Ok, for the rabid fans out there, (there must be SOME of you…) going, "OK, Pyro, where the HELL have you been for the last six months and WHAT on God's green earth would convince you that it's alright to start a new story and not update any of the old ones after so long?" I have to apologize (an unimaginable amount of times…). I've gotten of my Fullmetal Alchemist kick and onto (albeit late) the Kingdom Hearts kick. That doesn't mean I wont update my FMA stories…it just means the Kingdom Hearts ones will be coming out a LOT quicker then them.

If you just hopped onto the St. Iggy the Pyro train, thanks for boarding! Hope you have fun! Ignore the earlier message please!

And now onto the real story!

For even a caged bird will try to pick at the latch with its beak; never losing its dream to once again fly free.

I hate the markets. They are cruel, vile cesspools filled with people even crueler and viler. It is an extremely unsanitary place, filled with animal and human feces and urine alike. And rats. Rats as big as the cats that attempt to catch them for dinner. You can imagine my displeasure when my father said that we needed to go to them today. He says we need more slaves. We have lost many in the attempted rebellions that have littered the plantations and caused even the most rational of slaves to be led astray.

As I step out of the somewhat cool carriage into the foreign world of the market, I wrinkle my nose and pull my hat brim over my face. The sun beats down on my neck uncomfortably. I pull out the ornate Japanese fan I got as a birthday gift from my mother and flap it wildly in vain, for all it seems to do it make the heat feel even worse. With an irritated sigh I toss the fan back into the carriage and follow my father to the house where they hold the slave auctions.

The Slave House, as I have come to all it, is a large yellow house on the end of the market street. It looks innocent enough from the outside; one could never guess the sinister nature of the things that happened inside. For the Slave House is a place for the broken, where families are separated, freedom is sold away, and dreams and hopes are shattered forever. We walk in, and I survey the slaves up for sale today.

I let out my breath in an angry little huff. I am in great need of a chamber maid, seeing as my last joined a rebellion and was hung, but there are no females before me. All men and boys today, and I couldn't imagine a man cleaning my quarters, going through a lady's things. The maid will have to wait until next time, which could be several months from now seeing as how the market is so far away. This thought is forgotten however as I survey this haul of slaves. Father always tells me it's rude to stare, but I don't think that that rule applies to a slave. Even if it did, however, I wouldn't be able to take my eyes away. There is something fascinating about slaves to me that I can't put my finger on.

They are all shackled together to a wall by their wrists behind a man that shouts too loudly behind a podium. Most look at the ground, their eyes emotionless. Several are staring straight ahead with those same emotionless eyes. Nearly everyone shares the typical features of their Arian culture: fair skin, blond hair, sky blue eyes. Only two in this group of about thirty stand out, a young man with black hair and brown eyes whom I doubt is in fact Arian at all, and a boy with brown hair. I look at the boy. He appears to be my age, with the trademark fair skin of an Arian, but both his hair and his eyes seem to be a few shades too dark. His hand is clutched around the boys next to him whom appears to be his younger brother, whom looks identical excepting the fact that the other has the more typical sandy blond hair and blue eyes of an Arian.

Suddenly the brown haired boy meets my eyes. They are cold and hard, but there is a questioning glance in them. I realized that he's probably wondering why I'm staring at him and I look away quickly, shaking my head slowly in an attempt to gather my thoughts. I look to find my father and stand by him as I wait for the auction to start.

It becomes apparent that father thinks this is a poor batch of slaves. He bids only once, and doesn't continue as he is outbid. I begin to get a little worried, we desperately need slaves for the plantation and can't afford to not buy any of these. I am quickly put at ease, however, as father wins a robust-looking man around his twenties. The man is unshackled from the wall only to be out into sort of collar with a chain lead and handcuffs. He is led over to us and father accepts his lead without a word.

As I see the next slave to be auctioned, my stomach does a small flip. It is the brown-haired boy. I look over to see father contemplating him. As foolish as it may seem, I want father to buy this slave.

"He looks strong," I comment. I try to say it in an offhand way, but it comes out sounding like a compliment. Father looks over at me curiously, then back at the podium.

