Featheria Series #1: The Basement Pet

Kabanata 1

On my own

I am on my own and they are on their own.

Ate Bria would always remind me of that words. It was from her favorite nameless book. It actually has a title, but I don't have interest on books and readings that I did not bother knowing what her favorite book's title.

For me, I was more curious why does she like reading books. It was boring, tiring to read, time consuming, and an expensive hobby. Buying almost three to four books weekly didn't appeal to me.

We were poor and barely surviving, but all of the time— she's the type of person to buy books now, and hungry later. It even made me angry that she would rather spent her allowance money for that and I was the only one to eat at my heart's content.

We were not even studying that time. We were working our ass off to have that allowance money of her. By washing dishes, doing someone's laundry, doing someone's homework activities and even walking around finding plastic bottles and recyclable material to be brought and bought on a junk shop was our way of living.

At the top of that, we have our same goal on why we were together.  We want freedom. In able to express our feelings, our intention, and our goal, we were pushed to that way of living.

But when she died unjustified, I finally had the glimpse of why she chose to do all of that and why she would always remind of that words.

I was never a lovely kid, that was my thought. Because if I was and I am, I was not put on that situation where I had to be with an orphans like me.

I didn't need to experience crying helplessly, looking around and begging anyone to take responsibility of me, to become my savior. I shouldn't have to be involved with Ate Bria. She shouldn't have died.

And I would never be in this situation of mine now that full of thoughts of revenge.

But what is done is done. All I need to do now if I want that freedom is to move forward. To look forward and soar high up to the sky and be that freedom we want ever since.

How to do that?

I smirked vigilantly when I saw how his left hand slowly went at his pants pocket, looking for something while his eyes are fixated on me, assuming that I didn't see his hand there.

I am comfortably sitting to his office table with my mission outfit, arms and legs crossed while looking at him shaking fearfully. From that look on his eyes; with a glimpse of hope because he's assuming that I didn't see him holding behind his pocket is his pistol, and that thread looks that he's fearless because he is probably thinking that the time he points his gun at me, he wins.

Will I be at this point if I was that harmful before? The answer's obvious. The answer has been even answered the moment I stained my hands— soul probably.

Before he could put his gun out of his pocket, I chuckled and whispered onto myself.

"Bang."

He is standing beside the sofa, based on my distance and calculation of his moves before and doing my stunt, he would just either fell on his knee or fell straight to the sofa, it just depends on where I am gonna shoot him. So being considerate on who will see his body after they discover him unconscious here, I chose the shot where he will be able to regain his pride after.