2 Little Munchkin
Monica didn't feel well today. That didn't mean she felt good any other day since, you know, being a slave was not very fun, but today she felt especially unwell.
The last time she had felt this unwell, she had seen her parents for the last time, and the memory always made her stomach twist and turn even worse than the bad food she regularly received.
That memory still haunted her dreams some nights, causing her to wake up screaming and crying with tears soaking her rough linen clothes and bedsheets.
But over time she, like all the other slaves kept in the dungeons, had learned to live with the occasional screams that would echo through the mansion, be it for a slave being punished or new slaves being broken to their master's whims, let alone her own feelings tormenting her.
Despite never receiving any real education, Monica knew somehow though that it was not good for her to be so okay with feeling bad, but even if her gut was telling the truth she simply didn't know what to do about that.
Having to wake up at 3:00 a.m. every morning to help prepare the masters toiletries, followed by her and all the younger slaves having to clean the whole mansion in a matter of hours, before the masters woke up around early midday, and if there was anything out of place or not cleaned up well enough, punishment would follow, which the masters sometimes still did, simply out of amusement or because they felt bored.
And yet, she always did her best and tried to avoid conflict whenever she could. She still got punished sometimes but she liked to believe that she made a difference through her diligence.
Besides that, the focus Monica applied to her tasks helped to keep her mind from actually thinking about the things going on inside the manor, some of which a girl of her age should not have to deal with to begin with. she had been told this once by a young woman she had spoken to one time before never seeing her again. She had still been nice though.
Besides cleaning and other housekeeping stuff, she had to take care of, she was first and foremost brought to the mansion for one reason in particular.
She looked a little bit like the mistress she had been told but, after checking herself in a mirror inside the mansion when nobody was looking, she didn't think so at all. And yet, she had remained silent. It would not do to speak to the masters.
From what Monica had understood, her looks and age painted the impression somehow that she was the daughter of the mistress, which she was not since she knew her mother, which seemed to be something the mistress wanted, judging by her dotting of Monica.
And yet, the mistress also seemed to hate her in equal parts as she often, after she had showered Monica with cuddles and so forth, flew into a horrible rage and attacked everything around her, which more often than not was also Monica herself.
One time, Monica had been beaten so badly she could barely walk the next day, with blue and green bruises covering her face, upper body and legs, making every step and even sleeping, pure torture.
The master on the other hand didn't care for her much. Instead he only seemed to have eyes for strong men and women of a certain age, which was something Monica thought to be something she was not supposed to know about, but the screams and wails of the women inside the manor had been a rather good indicator of what happened to them after the master ordered them to be brought to him, not to mention the looks in their eyes when they returned.
She hoped she would not have to experience what they had, and did every day, but knew that she was growing older by the day and after some time of observing other girls grow into a woman had lost hope and accepted her fate, at least for the time being.
Next to the master and mistress, the slaves and butlers of high education, there were also soldiers. Men in black suits, wearing hats and black sun glasses, who did whatever they were ordered to do. They scared her greatly.
Those men looked even more dead to her than the slaves she was living together with. Never before coming to the holy land had she seen men so mechanical in nature. She had sometimes wondered if they had been born this way, and if so, why. It seemed to be an incredibly dull life, not that hers was all that much better to begin with, but still.
And then there were the other ones, the mimes. Or at least that's what she called those men in her mind. They were different to the robot-men in black.
Those men wore white suits with masks covering their whole faces, showing only the eyes.
Whenever there was a white man, it was only ever one at a time. She had never seen more than one at a time, which had made her wonder if it was always the same man, but since she could never watch him too closely in fear of being punished, she could never confirm her theory.
Today as well a white man stood at the entrance to the living room of the mansion, probably guarding the master and mistress.
Coming down the hallway Monica, for the first time, had a chance to really look at one of the mimes, if only at his back.
It was a broad back, clearly defined muscles resting under the white texture of his suit. From the back she could also see that his mask didn't cover his whole head like she had thought at first.
Instead it only covered his face and had some kind of grey thingy holding it in place, which was placed on the man's head like a hat, which wasn't easy to discern at the beginning due to the man having grey, short kept hair the colour of steel, but the closer she got the better she could see it.
