What a beautiful thing to behold. That greasy moustache felt ensnared in his own trap, just like the girls he sold every month. How was it to feel like one of them? I knew nothing would come of his failures, but I still savoured his momentary despair.

“O-okay,” the auctioneer stammered. “Are you looking for anything in particular? I can find it. I’m sure I can.”

Sir Edmund turned painfully slow to the crowd. I felt everyone’s muscles around me tighten, only to relax seconds later when it became clear he wasn’t searching the crowd. No, his eyes went straight for me. Locked in, like an eagle on a mouse. My heart sank, and the world around me went still. I could feel my heartbeat in my ears, and I asked myself why I was still watching the one thing I despised the most. I shouldn’t have been there. I should have walked away immediately. I should have…

“Her.”

His voice reactivated all my senses, and I pushed back on the crowd, hoping to disappear into the masses. But the people behind me formed a wall. I frantically scanned my surroundings, my pleading eye meeting the stone-cold ones around me, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere besides the podium where the auctioneer and his servants awaited.

Where he awaited.

There was only one other option, and I had everything I needed to execute it. My trembling hand patted the side pocket of my jeans, searching for the small knife I always carried for this exact purpose. When my grip found the handle, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I would only have one shot at it. I had to do it right. And fast. I couldn’t hesitate—there were too many people to hesitate. I couldn’t overthink it either. I just had to do it. I’d imagined this scenario in my head countless times. How hard could it be?

In a swift movement, my hand left my pocket and slashed towards my neck. Seconds later, the metal scent of blood hit my nose, and, to my surprise, the first thought that crossed my mind was remorse. I’d done it. I’d actually done it and could no longer go back. Why had I done it?

The second thought that crossed my mind was one of confusion. He stood inches away from me, and the pain I was sure would come from cutting my flesh never did. Instead, in its place, I felt a hand wrapped around my neck. My eyes widened when I put two and two together.

It was his hand. Was he stopping the bleeding? Keeping me alive long enough for help to come? So he could have his game later?

It didn’t matter. I could still end it. I still had the knife. I could go for the heart, it would do irreparable damage that a hand to the wound could not stop. My grip tightened around the handle of the knife. I locked eyes with him, smiled and went for the final blow. With my heart beating against my ribcage, my hand flew towards my chest.

I thought of my sisters seconds before the end, and my hand stopped.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t because the stupid feeling of hope began bubbling deep inside me. It held my muscles in place, stopping me from going further. I could die now, or I could die later and give my sisters a better life. I could give myself a few extra chances to flee. Even though I knew the death I’d provide myself would be less gruesome than the one he would, I couldn’t do it. Not when I knew I’d get at least one more chance to escape. Not when I knew he’d probably pay my family handsomely to take me with him. Deep down, deeper than that feeling of hope, I loved my family.

So I let my muscles sag, defeated and acceptant of my new life. He felt that because he stepped back, his hand leaving my neck. I panicked. I agreed to go with him. I didn’t want to bleed to death. My free hand jolted to my neck in search of the cut I’d inflicted, but I couldn’t find the warm wetness of the blood gushing from the wound. I frowned, my gaze shifting from my hand to his being wrapped with a white cloth as red threatened to take over the white, stopping just before the edge of the fabric.

How did he know what I was going to do? How did he get to my side that fast? Was he so eager to have me as his new game that he didn’t want anything to ruin me?

That couldn’t be it. He hadn´t stopped my second attempt. Hadn’t he seen it coming? Had he been too slow to react? No, that wasn’t it. He’d flinched. For a second, and I caught it only because of how closed we were, but he’d flinched. And when I stopped myself, his muscles relaxed, just like mine did.

“How much?” I asked before realising I was talking. His head tilted, and I asked again, “How much will you bid on me?”

His eyes scanned my face before turning around and walking back to the podium. I was pushed forward as everyone leaned in closer to hear what he whispered in the auctioneer's ears. With a snap of the finger, a servant was at the auctioneer’s side getting instructions on what to do next.

