Once, a very long time ago someone explained to me something called karma. A very interesting view of why we are who we are by way of explaining that we were born into our station in this life because of the actions of a prior life. There are times that I think back to their words and wonder if such a thing really is real. I don't even remember who they were, what they looked like, or even the actual sound of their voice. I just remember staring at their chapped lips as they quickly told me the ways karma works. There was no way they truly new what they were even talking about. They had been a slave their entire life, packed like canned fish into carts like we were at that moment and transported to the next area to continue hard labor. That is all the life of a laboring slave consisted of. Work, cart, work, cart. That was it. They had probably been wishing for a better life to come for them, save them, but they ended up living like that until they died. Just like me.
I have gone by many names, for I have lived countless lives. Some short. Some unbelievably long. My name in my current life is Meredith. I was born 20 years ago to a slave woman by the name of Lia. She did the best she could to keep me alive before she died of disease. I have continued this life by working as a house slave. That is one of the only positions held by slaves anymore. We are a dying tradition now. After it began thousands of years ago the concept of slavery has dwindled, and now there are less than 50,000 of us left. People born into a station of servitude that was started by our ancestors to build our world and maintain it. Now slave can only be found in the homes of the wealthy, or cleaning the streets of the magnificent city. I have been born a slave every single life I have lived. There was never a time where I had the rights of a citizen, I have only been a slave. Do not think that in all of eternity I have only been miserable. There were lives that were pleasant, and where I lived as nicely as I could. But I have always been shadowed by my memories. I have met others before that have remembered times before, but they were children, and forgot by the age of six. I am the opposite. My childhood is generally spent blissfully unaware, before the memories of my past come flooding back. That is how it has always been. And how it always will be.
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