"A beautiful example of what Aria has to offer us. He looks young, folks, but strong as an ox. Got many years of heavy farm work outta this one. Do I hear a bid of...500 munny?" The auctioneer says this so fast that I almost miss what he is trying to say all together.

My father raises his hand. "500!" He calls in his rough voice.

"500, do I hear a 600 folks?"

"600!" cries a high-pitched voice to my left.

"600, is anyone willing to go to 700 for this fine specimen?"

My father considers this for a second. "700!" he says jovially.

"900!" the same voice to my left calls out.

Father stoops for a second, the calls out, "1,000!"

"We've got 1,000 munny folks. Anyone wanna match? Anyone? Anyone? Once, twice, SOLD to the man in the bowler hat!" The auctioneer calls out.

Father looks smug as this is announced. His look is soon sobered however by a commotion from on the stage. It seems the brown haired boy is refusing to let go of his brother. I bite my lip as I watch them beat the boy until he lets go and then punching the brother for good measure.

"Sora!" the younger blond one calls out in a terrified voice.

"Roxas!" yells the struggling brown-haired boy, whom evidently, is named Sora.

The auctioneer slaps them both as they yell this and has several of his men chain Sora and drag him away. Broken tears run down his face as he is led over to us, one of his eyes already swelling into what shall soon be a very ugly black eye. He looks over at my father and says in a small voice, "Please, sir, buy my brother too."

My heart just about breaks with this nearly I audible comment that apparently my father didn't hear. I bite my lip as I look over at my father. "Say, father..." I start and he looks over questioningly at me. "I have just come to realize that I am in need of a chamber maid since the recent rebellions have taken Maria from me. Do you think we'll be able to buy one?"

"You can have one of them dear," he says, pointing absentmindedly at the slaves in his hand.

"But father, you see, the job of maid better suits a women or a young boy and these two don't fit either requirement," I feign looking curiously at the remaining slaves, "How about...say, that one?" I point innocently at Roxas.

I can sense Sora tense up beside me as I make this suggestion he takes a nearly I audible sharp intake of breath and holds it for a second before exhaling. Father looks from me to Roxas, whom they are beginning to auction off.

"...500 munny?" the auctioneer finishes quickly, looking into the crowd.

There is a dreadful pause of silence before my father says, "500."

"Is anyone willing to go above 500?

"600," somebody calls but not very enthusiastically.

"650," father says. There is a round of silence until the auctioneer says, "650, anyone going about 650? Anyone? Once! Twice! SOLD to once again the man in the bowler!"

Sora shivers slightly beside me and his face brightens into an smile. He catches my eye and slowly mouths the words 'thank you.' I sniff haughtily at this and turn away, my nose in the air. I didn't do this for him, I try to convince myself that I didn't do this for him. But I did, and that's the problem here. I am still contemplating why I did this when Sora reaches out and hugs his brother, pulling him close.

"I thought I lost you," Roxas whimpers.

"Me too," Sora says, running his hands through his brother's hair.

The ride home must be rough for the slaves, I think for the first time. There are five of them all together, and they are riding in an closed side open roof cart attachment that father attached to the horse carriage ages ago. The wheels on it were poorly made, making the bumpy roads even bumpier and the open roof allows the sun to beat down hard on their unprotected skin. I wonder briefly what has brought this peculiar thought on, but I answer myself. It is Sora, the slave, and his brother Roxas that have brought this thought to me, although how or why, I am unsure.

As we near the plantation, I sigh with relief. As soon as the carriage stops I rush out in the most graceful way I can and I hurry to my room.

The slaves we purchased don't cross my mind again.

And here we are, the first chapter done of Caged Bird. This idea has been on my mind for a while, and since we recently started studying slaves and the industrial revolution, well, lets just say there's no way I couldn't write it.

Will Kairi ever understand why Sora affects her this way? Will world slavery ever be abandoned for good? Will my cat (who is ironically named Sora..) ever stop walking into walls? All this and more on the next chapter of Caged Bird!

~pyro