Though, after stepping past the mime she forgot all about him and got down on her knees, carefully putting the tablet with the drinks on it onto the floor besides her. It would not do to disturb the master and mistress with loud sounds or damage to their floors.
Her head bowed, down on her knees, she remained, and remained, in the background hearing the master and mistress talking louder and louder with each other, occasionally cackling or guffawing, but she couldn't focus on that as her knees began to hurt a lot while her legs began to prickle under the strain of keeping her position for so long until they started to hurt as well.
Soon her whole body was shaking from exhaustion and pain, and yet Monica remained silent, using a method she had learned from the nice woman she had only met once. Bite down on the insides of your mouth as hard and long as you can. The strong pain there will distract you from the pain elsewhere, at least for a while.
Soon though her agony came to an end when the head-butler stepped forwards and motioned her from the side to stand up.
She did with shaking legs while careful not to spill the drinks she now carried again.
Now that she was rid of the constant pain she realised that the atmosphere inside the room had grown rather thick and heavy, both master and mistress tense and angry by the looks of it.
She immediately tensed up, knowing instinctively that, if she did anything, anything at all to anger the master and mistress further, she would be punished, and badly too.
Taking a calming breath, she stepped forward after a warning glance from the head-butler and slowly walked over towards the table, all the while focusing on her feet being silent and her hands being steady.
Once she stood before the table though, dread began to form inside of her stomach. There was only one table inside the manor which she was still too small to reach and it was exactly this table right before her.
She was done, she knew it right than and there. How could she salvage this situation? How could she avoid the pain?
Frantically, her brain tried to think of something, the panic rising inside of her, though she could come up with nothing.
Unfortunately, that was also the moment when she realized she had stood in place for too long, and by the looks of it both masters had realized it as well.
Her eyes began to water slightly but she refused to let her fear get the upper hand, and yet, no matter what she did and how hard she didn't want it to, the fear spread until she began to shake and whimper slightly.
"It seems we haven't been very thorough in your education, darling daughter of mine. Come here!" The mistress said and Monica could only bow her head and submit to the order.
With steps that felt like mountains collapsing onto her she walked to her doom.
A weird calmness began to creep over her at that moment though, once she came to a stop in front of the mistress.
Her tears had finally begun falling but she felt relieve come with them as well.
'Was this how mum felt when she had tried to stop them from taking me? I hope she did. It would have been good if she…' Monika never got to finish her thought though, as a hand smashed into her small head like a cannonball, rocketing it to the side, causing her to crash onto the ground while she absentmindedly mourned the loss of the good drinks she had spilt and equally as much admonished herself for dropping them, no matter how stupid she thought those thoughts were.
The first hand followed another hand, then a foot to her stomach while the mistress raged, cackled and cried all at the same time.
In the background she could faintly hear the master stand up and approach her cowering form, that was being pelted by blows from all sides, while she tried to coil into a tight ball to protect both her face and stomach from harm.
The mistress' and master's voices soon grew into the all too familiar horrible cacophony that occasionally echoed through the manor's corridors until all she could see and hear where a flurry of arms and legs moving and their voices screaming.
This way she slowly found her peace again, and yet, the punches and kicks suddenly came to stop.
'Do the master and mistress have enough already?' Monica wondered and dared to glance up through her folded arms.
Though, once she had a clear enough view, Monica couldn't believe what she was seeing.
There he stood, the man she had only ever seen from a distance and never even heard speaking, holding both the master and mistress to the ground with his hands pressing their faces into the floor, without so much as a sign that he was having any difficulties doing so.
Her mouth moved, at first in astonishment, then in confusion, and before she knew it she had spoken her question out loud, already another ball of dread forming in her guts at her foolishness Certainly he must be angry with her now to question him like this? "Mr. Mime?"
Though, contrary to what she had thought, the man in the white suit and mask didn't seem to be insulted by her insinuated question. Instead he seemed oddly amused, judging by his slightly tilted head.
When he replied, his voice a smooth baritone that caused her hair to vibrate slightly, she was even more confused than before.
"Well, aren't you a daring little munchkin?" Only seconds later all went black for her and Monica knew no more.
