Gemma POV
Two months after
This isn't how I pictured my life to be. I pictured myself in a small quaint English village…maybe even American. But soon after Kartik's sacrifice, I soon learned that I needed to live in India. Where I could be reminded of where I was truly happy.
What's strange about epiphanies is that they occur at the strangest of times. This is exactly why I'm running through the Hindi streets of a bizaare. I don't even pause to smell the spicy food and notice fine silks being sold in little tents. I have one purpose and one purpose only.
I find myself thanking my trousers and baggy sleeves, freeing my legs of my annoying skirts, and letting my lungs expand.
I tighten the small bag of food tighter around my belt, and placed a hand on my hat to keep from blowing away. Turning left, I run into a small and dirty alley, whipping my head left and right, I search through the beggars and the homeless. Looking like this, it seemed like I belonged here, even I didn't know anymore.
Finally I caught sight of a small crowd of children, all huddled together under an awning, crabbing and reaching for a small tub of water. As I came closer they turned to me, and as I pulled out the bag of food to show them, they all rushed to my side, pulling on my belt and looking up at me with glittering eyes.
I laugh hardily, and sit down with my back against the brick wall, open my bag, and hand out containers of milk, slices of beef, cheese and bread. Hands slash through the air as I pull out twelve apples from my sleeves, and a grin is etched upon each and every face I can see.
Next I take my hat from my head, and run my fingers through loose strands of hair. Then I hear cry's thanks while a small boy of around three crawls onto my lap. I stroke his black curls; they are so like Kartik's. My eyes threaten to water at the thought of his name, but I blink them back, and force my lips to smile.
"Ann," The children cry.
I just smile at them as they crowd around my feet. They would never know my true name.
"Tell us a story! Tell us a story!" they cry
"Alright, Minhas," I say in their native tongue.
And so I begin my tale... and the best part is… it's the truth.
"The city bazaar is filled with good smelling spices, and grand elephants parading down the street. The Indian Princes are painted blue, showing their royalty, princesses with baby rose buds as crowns, all living in this magical place.
But the most exciting part of this hot day is the red headed girl down by the glittering ocean. She follows her mother and family servant while being entertained by a monkey selling dates.
'But suddenly, out of the crowd, came two young men, both natives to India. The eldest one, named Amar, had a job of protecting the young girls mother. The second man was named Kartik, and both were members of The Rakshana, a group who wanted the power to a special place, a very special place indeed."
"When you say power," a child asks me, "Do you mean magic?"
I feel a small smile turning up my lips. "That's exactly what they want."
The children all seem to get excited by the thought of magic spun into the tale.
"What special place?" a small girl asks then. I give everyone a knowing look, and then say… "If I tell you, it will ruin the story." They all stay quiet. And I resume my story telling.
"Now, the Rakshana were a very powerful group indeed. All members were well trained for battle, but when Amar came to the mother, he whispered something in her ear that made even the strongest Rakshana shake in their boots.
'Circe is near.'
The mother looks around wildly, and then when she looked back at the two young men, they were gone.
"Virginia, the mother, grabs and snaps the necklace off her neck and hands it to her daughter, When the daughter takes it, Virginia quickly comes up with an excuse to be freed of her daughter, and leaves. Only her daughter wouldn't understand…until much later in this story.
"The woman left, she had her own business to take care of, and no one would know, but she was secretly terrified.
"Now the daughter was named Gemma, and had a temper that was as red as her own hair.
Feeling abandoned, she told her mother she hated her, and took off in the opposite direction. Wishing she would never see her mother again, and ran away .The very last words to her mother was, "I don't care if you ever come home at all."
Gemma runs, in a direction she does not know, until she comes to a dark alleyway. Filled with dangerous men who wish to harm her, they all shuffle towards her, she begins to ask them for help, but is interrupted when the homeless men begin to screech and back away from her, pointing shakily at her necklace. They were terrified of it.
She doesn't understand, and becomes confused when they throw rocks at her, just to make her disappear.
She takes off running again, this time running blindly into a forest, scratching her arms and legs on passing thorns.
Then it happens.
"What?" The children ask, when I pause. "What happens?"
The vision.
Her heart thumps loudly, her blood flows fast in her veins. She is in a large tunnel, for a second, she sees nothing, then color swirl in her mind, and pictures make their way into Gemma's mind.
"She sees her mother racing down a large walkway. She seems to be searching for something. For Gemma?
She stops, and looks around her, and then she hears footsteps, coming closer and closer. Her green eyes look around her frantically, then she sees it, the tracker, it's large and dark. It is thirsty, looking for a human to feed on, but it has a job to do. And the tracker is here, and it is determined to finish the job. After all, his master wants the magic.
Gemma's mother and the tracker find themselves face to face with each other. The tracker shows his teeth, raises a blackened and clawed hand, and begins to strike…
"Suddenly," I pick up pace at this point of the story, my words flowing with my own memories. The beggar children around me are listening intently, they all stare up at me with anticipation, I can almost see their fear. And they are only using their imaginations.
"Suddenly, Amar, one of the Rakshana, jumps in front of Virginia, protecting her life with his own. Virginia plunges a knife into her own chest while the tracker, ready to devoir, strike again,"
I have to stop here, because the children are screeching with fright and nervous giggles, to them, it's only a story.
Men and woman walking by stop and stare at us, I nod at them, and they move on.
"We'll have to finish this story another time." I say to them,
Sounds of protest reach my ear, and I just smile at them, stand, clip my hair up, and place my old, dusty, hat that I found in a dumpster on my head.
Nothing wears the heart like poverty.
I look up at the sun, midday. I quickly take off running, waving at the children trying to follow; their older brothers and sisters hold them back. They know I will return.
I am at my employer's farm. After all, work means money. And money is what I need to live independently. My job is to pitch hay into wheelbarrows, to pick tobacco, and to help feed and water the horses. Lovely.
This is exactly what I expected too.
But I always keep my head up high; I will always follow his example.
Kartik's.
