Alexandrian Conspiracy

The sticks that break

Time had passed, and now I'm 16. or at least 16 according to the lunar calendar. Me and my father have stayed quiet to each other, under a mutual agreement, I eat and sleep in his house, and spend the remainder of the day outside not to bother him, or to be bothered by him. Sometimes I feel sick of the thought of how my mother would feel seeing us, big sulking babies, getting angry over our own egos. Although no words pass, sometimes I feel like my father communicates through food. When he's seen me work, he makes hearty meals of fish or lamb, he would work for himself, but feel content in giving me some if he felt I deserved it. When he's seen me lounge around or talk with friends all day, he would have the crunchy bread made with barley and cumin, enough to fuel, but not to fill. But on somedays there was no food, just beer for him and an angry look... that was the specialty reserved for the days I loved. 

The male gaze was smiled at, appreciated. It would excite any other common girl, but not me, a smile from a man was returned by a glare from me. They would read too far into it and complain to my father to which he'd start baking his bread grunting away. Not to say all men filled me with disgust, I have made one good friend of that gender, a scholar named Marcus. Surprisingly a friend of my father, but a friend to me in secret. He was new to Alexandria, coming in from the North, wearing far too much clothing for this dessert environment. My father thought of him as a beggar, but was surprised to know he came seeking our library, Marcus reminded him of his younger self, full of drive and motivation. They became friends easily over beer and he would regularly join us for dinner. That is where we became close friends, when he would show up with a scroll or big fancy book, he was full of excitement, and would describe in great detail the stories Hes read and the places he's been. My father cared, but jealousy would slowly make him uncaring and he'd stop listening. For me however it felt like an escape, his words would make me excited, his unfinished stories made my impatience show and id pester him till he finished reading the next book. He took it upon himself to teach me how to read. For that he has my friendship and respect. 

"Siena, how far can you walk?"

"What a weird question Marcus, why, not like I could go anywhere."

"Nonsense, you can go anywhere you wish, you just have to know your limits, so you can surpass them."

"That's oddly inspirational, but seriously though where are you going?"

"Someplace far"

Dammit, I don't want another person to leave me, I clenched my jaw hard, and tried to compose myself.

"You can come with me."

"Are you serious! I've never left Alexandria before!"

"Of course, I'm serious, I've also read every book in the library"

My eyes go huge and I humbly bow. At this Marcus laugh hysterically.

"Youve got to learn what sarcasm is, no man can read all that's in there. But I've read what I needed, all that's left is to apply what I've learned. We're going shopping in Africa."

A few moments later I notice Marcus's camels, and a bag left by the entrance to my house, lovingly stuffed inside my pack was a bunch of naans my father made and a spear going through them. I pulled it out and noticed my father's craft, a dagger wedged inside tightly, wound in cloth and banded by a ring of copper on a hard stick. Glad all its stabbing is bread.

Before we leave Marcus and my dad hug, and then they talk, my father shouts, slams the door, and I'm off with the pale man from nowhere.