~Dreaming~

These were my first thoughts of my new life, the way I see it. I remember everything as if it were the present. I wanted justice, and wanted to have it bad. 

I, Emmaline Amandzari, will tell you of the time when I changed the course of history forever. And so my story begins again:

Unjust, that's what this is, I thought as I toiled through the fields of my Lord Dunlath, with no breaks and the hot sun of our kingdom burning on my back. We should all have the same jobs, same social rank, same responsibilities. Nobody should be in charge of anybody else, and everybody should work together. 

My friends and I all shared the same thoughts, though we knew we could never change the world. Of course, we were wrong, but we didn't know it then. We talked of escaping the hard serf labor of our kingdom, and escaping to another, fairer one like those few before us did. Everybody dreamed of it, few had done it, and none wanted to talk of it before the king, King John, or our lord and Lady Diana. 

Still, we dreamed, always thinking of it, seldom talking of it, only at night, when we were all in the great hall, supposed to be sleeping. We always checked for the positions of the guards, and spoke away from them, in hushed voices so we could hardly make out what the others were saying, but we still feared that a guard would overhear. When they did overhear, they called you away with a firm, Serf Manda, please report to Sir Drunningham, or something like that.

So far, only three of us have gone. To where, I don't know. Probably killed. It's a very bad thing to hear you name called by the peasant in charge of the serfs. The lucky have come back with only a severe warning, though. If I get caught I hope to my God that I don't believe in that I will be one of the lucky.

On the fateful day, we were harvesting the wild rice that grew on the lord's fields. It was late in the day, and the sun was on the horizon. We were all waiting for the call that would mean dinner. Soon, I saw the peasant in charge stand up at the edge of the field and open his mouth in a holler. 

But he didn't shout dinner. Instead, he yelled this:

"Serf Amandzari, please report to Sir Alan."