The next few minutes—it couldn’t have been more than ten—the world seemed to slow down. Someone held me and pulled me to the podium. My hair was tightened in a ponytail for everyone to see what the Gods had gifted me. Someone cleaned my face, probably from an oil stain I had from helping one of the merchants—something that now seems so long ago.

The next thing I remember was seeing my parents in front of me, a smile so big and bright—one I’d never seen projected at me before. Someone spoke of nine gold coins, and before I knew it, I was being shoved into the carrier.

My life was slipping through my fingers. I’d had a moment to end it on my terms and blew it. I felt frustrated and annoyed but also somewhat relieved, light and even hopeful that, like this, my sisters perhaps wouldn’t ever have to be sold.

The following few days were a blur. He allowed me to stay in my assigned bedroom at his estate without being bothered. Why? Someone brought me food three times a day, every day. Why? What was his game plan? Whatever it was, I couldn’t give him a reason to get rid of me. I needed time to figure out my location and options. Time to figure out a way out.

I paced to the bedroom window. The view didn’t show much besides what it looked like a labyrinth. Was that the labyrinth? A shiver ran down my spine. I turned to the door, opened it as quietly as I could, holding my breath that it wouldn’t creek, and peeked outside.

“You’re up. Great,” a girl’s voice sounded from behind me. I jumped and slammed the door closed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I’ve been waiting for you to come out,” her muffled voice sounded through the door. “I’m supposed to show you around.”

It took all my courage to open the door again, but my trembling hands eventually did. A young girl, around fourteen, smiled at me. Her skin was patched, some parts darker, some lighter. Her green eyes, surrounded by her black hair, popped as they stared right through me. My parents would consider her a failure, just like most people in the auction, but she was beautiful. Was this the type of “specimens” he collected?

“I know it’s a lot to process, but you’ll get used to it here. I’ve been here three months, but I felt the same way on my first day. All of us did.”

“Where is Edmund Hastings?” The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

“Sir Hastings has a lot to do. He doesn’t come around often after delivering the new apprentices. Now, come.” She turned around. Her tone was firm. I followed without asking what she meant by apprentices.

As we walked the corridor, I wondered if my parents had said their goodbyes to me or if they’d been too fixated on the coins being poured into their hands. I couldn’t remember, but I wouldn´t be surprised if it were the latter.

We entered the garden. My jaw dropped seeing it filled with people working, not in shackles or unhappy, but well-fed and dressed, working with enthusiasm. But what surprised me the most was seeing as many boys as girls.

“Expected seeing less men walking around? Me too,” she laughed. “The rumours are necessary but untrue. The headmistress will explain everything in a second. We just have to get there, so hurry. We don’t want to make her wait longer than necessary.”

The girl guided me to a room with ceilings painted with intricate designs of baby angels and skies, dark bookcases covering the left wall filled with more books than the number of meals I’d had in my lifetime. On the right, a cushioned chair with restraints rested near the corner. The air around it was so heavy it felt like it stared back with an unspoken promise. I suppressed a gasp and did my best to seem unbothered. My gaze slowly shifted to the middle of the room, where an older lady with grey hair fixed in a loose bun, sat behind a desk.

“Sit, please,” she said, her voice silky, warm, and soothing.

The girl did, and so did I.

“I’m glad you are feeling better. I know this is all sudd-”

A knock echoed in the room. The woman’s eyebrows shot up, and she took a deep breath. She stood, ready to chew out whoever dared interrupt her, but before she moved any further, the door swung open. Her mouth opened, ready to scold whoever dared enter without her permission, only for it to snap shut seconds later. The irritation in her face vanished in the blink of an eye, replaced by the sweet, warm smile she had worn when she asked me to sit.

“Sir Hastings, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

My neck snapped to the door so hard I felt it crack. Our eyes met, and he smiled. Was that the smile he had suppressed at the podium? Why bother? It was beautiful and inviting. It was warm. His whole face radiated with it.

