"Mom?" I called. "I am going out, okay?"

She didn't respond. She never did anymore. I set the basket of laundry on the kitchen table, which was scattered with carrot skins.

"I am going to clean up from dinner first, okay? If you could help me, I would love it!" I called. Nothing. Only her occasional shriek and moan let me know she was alive.

I began picking up the carrot skins and set them in our scrap bucket. I dipped a rag in some of our water and wiped the table down. My eyes fell on the jagged "A" scratched into the surface. It was the first thing a six-year-old Anthony did when Mom bought him a knife for Hearth's Day. She was furious then, but now it was almost all I had left.

After Anthony was sold, there still wasn't enough money. So, I went through and sold his clothing and personal possessions one by one. All except his knife. I carried it with me every day. The blade had a very small engraving of an ant on it—I'm sure at some point it was part of a Magtrix and the Mage trinket set.

It was part of the reason why I called Anthony "Ant." Whenever I saw an ant, it reminded me of him. Of course, it made no sense to the story, but a younger me knew so such limitations.

I gripped the knife in my hand and looked around the room. It was clean. I had spent all afternoon tidying up the small house, delaying what I knew was inevitable.

"Okay, Mom. I am leaving!" I called.

I paused.

"If you want me to stay, just tell me!"

I waited for a response that never came.

"Okay. Love you, Mom."

Nothing. I gripped Anthony's blade in my hand as pushed open our door. I locked it, knowing I would be back at least one more time. As I stepped into the street, it was a cold, crisp, and dry day. I ducked my head down and avoided the wary eyes of neighbors and former friends. If I had learned anything, it was that no one truly cared.

No one.

The building came into view. It was a dilapidated building, settled near the back of town, as if even in a town of horror, this building was shamed into hiding. I paused next to the blacksmith's shop, one of they few reputable businesses left in town.

I glanced down at my hand and pulled out Anthony's knife.

I needed something of his. Something—anything.

I gripped the blade with a shaky hand and stuck the tip into my palm. With a swift flick, I drew a line of blood in my palm. I winced, not realizing how painful this actually was. I started up at top and did it again. Finally, I connected them in the middle.

There. An "A" just like the one on the table made with the same knife.

It would scab, I knew. And then it would scar. And I would always have Anthony with me, no matter how far away he was. No matter how much he hated me for not protecting him. He would be with me.

I balled up my hand and stepped into the blacksmith's shop. I remembered the old smell of coal from when Johan, Johanna, Anthony and I would run around the shop and their father would shout warnings in their native tongue. Anthony and I would attempt to repeat his words, but we could never get the sounds right, much to their amusement.

Of course, they, like everyone else, had left for a better life.

I hesitated at the counter and set the knife down on top of it. The blacksmith, the former apprentice turned around and saw me. Then, her eyes landed on the knife. "Selling?" she asked. I nodded.

She picked it up. "How much do you need?" she asked.

"Please," I begged. "Just give it a good home."

"Pardon?" she asked, with a small grin on her lips, thinking I was joking.

"Don't sell it to some miner who has five kids who he won't feed or some dust user who spits in everyone's faces. Just..." I said, a tear slipping out of my eye. "Give it to someone who will use it right."

She flipped the knife over and looked at me. "Deal," she said.

I nodded once in thanks and turned on my heel. The street was even colder, it seemed. The only heat I felt was the throbbing cuts on my hand.

I trudged forward, hating the world more with every step I took. Before I knew it, I stood in front of the traders' desk, feeling small under the triumphant grin of the trader.

"Buyin' or sellin'?" he asked.

"Selling."

"What're you sellin'?" he smirked.

"Me."

He laughed uproariously. "Well, I'll say. C'mon with me, girl. Let's get you dolled up for auction," he said. I froze as he stood and made his way down the hall. He saw me hesitate. He pointed to where several men had stood and were examining me with a predatory intent. "You can come with me or you can stay with them. You'll get more dines with me."

I scurried after him. He peppered me with questions as we walked.

"Have you started bleeding yet?"

"What?" I asked.

