When my skin is not my own and the heart is tainted, there is still one thing that will always belong to me. My soul! No more shall it weep in the darkest of nights but it shall become a beacon of light for all those who cannot see. I am a warrior...
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The furious warrior marched up the hallway, she had found where that useless piece of monster resided and was more than prepared. Lalzari walked like the chaos in space formed of collision between planets, floating moons and dream, falling stars and hopes, black holes sucking the life out of her, and never ending darkness that had entered her heart. She swung her emei piercers grabbing onto them tightly ready to pierce her blood's heart and watch his sad pathetic face as he took his last breath.
"That man is finally going to pay! He's the reason everything happened! He is the reason I have scars I can't get rid of!" Lalzari's voice cracked as her pitch got higher. Perhaps she wanted someone in the building to hear her raging words, perhaps she hoped the words would heal her yet they only seemed to hurt her even more. The words were like an old tree with rotten roots slowly killing every single living piece on it. Lalzari's leaves were like that of the rotten tree they had become brown and burnt slowly losing their strength before detaching from the branches and falling to the ground.
"It's HIM! He's the one that ruined my life! I have dirty skin and black stains on my heart and it's all because he was a pathetic example of a man- No he's not even a man! He's nothing!" She chanted as her harsh words pumped adrenaline into her blood. The number 38 glistened against the door and lamp, Lalzari had arrived at her destination.
The abandoned vixen stomped into the room with her anger built up for eruption. She swung open the door ready to see a sly arrogant man but what she saw was not what she expected.
What the fired-up maiden saw, was an old man with hair that was wizened so much that it looked like straw, almost fossilised from the dryness. He had sad, worn-out eyes and a distinctive beard. It wasn't thick, it was straggly, unkempt and spittle flecked. His fingers were gnarled and knobby and the clothes he wore were musty and had food stains all over them. She was a senile man that had become helpless and weak through the years.
A young man sat on the floor next to him feeding him something that looked like soggy oats. The old man opened his mouth letting half of the food fall right on his shirt, the young man would then scape it off with the spoon and repeat.
"Papa, eat!" The young man said waiting patiently for his father to open his mouth.
"I'm not your papa!" The old man said in a rage trying to throw the plate away yet his weak hands only pushed it a few centimetres. And like a switch he turned his tone around and whimpered "what's my name?"
In that moment, it became clear to Lalzari. Her father that had sold her for his own greed was now paying the price with his demented brain. But what struck her even deeper was that his son, her brother, seemed to never had been sold.
"He kept the boy?" The weary vixen muttered under her breath as she watched the young man who supposedly was her own blood work hard for a man he didn't know anything about.
"Was I the only one they sold?" Lalzari sighed knowing that those who should've loved and protected her sold her off for a small price and at no time in their life did they ever regret it and go looking for her. She had been standing in the door way for some time but remained unnoticed and quietly stepped out closing the door behind her.