He rested his hand on my shoulder and spoke with the same velvety voice I remembered him having, “Kaela Haldis…”

My heart skipped a beat hearing him say my name. There weren’t many who used it. Most usually called me White Eye. But he… He’d pronounced every syllable. I liked it, especially paired with his smooth, deep voice. If he weren’t the villain everyone knew he was, maybe I would have felt less guilty for thinking of him that way. He had the blood of countless girls on his hands. No amount of smooth talking would change that.

“I heard you’d decided to leave your room,” he continued. “I wanted to come personally to apologise for how things developed. I don’t usually choose girls that aren’t being auctioned, but something in me told me you needed a way out.”

How did he know? I did want one, but I didn’t need saving. I could easily take care of myself. If he hadn’t interfered, I would have hidden from most for the three months leading to my twenty-first birthday. After that, I would have been homeless and free. But he had to intervene, and now I was stuck here.

He let go of my shoulder. “I know about the rumours that circulate about me. After all, I’ve created them myself,” he said as he paced to the lady’s side.

I frowned before I could stop myself. Why would he? Why would anyone make up such disgusting things about themselves?

It was the lady who answered the question plastered on my face. “We work on providing the more… Unfortunate children with a brighter future. With a choice. If everyone knew what we truly do here, the masses would come and beg. We needed to avoid that.”

“Every child I buy.” He pronounced the last word as if it was sour. “Comes here and is given a choice. You can go back home or stay and start anew.”

“A fresh start. A clean break. We’ll teach you the skills for whatever profession you want and then help you find a job in a town of your choosing,” the lady added.

“Or, you can go back home. But if you do, you must carry our lie with you. You will pretend you were one of the lucky ones who escaped the wicked games,” he said, and I couldn’t find any tension in his voice. Was he really telling the truth?

“What if I don’t?” I asked.

“We’ll have no choice but to go to your parents and demand repayment,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I cannot have my reputation ruined.”

I swallowed. I couldn’t do that to my parents. Much less to myself.

Why allow someone to return after paying so much for them? Why go through all the trouble? That’s what I wanted to know, but instead, I asked, “How many skills can I learn?”

He smiled, leaned forward, and whispered loud enough for me to hear, “As many as you desire.”

All the things I’ve always wanted to try but never could because of the lack of money or effort from my parents flashed before my eyes. They were endless. If I were to believe what they told me, I could try them all.

If I could assume anything from the last few days was that I wouldn’t starve here. But I would also never see my parents again. Neither would I see my brothers and sisters. I would never know how their lives would develop with the money they earned from selling me. I would never know if they cried for me or missed me. I would never know a lot of things.

“How can you afford this? And why?” I asked. Their story didn’t make sense. No one would ever help damaged people like myself for no reason. There had to be more.

“I inherited all this from my late wife. She had a heart of gold that was overshadowed by her appearance. I didn’t like the world she lived in. So I decided to use her money for something good. We ask those we teach to return our investment with interest once settled in their new life. That way, we can help others and cover the costs of those who return home,” he said.

My gaze wandered to the chair with the restraints. A vivid reminder that I couldn’t be too careless. They said exactly what I wanted to hear, what anyone in my situation would want to hear. If they were lying, the last thing I’d give them was the satisfaction of seeing me lose hope.

But why have the chair here when they tried to convince me they were good? They had control over everything in this room. Why not make sure it was perfect before I walked in?

“The chair is only for emergencies. Unfortunately, not everyone takes it all as gracefully as you have so far.” He leaned forward. “We need to protect ourselves and our image, so if you don’t cooperate, we’ll be forced to take the necessary measurements until you do.”

“We’ll give you a few days to decide. While you think about your answer, you’ll experience what we offer and understand that what we tell you is the truth,” the lady said.

Silence fell, and the three stared at me. The questions in my mind subsided, and suddenly, I only felt one thing. Joy. I did my best not to show it in case they were actually manipulating me and would throw me in a cage or into one of those wicked games the second I displayed any signs of comfort. But I was glad that stupid feeling of hope had stopped me from ending my life. This was the second chance I was hoping for. If what they said was true, I’d found the one-in-a-million opportunity to start anew—all thanks to the white eye that for twenty years had been the ugliest thing about me.

THE END

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