I don't believe my parents heard what the humans were yelling when they were burning our house – if they did they ignored it… but I heard. They had yelled at us, cursed us for being what we were, for causing them so much pain. "What do you know of pain? Of Hunger? Of Suffering?!" This is what they had bellowed as they torched our home. 'What did we know of such things?'
My family had to reside in this crummy little cottage in the garbage heap, where the smell only accentuated the vile and disgusting features of this pigsty.
Often times I wondered, did mother know of what father had done? If she did then that means she consented to coming along, to drag us down here with him. But if she didn't, then she had been swayed by his poisonous words, that she was as much a victim as Roci and me. I didn't know, but I didn't feel any anger and hate towards her; the rage that was boiling inside me was directed only towards my father and these low life scoundrels.
We were out, Roci and I, mother had grown a bit weak so we decided to scavenge for food. It had been a few days since we had made refuge here, but it was difficult. We were low on supplies, food had been a luxury we had not been granted. 'What's this feeling in my stomach? It's sharp, painful and no matter how hard I press down it won't go away.'
My stomach rumbles loudly; is this what they call "hunger"?
As we rummaged for food, we came across several of those barbarians who wasted no time in attacking us. They wielded large clubs and metal pipes. They kicked us and bashed the weapons against our bodies with such maliciousness; they were blood thirsty. 'What's this feeling? Something wet and warm is running down the side of my face and arm; is this blood? My blood?'
Is this what they call "pain"?
After a while they had grown weary, seeing no reason to continue beating defenseless children. They spat on us and walked away triumphantly. My brother and I laid there for a few minutes, trying to regain our composure. 'What did we do to deserve this? It was because of father's naivety and selfishness that we're here, suffering. Why should we be punished? Roci is still so young; he probably doesn't understand what's going on. And mother, she's already so weak, it must be painful for her to see her children in such pitiful states.'
"Come on, Roci, we need to get food." I gently help my brother up as we continue to hunt for anything that was even remotely edible.
Luck finally smiled down upon us; we had found some leftovers amidst the large trash pile. We had originally planned to grab whatever we could find and take it back to mother but… 'Look at all that food. My stomach hurts so much, eating a bit now won't be so bad.'
Roci and I stuffed as much as we could into our mouths before we heard the sounds of footsteps and inharmonious chattering coming from a few yards behind us. I commanded my brother to grab what he could and run. And so we did.
"Mother!"
Mother looked so fragile; she was coughing loudly.
"Sorry, love, I'm feeling a little…"
I always liked it when she called me 'love', it made me feel warm inside and even in this cold, desolate, and repulsive place it made me feel that warmth. But now, hearing her say it with such difficulty and affliction, it made my heart beat faster, a cold sweat running down the side of my face. 'Mother shouldn't be in such a horrible place; she's far too weak. We need to do something or otherwise…'
"Father, mother is dead!"
Is this... is this what they call "suffering"?