Birthright: A Phoenix is Born

Scrunchie

Please don't forget to vote. It would really mean a lot to me in ways you can't describe. Much love. GaisceKid23

Elizabeth

Retrieve the prince,

Train him well,

Take back the throne.

Retrieve the prince,

Train him well,

Take back the throne.

Ever since my youth, I have willed these words to console me. I repeated them during staff drills in bustling Lagos, Nigeria. Etched them into memory over the stunning architecture in Milan, Italy. And hummed them, in sync with teeming night traffic of Tokyo, Japan.

Retrieve the prince,

Train him well,

Take back the throne.

Ever since my youth, these words were supposed to give me hope. Yet the shadow of what if, never strayed far. Toying with this feeble idea. Now strapped to the curved leather seat of a stranger's limousine. I knew why.

My Harvey Nichols dress adorned the scars of battle. Tears and cuts turned the simple black and white master piece into tattered ruins. I let out a sigh at the thought. But Koju's words again ran through my mind. Words that had been drilled into him by generations of Protectors before.

*Gbagbe irora naa. Se aseyori ohun ti won ni ki o se.

I struggled against the handcuffs at my back. The metal binds chaffed my skin, already wearing the first layer of melanin away. Any further, and there would be blood.

A Caucasian man and Black man were positioned either side. Both dressed in soiled black-night suits. Their boss referred to them as Mr Black and Mr White. Yet, I doubted them to be men at all. None of my blows managed to put them down. Not to talk of Koju who planted Mr Black head first against the tarmac then ordered me to save Damian.

Damian.

His plump naive image bristled hairs all over. A face only a life without danger breeded. My train of thought docked at the first time I heard his name. Back on the beaches of Bi'ina, the sand engulfed my tiny feet. I trudged through the warm dunes holding up the hems of my pink and white floral dress for dear life, searching for Koju mediating on the golden fields.

"Why are we leaving Bi'ina?" I pouted tiredly, once I found him.

His great frame cupped me in one hand with a giant scoop high into the air.

"We are looking for the lost prince Damian and Queen Ogunyade." He soothed. The sun shone brighter those days and illuminated the gap between his teeth as his smile dazzled. For so long I wished that was all I needed to know. However one glance at him called forth a tidal wave of disappointment, drowning the sweet memory into a watery abyss. A dark heat simmered underneath, becoming more volatile until John Mercer entered the vehicle. His strong peppermint aroma brought me to the back seat of his limousine.

"That principal sure is a greedy fucker. Cost me ten grand to shut him up."

His cool demeanour doused dozens of crawling spiders over my skin. I squirmed to break free from this prickling. It did nothing but labour my breaths further, inciting horrid wheezes at the peppermint infused air. All while John tapped happily at his phone, its artificial glow highlighting the man-made changes dotted across his face. Delicate stitching lined his nose and eyes.

"Reminder call Dylan" Buzzed Mr White.

John snapped his fingers into a gun shape. Then dashed his index finger across the screen, soon the only sound heard was the hum of the car and the ring of a telephone.

"Hey Dylan, yea- shut up. Wipe any photo and video from any electronic device in a within a five kilometre radius of Doyle Park. Got it. No slip ups."

John ended the conversation abruptly. Then commenced to beat away at the device with new fury. The acidic taste of bile and copper tang started to dissipate, I swallowed the rest in order to speak.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, once my body recovered from that grim palate.

"Don't play dumb." He sighed. "You know I've got to capture this kid for my employer. So naturally I going to go catch him."

"You won't find him." My voice shrivelled as it passed through the space between us. But I instilled thew behind the words. "Damian is on route to escape by now."

He laughed, a chainsaw-snort ripping anew with each gargle. The arachnid sensation returned with a renewed vigour, hairy legs froliced all over at the sight of a man with serious problems.

"It's funny, you think you can simply go anywhere in Ireland without me knowing. I own Mercer Tex for Christ's sake. Practically every home in the country has at least one of my products. And all I need is one, just one, to pick him up. Whether that be his name or a sighting. It'll take a couple of hours, yes. But be sure I'll get him. Then, I can send you lot back to whatever shithole you came from and pay back my debt to him for good."

He nuzzled himself further into the seat and yawned as the limo hit its first bump on the road. At the second bump the back of my head rammed into the car's headrest. At the third, my white scrunchie slid down my spine and nested in the palm of my left hand.

John's eyes slowly flew up. However braided hair acted as a curtain, blanketing a wide smile. His mug went back to the screen. I rotated the edges of the scrunchie, looking for the subtle X indent which marked the opening of a zip. Index and second finger acted as pliers forcing the opening ajar while thumb carefully slid out the true reason for this 80s staple.

A miniature multi tool.

The task stole all my attention. I didn't even notice Mr Mercer pull out a handgun, then the trigger. The shockwave blared, leaving a loud hum in my ears. Both eardrums popped and for a few moments my limbs died. My eyelids fluttered open and I saw the bullet. Pinched between Mr Black's index and thumb, about five centimetres from a direct collision with my forehead.

"I wouldn't try escaping again." He whispered, placing the weapon on his lap.

"I presume you figured out these aren't your average henchmen. They're androids of my own design. And right now they're sending me minute by minute reports on your vitals, body movement and brain activity."

He leaned in, his ghastly white teeth activated hundreds of rigid goose bumps.

"So you see little miss."

"You've already lost."

I slouched down in the chair and wheezed a tired breath, trying and failing to blow away loose strands of hair stinging my eyes. My only hope now. Koju was in a better place than I.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Urban Irish Dictionary/Author's note

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Gbagbe irora naa. Se aseyori ohun ti won ni ki o se. = Forget the pain, achieve the aim.