He whirled around. "You will make a fuggin' awful slave if you can't keep up. Have you started bleeding yet? You fertile?"

"Yes," I said quietly.

"Good. Any diseases?"

"No," I said quietly. He glanced at me.

"We'll check on that one," he said skeptically. "You ever been with a man before?"

"No," I said.

"Good. You can usually get a premium for the first time," he said.

Hot tears bubbled up in my eyes. "The money...they money needs to go to my mom."

He waved me off. "Yeah, yeah. When your brother got sold to the army, you got your gold. You'll get it now, too. Billy, get over here!" he shouted. He turned to me, and I saw his eyes were bloodshot with dust. "We'll have your new owner take you there first, how about that?"

"Yes, boss?" a skinny boy asked as he ran up.

Anthony was in the army? He was sold into the army?

"Do your job," the trader said in annoyance. The boy nodded and placed a hand on my arm, making me jump.

"What-what's your job?" I asked nervously.

"Slate," the boy said softly. I looked down and saw a little magestone on his chest, glowing Slate.

"No," I whispered. I snatched my arm back and looked at my hand, but it was too late.

The "A" was gone.

I stood there in horrified shock. No. No. No. There was no scar. No mark. Nothing. Anthony was gone all over again.

The foreman grabbed my shoulders and moved me to a back room. "Time for your checkup," he said.

After the auction, my new owner agreed to let me drop of the dines to Mom. I unlocked the door quietly and stepped inside. My owner followed close behind, a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Mom?" I called, tears filling my voice. "Mom, I have something for you."

"What is it?" she slurred.

"Um. You need to come down," I said.

"Fine," she muttered and slowly made her way down the steep stairs. Her hair was disheveled, and she looked like she hadn't washed in weeks. She hadn't.

"Mom, I have some dines for you," I said. "I got as many as I could."

"How many?" she asked. Her eyes were glazed, as if she were in a trance. Maybe she was.

"Twelve thousand."

Her eyebrows raised. "Only?" she asked. Her eyes landed on me, but I knew they were unfocused. She couldn't see me and didn't notice the ring in my nose. She didn't see the man at my shoulder.

"Yes, Mom. I'm sorry," I said, tears cascading down my face.

"What'd-what'd you sell?" she asked in confusion.

"Me, Mom. I sold me."

"Oh," she said simply. Her unfocused eyes wandered around the bare house, empty of everything that reminded her of Dad. Everything that reminded her of Anthony was gone. Soon, I would disappear, too. "You only got twelve thousand?" she asked.

I nodded. "I'm sorry, Mom. I thought...I though I would get more."

She shook her head. "Girls normally go for sixty thousand," she said as if she were confused.

"She's going to a farm until she becomes more appealing for suitors," my owner said over my shoulder.

Mom didn't even acknowledge he was there. Maybe she didn't see him. Maybe she didn't care.

"Mom, if you want, you can buy me back," I said, desperation in my voice. "There's still a few hours to turn back," I said. I handed her the bag with the twelve thousand dines. "All you need to do is give the bag to this gentleman."

My owner's hand tightened on my shoulder. "Cricket," he warned.

Cricket. Now I was Cricket. I had lost my name. I was a bug. I was a dewlos.

"Mom, please," I said. "Just tell me to stop and I will. We'll fix this together."

Mom took the bag from my hand and looked inside. "This will cover paying for the house this year," she said absentmindedly. Her unfocused eyes drifted upward, and she stared at the ceiling, swaying in time with some unknown song playing in her head.

"She has the money. Move, bug," my owner said, steering me out the door.

"Mom?" I cried. "Mom? I love you," I said, turning back to look at her one last time. "Please. I love you."

"I...I don't understand," she said. "Why is he calling you Cricket?"

That was the last thing I ever heard her say. As my owner marched me away from the house, scolding me for trying to bail from our agreement, I stared at that door. The door that kept the ugliness of the world out. The door that led to my childhood haven. The door that my mom could have burst through.

I wanted so desperately for her to run after me. To stop this. To tell me she saw me. That she loved me.

The door never opened.