CHAPTER 2
Old Marge's cottage had a low hung thatched roof, eaves drooping over the door. Two windows had been cut into the wattle and daub bricks so that they resembled eyes, with the slowly rotting misshapen door as a gaping mouth. Resting the washing basket on her hip, Tsunaki raised her hand and cautiously knocked on the door.
Several minutes passed before a patter of footsteps could be heard from within the house before the door was flung wide open, almost slamming in Tsunaki's face had she not backtracked hastily. As she was recovering from her near fall, a wizened, old face dominated her sight, crooked teeth arranged in a way that resembled a ghostly wail. Tsunaki yelped, and tried in vain to blink away the disturbing image that burned in her retinas even as she retraced her steps even more, arms flailing and almost losing grip on the washing basket. A small part of her mind numbly noted that this behaviour wasn't the most polite to demonstrate, but the majority was too shocked to care.
Seconds passed as they remained frozen in their various positions. Old Marge was standing slack outside her home, face contorted into what Tsunaki was sure it had meant to be a welcoming smile rather than the expression of one with gastric problems. Tsunaki herself was tense and braced, holding the washing basket out as if it were some sort of weapon.
More time passed while the air was thick with an awkward silence before Tsunaki released the pent up breath she had not registered herself holding, and properly presented the washing basket to Old Marge, subconsciously holding it an arm's length away, properly composed.
"…"
"…"
Tsunaki noted that her arm was becoming quite tired.
"Your washing… Marge… ma'am?"
A small part of Tsunaki internally quailed when the old woman's previous lacklustre gaze intensified into what seemed like a glare. Her eyes bore holes into Tsunaki's head, scrutinising her, judging her. After what seemed like an age of fearing to move, Old Marge's smile dropped into a scowl. She whipped the basket out of Tsunaki's hands and turned her back on the girl, slamming the door shut with a resounding bang. Not long after, Tsunaki could hear water hammering into the washing basket and the steady slosh of clothes being vigorously rewashed.
Sighing, Tsunaki's shoulders drooped and her expression grew downcast as her feet carried her back home once more. Even Old Marge, one of the more accepting and oblivious people in the village, rejected her presence as if it were foul.
What a game life is. What a twisted game.
Her life was a desert garden with with the plants of opportunity growing, but being burnt to ashes by the sun before they even begin to show signs of blooming.
Tsunaki sighed as she walked to a stop on the road as this morning's events replayed in her mind. Bianchi was asked to Romeo's party and felt obliged to have her buy another one of her worthless trinkets in a fit to impress a boyfriend who she doesn't even like. She shook her head. Bianchi knew she had nothing to exchange for jewellery except for manual labour. Tsunaki saw another week of cleaning pig pens looming ahead of her.
If the perpetual assignment to pig pens was life, then she was better off without it, huh. If only she could untie the string connecting her to her kinsmen who dragged her wherever they wanted to go.
But then what would she do? Although the string meant oppression, it also posed as a line of safety, drawing her nearer to a group. If the knot was unravelled, she would be on her own until she joins a friendlier string or iron shackled are clasped onto her. She may condemn herself to an existence worse than this one.
Was the risk worth it?
Was life worth it?
Gagged by oppression,
Subdued by fear,
Tsunaki flung open the wooden cabin door, and after a moment of wild scanning, growled and rushed back outside to the lean-to shed. After fumbling about with the rusting lock, the door swung open to reveal a dusty interior, contents of which have had their warmth of familiar touch long gone.
Branded by spite,
Nothing was clear.
Small piles of foreign oddities sat on the shelves, overturned in Tsunaki's frantic search. A curious lobed leaf and the rock that resembled a dagger went flying through the air as the products of an elbow sweep as if they were worthless.
They were once anything but to her. They still were.
These artefacts were what her father brought back on his many trips to find odd jobs in other villages. But what used to be entertaining and exciting is now a trigger for painful memories. Too painful to bear.
Years of torment,
A never-ending chase,
Muffling a curse as she accidentally tripped, Tsunaki was about the kick the item aside before she hurriedly reined herself in. A wry smile graced her features as she picked the item up. Father's old collapsible tent. Quickly gathering it up, she rose to her feet, before wincing and pressing a hand to her side.
That'll leave a mark.
Wraps paper hearts
Made of broken lace.
Blundering out of the lean-to, she hurriedly fixed the lock back on before rushing across to the back of the cabin where they kept the game bag. Unhooking it off the peg it was tied onto, she scrambled towards the weathered canvas canteen that rested on the tree stump they used as a seat and threw it into the bag before hastening to the front door again. She would fill it later.
