The War Girl (Mad Max: Fury Road fanfiction)

1: My name wasn't always Feral

I once had a beautiful name, one that spoke of green grass and clean air. I have since forgotten the word that was once my name. It was lost all of the days and nights I spent without my first name on my lips. I was taken from my homeland when I was around seven or eight, by men with skin whiter than quartz stone. I remember going to play alone, not wanting to do the chores my mother had assigned me. One of the things I remember from my home was that there wasn't a lot of boys there. I had seen them before, but they never stayed long.

With the spongey ground underfoot, I chased a butterfly relentlessly, straying farther and father from the watchful eyes of my many mothers. I was careless then, like a young bird flying to close to a hungry cat. The insect I was chasing flew higher and higher, and just out of my grasp.

Then, I heard a deep rumble, like that of an angry animal. My eyes tore away from the butterfly and squinted past the borders of my homeland. I saw a pack of small black dots coming in my direction, clouds of dry desert dust billowing up from around them. I watched them approach for far longer than I should have, fascinated by the sheer size of the vehicles that had slowly begun to take on recognizable shapes. As they approached further, I heard the sound of electric guitar, which was a song we only heard when Immortan Joe's fleet came along. My gut twisted with a sudden pang of dread, something told me that these men were not coming here in peace. I whirled around and darted back to the nearest mother, my wide green eyes full of fear, "There are lots of cars coming here!" I told her, tugging on the sleeve of her shirt frantically.

The mother's face tightened with fear as her gaze flicked up to what I was referring to, "Go back to your shelter, I will warn the others," she instructed me firmly, "and whatever you do, do not come out of the shelter, no matter what." Her voice was grave, and stern, enough so to make me nod in response and run back to my home as quickly as possible. I huddled in the corner of the small refuge that was my home, listening to the other children hide and the older mothers take out their weapons. I was scared, but I trusted that the mothers would keep us safe, they were strong.

The rumble grew louder, the yells of men and the steady chug chug chug of the guitar vibrating through the earth.

They weren't ready for what happened next.

Fire, screaming, the roar of engines. Those were the sounds that filled the air. I felt like I couldn't move, like the noise had me locked in place. I could hear the crackle of fire, and I could see the yellow-orange light explode from everywhere around my shelter. "...Do not come out of that shelter, no matter what." I kept repeating those words in my head in order to keep myself from fleeing. Then, I started hearing pained cries of a mother, followed shortly by a victorious shout of a man. So many screams, so much loss. What was happening out there? Where the mothers being captured, Killed, Or worse? My mind spun with fear and possibilities, making my heart pound in my chest.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity of chaos, a group of painted and scarred men entered my shelter. I felt like a rabbit caught in a snare, panic welling up in my throat and squeezing tight. The men at the front all had eyes that were wild with adrenaline, and their snowy bodies were splattered with blood. I cowered in the corner, terrified and knowing I had nowhere to hide from them, they had me cornered. I didn't even dare to breath.

There was an old man at the center of the wolf-like soldiers. He had long white hair, and a mask of human teeth and tubes. He had black paint around his eyes like the other men, but his made him look sinister. The boys surrounding him looked at him with adoration, like a god. The evil man's eyes settled upon me, and his dark gaze lit up with interest. I froze, my back pressed up against the far wall of my shelter. I could see the malicious satisfaction the gleam of his eyes. He lifted a gloved finger and jabbed it in my direction, making my blood run cold.