I have experienced a lot in the twenty-five years I have had on this earth. Everyone knows the day I was born. They know where I lived and what I looked like. My adoptive parents were visited for years so others could ask questions about me. Everyone in the world was curious about the baby girl who hatched out of an egg filmed live to the world. People knew my name but because most didn't talk to me directly, I was alone.On the night I was born the world was in a state of shock when so many children hatched from eggs all across the world. We were all different shapes and sizes. What made us stand out from the rest were the unique features that we had. For some of us it was the startling beauty of our eyes. For others was their size or abilities that could be seen right away. The thing that made me stand out was my hair. It was a deep coal black with unnatural red streaks.A week before my sixth birthday my whole life changed. The home of my adoptive parents caught fire. Somehow I was
Anger is such a powerful emotion. It fuels our feelings and actions, making us do things that we never imagined. It grows beyond the bounds. It festers and can be all encompassing. Everyone experiences it. Everyone has reveled in the power it can bring. Or the fear and the weakness it shows to those on the hunt. It is so easily used against those that cannot control its fury and, in the end, becomes their greatest doom. It became mine. As I stand on a hotel balcony, the world is blanketed in the mystery of the black night sky. The brightness of the thousands of stars I see shimmering bring to heart feelings of such great sorrow. Each of those beautiful spheres are the blazes of the fires of the many loves I had during my long life and what became of them. Some of the loves came by choice while others I was consumed with an undeniable hunger to have. They remind me of the regret and love I am filled with, for they are the souls of the children that I will never meet. But alas
The story of my love begins exactly eighteen years from that sorrowful day. My birthday. My father and I were sitting at our meager dinner table made of wood that we had kept through the years. A giant rice cake sat in the middle of the table as we chatted about the new parchment, he got me from town last week. He may not have been able to send me to school but over the years he passed on his and my mother’s love of reading to me. As our conversation over the parchment ended my father excused himself to his room and returned with a package which resembled the size of our face basin. When I first saw the package, I was a little filled with disappointment because what I desired was an adventure as my gift. I wanted more than anything to go to the celebration of Hanami tomorrow. It was a celebration that the main village threw every year for all to attend to watch the cherry blossoms bloom. We saw it as a time of renewal and a reminder to enjoy the fleeting nature of life. The b
Two days’ time has once more passed. I arrived home a little after midday from my work and am looking to pass the time. I decide to pick up the book Draco has gotten me and begin to read where I left off. When I hear noise, I am jerked out of my sleep. I had closed my eyes for but a moment after finishing this emotional tale. I get up from my kang and discover that my father is in the kitchen making dinner. I had slept through him coming in from work. As I watch him heat up the fish and rice I think about Draco’s book. I feel like there was another message for me there in the story. I just cannot quite put my finger on it. When my father takes his seat, I slide the book across the table to him. Even though I wish to read it again I will wait until he has finished. I know it will be in no time at all that I will receive it back. He reads so much faster than I. As we eat our meal, we hear another knock at the door. My father looks at me in silent question if I am receiving him, I s
I was introduced into this world on the eve of my mother’s death. Through the many stories of my father, I learned what I could about the woman I loved but would never know. She was called Sakura after the season of the cherry blossoms. She was a petite, delicate woman of pale skin. In her joy and happiness, she would turn the gentle pink of the flowers of the season. My father was named Homura after the blaze one would see during his anger if it ever showed. They fell in love when they met during the labor of the wheat fields. My father says the male and females worked the opposite sides of the field. When he saw her for the first time, he says he knew from a fire in his belly that this woman would someday be his bride. According to him my mother did not feel the same immediately but through his gifts she was warmed to his proposal. As they worked in those fields of wheat not a word could be said but many of the workers sang songs upon the breeze as a way to pass the time
The walk to her home was brief. On it we discussed some of our favorite things that we had read. When she told me that she had never read an actually book but only pieces of parchment given to her by her father, I had to give her a look of incredulity. Most of the people in my village bought books so often that I had never known there were those who could not afford it. After finding this out I was curious to know more about the differences of our villages that were only separated by a hill. So, I asked. “What would you say is a different custom that happens in your village from what you observed today.” As she pondered the question she explained “Well, I found it odd today that I didn’t see those at the celebration offering an embrace or even anyone holding hands. We see affection so often here that I thought it was normal.” At this I had to laugh. In my mind I could not fathom the image of others walking around in our village doing public displays of affection. “So, i
The time of waiting for those two days seemed like an eternity. The parts of the day where I worked in the paddy fields were unable to distract my mind for once. I normally found the art of gathering husk of rice to be calming and a mindless action. At this time in March, we are still in the process of sowing our fields. The paddy fields must all be leveled before we began planting in a week’s time. This requires the men to use large rolling pins to make repeated paths across the land until it is all at the same depth. My job with the women consists of digging up small stones and other foreign objects that could impede the growth of the rice. As for the sections that are done being leveled, we must begin to flood them by carrying large basins of water to it from the river. This is a task that sometimes the men help with. As I stand in the field having poured my last basin of water into my section for the day, I take a look at the sun. It is almost high in the center of the sk
My heart races in my chest so loudly that it is a pounding my ears. I can feel my blood rushing underneath my skin as my body heats. The skin of my groin is stretched tight and even though my robes are loose from her tugging they suddenly feel like too much. As I take a deep breath, I run a hand through my hair to try to contain myself. “Io” I breath out her name. She slowly opens her eyes and bites her bottom lip. I feel myself harden further. As the air pauses, I remember her innocence. “Are you alright” I ask. As she blushes and looks away, I reach out a hand to turn her face back to mine but with hesitation I drop it back to my side. After a moment she meets my gaze again and nods softly. I clear the heat in my throat and lean back toward her. I look at her and notice a shine to her eyes that I have never seen before. Her hair has all been swept toward her back and tucked neatly behind her ears. There is a sheen of pink on her normally pale skin and the pink of her lips have d