But as the flightless bird grew wings,
And climbs above the sky's blue rings,
Inside, Tsunaki's hand shot out and grabbed various food items from the larder. Two breads, one aging towards stale, a few pieces of fruit, a sliver of cold chicken and a lump of cheese. It would do. She knew how to hunt. Her eyes flickered to the slightly ajar front door, keeping check. Good. There was no one. She paced into Bianchi's corner of the cabin, slightly fenced off by floor to ceiling wooden palings. What used to be her parents' corner used to house laughter and warmth as the four of them gathered there every night was now drastically changed. She couldn't help but wince.
It surveys the reaching tendrils below,
And doubted its strength to soar and go.
Falling on all fours, Tsunaki reached under the bed, brushing away several cobwebs. Her searching hands eventually landed on a wooden box, and Tsunaki's eyes widened, before narrowing in determination. Here it was. Taking a sweeping look at all she had collected around the house, such a meagre amount (so meagre)… she grit her teeth and prepared yet again to pull the box out before tears she had not known rolled down her cheeks, stopping her short in her actions. Was she ready for all this yet?
And so she fell, down to the ground,
Faith's hand has left, only dread she had found,
Tsunaki furiously rubbed them away, and berated herself for her indecision and wasting time, time that would have allowed her to escape into the forest before the heat of noon hit, allowing her a longer while yet for travel. Steeling herself, she yanked the box out from under the bed and ripped the lid off, grabbing the hunting bow from where it lay inside and tried to reach for the quiver…
Why wasn't she reaching it?
Her eyes widened as she only just realised her shaking hands and wrenching sobs. Her right hand slipped and dropped the bow onto her lap even as she buried her face into the bedpost. Why did she have to do this? Why her, why her? Shutting out all worldly noises from her mind, Tsunaki did not register the footsteps that rang out a few minutes later, and so nothing prepared her for the abrupt and sudden pain in her thigh that followed, nor the wrestling pull in her hair that forced her face upwards into green eyes…
And while she lay there still and stunned,
Her lungs yearning for the cool air, shunned,
The green eyes of her sister.
Her eyes began to fill with tears,
A river cried from darkest fears.
Bianchi scowled, and slapped Tsunaki across the face that left her recoiling on the floor, shuddering. Why did she decide this? It was so stupid of her. Why didn't she remain silent, and continue on with the drudgery she was doing before. It was only going to get worse now.
Bianchi screamed in fury.
"You stupid, wretched girl! What is this? Are we not enough for you? Is your cousin not enough? You're just so arrogant and selfish that you want to run away and abandon everyone you grew up with! You're a nobody, you'll always be a nobody, and you'll be an even bigger one when you die outside, where not even a single worm would want to touch your corpse! You're a pathetic excuse for a human, no, even if you were an animal, you'll still be scum!" Bianchi finished, panting and glaring at Tsunaki. "The sky might have pity on you, but I certainly don't! So get out! If you choose to go, then go! Don't ever come back! Go!"
Tsunaki peered at her through her tear-filled eyes. "What?"
"Argh! You're such a harebrained idiot! I said go! Just get out! DON'T COME BACK!"
"D... don't come back?"
"Yes! Are you mentally stunted or something? Geez."
A lull fell in the conversation.
"Now get lost! Go! Never return to the village!"Bianchi aimed a well placed kick to the side Tsunaki's head, and she scrambled to gather all her inventory, cold fingers dropping items in her haste. More kicks came to her back, forearms and legs, which caused her to fall down onto the hard rammed earth floor. Face flowing with tears, Tsunaki ran past the door which closed on her back, shoving her forward a few paces, before it opened again and her favourite jackets was thrown onto the dirty mud floor. Though her eyes were still blinded by sorrow, Tsunaki could plainly see the multiple tears in the fabric that went from the shoulder to the hip that rendered it unrepairable. Choking back another sob, she ran back and collected the threadbare jacket in her arms, using it to wrap the rest of her materials into a more manageable bundle, before she ran through the village and into the forest. She had lost count of the times she fell in her rush, but matters like that were inconsequential.
She didn't care anymore.
Dirty looks were thrown her way as the villagers saw a ragged urchin falling to her knees more times than she ran, hair matted by dirt and eyes red with the effort of crying. A man's bow, unfit for a woman, dwarfed her figure as she slung it upon her shoulder with a matching quiver, almost half the arrows lost in her haste. After a few seconds, this scene no longer interested them, and they rejoined their previous conversations with the same enthusiasm as they had before.
Good riddance.