Fiery Flower of Steel: One
7S: Hello!
*Peers out to the audience*
7S: Welcome to my angst-filled mind, and enjoy the first chapter!
I remembered everything. The plane crash, the explosions, Alice's pierced forehead. I was born crying. I was terrified of the blood, the dead, how fast it all ended. Born to my parent's yelling and the doctor's screaming at them in an unfamiliar language, I longed for someone—anyone—to protect my tiny body, my fragile mind, from the coldness of this world. Yet, my cries fell upon deaf ears. I was ignored and helpless in that cage called a crib and I couldn't even listen to the conversation, only knowing it was vaguely familiar.
In fact, I spent most of this life ignored and helpless. Abandoned at birth, I was left on the doorstep of a local orphanage. I felt the cold winds rush past my face, being carried by the one who will condemn me. The even colder rain drops fall and soak through the thin blanket. I was still crying—the whole way there, my babyish cries echoed through the dark night as I was laid on the doorstep. I clung to the comfort of a lone lamp hung above my head. I was afraid.
My tiny hands reached for it, helpless and damned. The creak of the door went ignored as I continued to weep for a life disregarded—my life disregarded—as nothing more than another leaf dropped from a tree in autumn, left to be trampled on by boots. I was carried inside, the cold winds no longer brushing my face and my cries dying down to small whimpers. Never had I felt so alone.
I was a newborn condemned to a life in hell's fire.
When I was three, I was the most peculiar child of my age. I preferred to be left alone, declining all the offers to play. Children veered away from my direction, and I was left alone to mope and cry. My adult mind didn't want the things other children wanted; I didn't act like the other children acted, and I didn't think like the other children thought.
I was eighteen in the body of three.
I wasn't as naïve as they were. I knew things. I didn't hope for my parents to come back for me because I knew they wouldn't. I didn't want a new family to take me under their wing. I didn't even like my caretakers.
They ignored me and left me on my own. As long as I was fed and given a bed to rest, their orphanage would get funded, and that was about all they cared about. They left the kids to play about, and punished the kids that would ruin the "establishment's reputation". They didn't care.
So I ran away. I ran from that God-forsaken orphanage—the place where my parents left me to rot. Taking my few belongings (a pen and paper, a sack, and some bread I stole from the pantry) I left, jumping out of the window and climbing over the walls in the dead of night.
From then on, I really was on my own. I walked around aimlessly, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Truth be told, I never went out of the orphanage. I'd always stayed inside, keeping to my own thoughts. I wanted to leave all of this behind, and improve my life. I wanted to feel loved—the love of my previous life. I wanted to feel warmth. I was so tired of this cold, dark winter, and the only way to get away was to reach out for a bright summer. But I couldn't. Not while my body was stuck at the tender age of three.
It was difficult getting around. I was alone and clueless, like a lamb lost in a vast forest at night. In two days I had eaten all my food. I resisted the urge to steal, but after two days of better judgment, I couldn't help it. I stole an apple from the market, running away, and shoving it in my sack. But the first time I attempted it, was the only attempt that went unnoticed.
The next time, I stole an orange and did not come out of it unscathed—or rather I did, but it caused more harm than I would have wanted. Chased and chased and chased until I could no longer run, I got beaten with a stick. I heard a cracking snap and, oddly, felt no pain. I didn't bother question it, running away with thoughts of escape.
But then, when I stopped running, it sunk in. Why didn't that hurt? That made me stop. Hesitantly, I picked up a stick from the rain-soaked earth, and closed my eyes and… I heard the sickening crack and winced, opening my eyes… but what I saw, I didn't expect.
Instead of a broken arm (which would sound ridiculous when I recalled the event later), it was the stick that broke in two. I peered over to my arm, dropping the stick in horror. My back hit a tree, and I slumped down it, my eyes fixed at my unharmed arm.
It was silver.
Who am I? What am I?
I'm a freak. A mutation—a monster. Could this have been why my parents abandoned me? Because I was this child who turned silver every time I got hurt? Could the silver have acted up at my birth? In front of my parents, making them not want me? To think that I ignored my flame-orange hair telling me that I was different—I should have known I was different. I should have known.
I curled up into the tree's roots, sobbing.
Why was I borne to this life of suffering? Why did the God up there send me to rot and perish alone? What have I done to deserve this? Why did He give me this second chance at all? I couldn't even blame the children for ignoring me, or my parents for running away from a freakish child. Who would want to carry my burden? To house a freak and be made fun of because of a stupid mutation? It wasn't worth it. I wasn't worth it.
"Hoot. Hoot."
