Sinfull Duty

The April sunlight was as blinding as a flash of gunpowder and the rattle of the bed curtains sounded like distant artillery fire, or perhaps it was just that I didn't sleep well ever since my mother passed away when I was seven and now im 16. Even though I was sick, mother made me perform all the household tasks. My father, Henry Percy, was a gambler who lost most of the family's money while playing and constantly taking out loans from an unknown source.    My room at home is small, so it's hard not to hear something when you're alone in your room. It's been quiet for the last few weeks, but this early in the morning there's always something rattling around in me. It doesn't make much sense since it could be the wind that’s shaking my window, the birds chirping or the cicadas making their noises. Still, though, there's nothing really wrong with me being woken up by something outside. If anything, I'm glad that's happening right now because I'll have the time to prepare myself.    I'm no longer wanted, but I still adore those people.  Even if I'm a mess at worst and a lonely soul at best, it doesn't help that it makes the loneliness any easier to bear. Perhaps it's because the person I loved passed away before I could grasp how terrible the world was.  It has always hurt, the absence of anyone who cared about me, I don’t know what else to call the pain I feel after I wake up in the mornings, which is usually a combination of tiredness combined with an overwhelming feeling of loneliness accompanied by anxiety that causes me to shake uncontrollably. It feels like the entire weight of the world is on my shoulders and I don’t want to take any responsibility for its continued existence. But I also can’t let it go because I’m terrified the only thing that will prevent it from hurting forever is if I stop loving. It’s all about control, but it seems impossible to gain it without losing everything. This morning I woke up at seven thirty sharp and however dizziness caused by my head being stuffed full of cotton balls. There wasn’t a single trace of sleep left behind. I felt like death warmed over. That's probably why I couldn’t fall back asleep. When I was going downstairs to prepare breakfast for my family in the kitchen I saw her, my stepmother.   I knew it was her even before I looked into her face. Her hair was dark brown and she had long legs that went on forever. She wore tight black Long dress that clung to her body and accentuated her curves. Although her eyes were deep brown, they weren't kind, they were harsh. They held a glint of coldness in them, even when she smiled. The smile would disappear in a heartbeat though, and if it hadn't already, she was definitely the type of person who hated smiling. That day she looked at me as if I were garbage, like she had never seen another human being besides herself before. However, my father has always loved her and he would say nothing to her when she treated me badly why would he? it was not like he treated me any better? I have been wearing this same pale yellow dress since last 4 years and its has gotten shorter and the colour has worn out and some dirts are visible no matter how many times I was it.   He drank too much and took more than he should have. He gambled and lost big time too, my family lived in a village, where nobody had money and we were ruled under the king Edmund Clifford.   We had to pay taxes. This way his gambling wasn't illegal, but the law wasn't always fair either. I remember my mother telling me she used to tell him to come to church with us every Sunday. That she tried to get her husband into the Church, but he wouldn't give up his drinking habit. Father was always getting into trouble with the police, so she decided to quit trying to convince him to change. Mother would tell him he had to start taking care of himself, that it’s not healthy to drink all the time and keep gambling. Father always answered by asking how he was supposed to live with my mother's nagging attitude. I remember thinking how selfish he was. After all, he had the money to afford his gambling addiction, but he didn't use it for that. All he had to do was keep going to work until closing time and then sit down at the bar and drink all night, so he could get the cash to buy drinks for everyone.  He was a hypocrite. Father could've saved money from working all day so he would actually be able to feed his family, but instead he drank all day.  Enough about my father; I proceeded to make breakfast when I saw my stepmother in the kitchen, greeted her, and looked down. I sensed her eyes on me, but I refrained from turning around until I heard her ask, "Why are you late?" She gave me a direct, in-your-face stare. Because I was sick today, I got up later than usual. I tried to explain to her why, but she cut me off and demanded that breakfast be on the table in ten minutes. With that, she left the kitchen. I have never sensed kindness in her voice. So, despite my feeble physique, I did my best to work more quickly. When she finished, I cleared the table and put the dishes in the sink. My father then showed up at the door, looking disheveled and fatigued from playing poker all night. He also smelled like alcohol, which was enough to make me intend to heave.   I approached him to assist him in sitting down on the sofa when I noticed that he was unable to stand still and was rocking back and forth. I shook as I assisted him in sitting down. He was worn out, but he continued to ignore me. He appeared to be really exhausted, so I turned aside and pretended not to notice his red eyes which occured due to drinking and lack of sleep. When she saw him in such a state, his wife departed because she had become tired of him going broke gambling and coming home drunken. I often wonder what would arise if I passed away: would I break free? When he attempted to stand up, I assisted him, but when he shoved me away, I lost my sense of balance and fell on the ground. He continued stumbling to his bedroom without caring if I was injured.  I waited until I couldn't see him anymore before rushing to the restroom and pouring all I had into the toilet. In an effort to wash away those feelings and any accompanying illness, I wiped my mouth and rinsed my face in cool water. Due to lack of sleep, I realized when I glanced in the mirror that the bags under my eyes had swollen.   I then left the restroom and went to the bedroom to have a nap for a while. I considered how I should not be wasting time in my room when there were other, more essential things to take care of at home as I lay down. I needed to be here because I was needed, yet I lacked the energy to get moving. So I stayed in bed. After hearing some noise outside coming from the living room and hearing my father's voice sounding very afraid and an angry voice that I didn't recognize, I woke up and headed to the living room. My heart was racing in my chest as if something horrible was taking place, therefore I hoped it wasn't anything bad. The air seemed strained when I came into view of the living room. My stepmother, who I've never seen afraid of anyone, now appeared terrified. I observed my father gripping someone's legs and pleading with him for a few more days to pay the debt; his eyes were welling up with tears. When I entered the living room, a man came into view. He was very attractive, with broad shoulders, blonde hair, bright blue eyes that almost appeared sapphires, and a pricey suit. He appeared to be from royalty, and there were other men nearby who appeared to be knights, as well as some outside where there appeared to be a royal carriage. However, why would a member of the imperial family visit our house? I wondered whether my father had taken loans from a member of the aristocracy as my pulse began to beat faster. When she saw that I had entered the house, my mother didn't say anything. He gave me a full, upward glance, and as he did, his demeanor altered so quickly that I believed I was seeing things again. He glanced back at my father with enraged eyes, clinched his jaw, opened his mouth, but said nothing. This man had a very strong aura that could make anyone tremble in dread and submission. He appeared to be in deep concentration for a while, and my father was shaking. Then, after some time, the man stated, "You Heny won't have to reply the debt, if only you can give me one thing," in a hoarse voice. What would that be, my father wondered bewilderedly, "I don't have anything valuable that can cover the cost of my debt?" Hearing that the man gave a smirk which turned my stomach what was he asking for" Then he said staring deeply at me "your only daughter, I want her as my slave and if you accept you dont have to pay the debt"  My father seemed to relieved hearing that and he was ready to sell me to this man to repay his debt which he took for gambling debts. I knew it was wrong, but there was little I could do because no other family in the village had the resources to pay our debts, and I was being used as a slave by this man despite his lack of love for me because I cared about my father and couldn't see him in jail. My stepmother remained silent during the conversation. She initially sat next to me, but as the conversation stretched on, she walked over to my father's side and yelled, "You can take her! If this erases our debt, we will be eternally grateful to you!" My father continued to express gratitude to the man for his kindness while joyfully kissing the stranger's foot. The man appeared to be enjoying himself, while I was standing there sobbing and feeling helpless. The man gave me a lustful look and smirked at me. His hungry gaze made me feel inadequate and vulnerable.