Chapter 1 - Donlon by the sea, effarland

Donlon by the Sea,
Effarland.
To be precise, in the dining nook of 19 Smythestone Street, home of a steel worker named James Duchochlawn, his wife, Sally, and their young son, Jameson.

Jameson pushed the crispy bacon through the runny egg yolk on his plate with his stainless steel fork. The prongs made an irritating scratch against the finish of the Duvaille china.

"Why do we eat them?" He pondered audibly.

His father huffed and sniffed and rubbed his mustache with his index finger. He cleared his throat proper and leaned back in his seat as if to respond but was too slow.

His mother tugged her salmon cami down over her soft matronly midriff and adjusted her white sweater then rested her sharp chin on her thin palm, she sighed deeply through her large hooked Effarian nose, "Jameson, we eat them because they were meant to be eaten."

"Why?"

"Well," she contemplated "us Effarians aren't designed to produce meat but the Sessanach are, so we do what we are designed to dowork for the betterment of capitalism and society, and they do what they are designed to do: produce meat for the workers of Effarland."

"Here, here!" His father exclaimed through a belch.

"But aren't they people too?" Jameson's question was innocent and sincere.

Jameson's father huffed and cleared his throat, "ma boy, the Sessanach, they're subhuman, not people in a sense, they're less than us. It is their lot to be food for those of higher standing."

Jameson nodded understandingly but pushed the salty bacon of number 8275 to the side of his plate, and poked at his eggs with his fork. His mother pulled again at the salmon cami, and his father huffed and sniffed accepting that his answer was good enough.

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< br>Hawkingwood Estate
Barbadoa
21 years later.

Belle waited anxiously on her wheelchair by the polished marble steps with her husband's hand squeezing her meaty shoulder, as he sighed through his large hooked nose.

Far down the slight slope of the estate the International sedan kicked the dust up from the dirt drive, and Belle's heart quickened as did Hawking's.

When the sedan finally came to a halt at the foot of the stairs Ference, despite his age, made haste to the boot for the luggage and then there she was, their daughter, the spitting image of Belle before she had been sent to the breeding house but with her father's Effarian build.

From a great distance Achai watched his son place flowers on his beloved Ichrine's headstone before peering off into the distance to watch a dirty yellow sedan deliver the inheritor of the estate back to her parents.