I peered up at the noise, my eyes wet from shed tears.
"Hoot," said the owl, tilting its head at me, inching closer and closer, eyes never blinking. I reached my hand out slowly, timidly, afraid that it'd escape if I made one wrong move.
It spread its wings, jumping out to my out-stretched arm. Its claws tried to dig into it, but my whole forearm turned silver. I gave it a small smile.
"How come an animal will reach out, and not kids or adults?" I asked sarcastically to myself.
"Hoot. Hoot," the owl tilts its head.
"Well, I guess you're the first," I chuckle for the first time in—now thinking about it, my entire life. I've never noticed it before—how I either cried, or had this straight, almost frowning face.
"Skeek!" the owl screeched, flapping its wings wildly. I jerked back, hitting my head against the tree, and curling in on myself.
"Ouch!" I said, rubbing my head. The owl was now over three feet away, its perch forgotten. "And just when I thought the owl was nice…"
I stayed by the tree for at least ten minutes, watching the owl warily. The bird craned its neck in all directions, searching. Suddenly, it took off, leaving me forlorn and behind. Why am I feeling this way? I should have known better. Owls were animals incapable of emotion. It felt nothing when it approached me, and nothing when it left. It might as well have been my parents.
I curled up under the twisted branches of the tree, leaning my head back against its stiff bark. Slowly, my eyes lulled themselves closed. My mind went on a state of momentary bliss, welcoming oblivion with open arms…
I slept dreamlessly.
When I awoke, I was surprised to be greeted by the same owl, a mouse hanging in its beak. It inched close, dropping the rodent at my feet as if to offer it to me. The owl positioned itself in between the roots and beside me, staring at me intently with its large dark eyes. Its white feathers glowing in the moon's light.
Looks like I slept through the afternoon. The owl continued to stare at me expectantly, the mouse left on my feet. I reached for it, holding it with my pointing finger and thumb in disgust. The mouse was bleeding, and now, flies swarmed around its dead carcass. I handed it back.
"I think I'll pass," I said, turning away from the owl as it greedily devoured the mouse. From my sack, I took out my uneaten orange, remembering the trouble I went through to get myself the food. Peeling it with my dirty hands, I savored each slice, eating it silently.
The owl, finishing it's own meal, continued to stare at me. Looking at the it closely, the owl was beautiful, with black markings around its face and eyes dark, with little signs of yellow. Stripes ran down from its neck to its breast, and its feathers were pearl white.
"So guess you really didn't abandon me, huh?" I sighed. My shoulders slumped back, relaxed, and a breath of relief escaped me.
"Hoo," it sung, tilting its head to the right. I chuckled, reaching my arm out to the owl, it jumped up to my arm again, my arm turning to its silver luster.
"The name's Mirako."
"Hoot. Hoo!" the owl fluttered its pearl wings wildly, I extended my arm further from myself.
"Calm down! Sheesh," I sighed. Pulling it closer once it settled down.
"I guess I'll have to name you then." I smiled. I've always been good at giving names, or making them up. It always made me happy when I get to choose a name for something, because a name to me, is your identity- something that makes you, you. To be the person to name a child, or anything really, you need to consider what you want from the child or animal, or… whatever you're naming.
"Kyokan. Compassion." I declared. "Nice to meet you, Kyokan."
It had a nice ring to it.
I had to test it out a couple of times, the word being foreign to me. It easily slid on my tongue, yet it was so hard to get out. How contradicting.
"I think I'll call you Kyo for short." I nod at myself, satisfied. Kyo hoots in agreement, while I grin. To think that my first friend was an owl, and not a human being, was slightly disappointing really, but who in their right mind would befriend me anyway?
Well, I had a friend. I shouldn't complain.
7S: And there you go! An emotion-filled angsty chapter.
Mirako: Why am I so... emo?
Kyokan: Hoot! Hoo!
7S: Because you're a trouble child, that's why!
Mirako: Why did you make me a trouble child?
7S: I dunno, I just felt like it.
*Chorus of sweatdrops*
7S: So who's gonna say it?
Kyokan: Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!
Mirako: She said she wanted to do it.
7S: But she's an owl she can't-
Kyokan: HOOOT HOOO SKEEK!
Mirako: She said to review.
*Kyokan tries to tear S7's eyeballs.*
7S: AAAHHH! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! JUST STOP YOU GOSH DARN BIRD!
Kyokan: SKEEEK HOOOOO HOOT!
Mirako: I think this is where I end everything. Good bye! and Review pleasseeee...
*Lynx appears*
ML: And don't forget to RIP 7S's eyes!