2Kaishu plunged his hands at thE hard soil, trying to break the desolate earth with his blunt fingernails. Knowing that if he did not, he would not be able to plant any seeds, he would not get paid, he would lead his family into yet another week of starvation, something that was as common as the land was dry.
He looked down at his bruised and battered hands, shades darker than his brown skin, they were black from the soil. Yet if you washed them, they would still be black from the bruises he had from being a labourer for the majority of his life of fifteen years.
He sighed, cracked his knuckles and punched the earth as hard as he could, finally breaking through the thick crust of dried clay and mud.
He closed his eyes once more, hoping that the pain would subside before long and his hand would stop bleeding.
A whip cracked in the distance, "One hour down, eleven more to go!"
This is the life of a slave victim.
Let the story begin.
A/N: Just the introduction at the moment, hope it was effective, I have an idea as to where the story is going, and I shall hopefully be able to branch off into more ideas.
Happy New Year to all, and please don't forget to donate a small dollar to the red cross for the tsunami victims. It will count. Stay safe and God look after you all.
Stinky