A Chapter by W.V. Bard

Pacha is taken from her village.


The four Processors hustled Pacha over the muddy village road.  She could not even make out a single one’s face �" just a blur of black cloacks in the black night.  Whether they were there to guide her or to ensure that she did not run away, Pacha did not know. 

What she was acutely aware of, however, were the legions of eyes trained on her.  In the cold, unimpressed eyes of her region’s inhabitants, of her own people, she saw no pity nor awe, only acceptance.

One by one she passed by the line of people, slowly dispersing now that the selection on this side of the village was finished.  Some stayed and stared back at her with cold eyes, murmuring to his neighbor or her friend how he or she always knew that Pacha would be one day selected.  How could she not?  With those eyes, that hair, that name….  Pacha saw no struggle, no hurt in her kins’ eyes, not even surprise.  She only saw a chapter of her life closing, without so much as a mournful glance goodbye. 

The muddy face of the boy she’d shared a kiss with behind the baker’s den flushed beneath her stare and hastily turned away, running after his father as they left to gather for the Selection of the Boys on the other side of the village.  The feel of his lips brushing against hers lingered for a moment while their eyes met, but blew away in the wind the moment he turned away. 


She spun to her left to see her mother, out of breath, clutching her father’s hand.

 “Mother!” she cried out.  She leapt to fling her arms around her neck but the strong arm of a Processor pushed all the wind from her stomach like a solid punch.  Before she could so much as crumple over and guard the offended area from further abuse, another hooded Processor grabbed her by the shoulders and held her upright while propelling her forward with a slight push.

“This is how you treat a Potential Reincarnate?!” bellowed her father.  He reached over to shove at the processors but the inanely strong one simply shoved his face away with a grunt. 

“Father!” Pacha screamed and once again attempted a leap at her parents, and once again found herself crumpled over and propelled forward.

Her parents kept up a sort of half-jog alongside the party, her father slap-fighting with the one guard and her mother attempting to talk over the violence. 

“Pacha, I always thought of you as a gift �"“

“I don’t want to go!”

“No, honey �" listen, Pacha, I always knew �" “

“Why did you let them take me?!” shouted Pacha.

“Pachacutec, you know your destiny….”

“It isn’t mine!  It’s a mistake!”

“No, Pacha, you were meant �"“

The strong guard engaged in fighting with her father gave a definitive shove.  His power and strength from years of Capital breeding overpowered her own starved father and Pacha watched in horror as he landed squarely on his bad and broken back in the mud.  “Father!” She screamed again, but before she could once again attempt an escape, the guard behind her held her tightly.

Her mother crumpled in a protective heap over him, and Pacha could do nothing but turn her head and watch as she was ushered out of her tiny village on that dirt path connecting the five districts.  Her mother looked up at her with teary or rain-stricken eyes and shouted with words whipped in half by the wailing winds. 

Pacha could only make out “Gods’ gift, returned,” before the Processors closed in behind her and blocked her view.

She tried weedling though the guards, even jumping over them, but they packed themselves too tightly and stood too tall.  She screamed and thrust out from them but all in futility.  They swept her up in their steady trot forward in a swirl of black coats and glittered eyes, and fight as she might she was but a salmon against a mighty river.

She reached out and struck one of the cloaked figures in his face, palming his nose.  He cried out in pain and staggered back.  She let her nails rake down his face, not carrying that she was defiling a minion of the god, only caring that she might get away �" might escape back to her family, might run home and hide and never be found or drug away again. 

Suddenly hands were holding her wrists and forearms behind her back, gripping her neck and her shoulders and even her waist so that she could do nothing but squirm.  They whispered to her in soothing voices, hands kneeding out the knots in her shoulders as they held them down, their faces still hidden behind their hoods and their words lost in the wind and beneath her screams.   They let her struggle in vain, simply watching as the fight drained out of her.  

Left panting and hardly able to move, the hands gripping her shoulders and the ones propelling her forwards released her. 

The one whose face she had marred caught her as she fell to the ground, panting and sobbing for her parents.  She stood up with help, but her blood jumped as quickly as she did.  For a brief moment she felt the sturdy ground beneath her feet, felt the rain soaking through her hood and shawl, and then she collapsed, blackness encompassing her.

© 2012 W.V. Bard

Author's Note

W.V. Bard
Any comments welcome : ))

My Review

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Very well written. I felt myself becoming emotionally involved in her plight.

Posted 8 Years Ago

Great chapter... Dark and Pacha's emotions are quite vivid. The only thing is that one word "capital" was all it took for me to think of the Hunger Games and everything that could be seen as a parallel to that book. Otherwise I loved it.

Posted 8 Years Ago

This is starting to pace up quickly. I am enjoying it more and more and it's becoming suspenseful. Great job on this chapter.

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 8 Years Ago

It's starting to pick up nicely. I'm eager to see the rest of it actually. It's a nice write, I think.

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 8 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

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4 Reviews
Added on November 6, 2012
Last Updated on November 16, 2012
Tags: Taken


W.V. Bard
W.V. Bard

Seattle, WA

A seasoned writer looking for fellow writers in order to connect, motivate and be motivated, inspire and be inspired, critique and be critiqued. more..

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A Chapter by W.V. Bard

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