The Journey Continues

New Horizons

The peace and quiet at the break of dawn was quietly infiltrated by the sound of a backpack being zipped up.

Carefully, the bag was slipped over its owner's shoulders. Two more bags were laid on the floor, packed with clothes, hygiene products, as well as any personal belongings, from documents to mementoes.

The person who'd be carrying this baggage looked at herself in the mirror one last time, assuring that her appearance was on point. Her family had never approved of how she had dyed her hair red, of her excessive use of foundation or of the black lipstick. Especially not the black lipstick.

She let out a sigh, one that would be heard on an occasion where everything had been said and done. It's not like their opinions mattered anymore anyway.

Gulping in dread, she went over the events of the previous night in her head yet again.

It's always some little, inconsequential detail that derails an awkward family dinner into a food fight. This time, it had been table salt. An innocent request for some salt was retorted with some choice words about her physique, and it devolved from there. She never bothered to raise her voice in return, whether to avoid stooping to her mother's level or in the fruitless hope that she'd get bored and drop the argument.

The phrases "You're a failure of a daughter" and "Giving birth to you ruined me" were sadly more common than they ought to be in this household. This had been going on since she was 12 years old.

On this particular night, things had escalated further. The words rung in her mind over and over again, like a bell ominously announcing the passing of an hour: "¡Es solo una puta! I want you out of my house!"

Her mother had threatened to kick her out many times before, with only the law keeping her wims in check. She had always expected that the time would finally come as soon as she turned 18, and she, in fact, knew she'd want to leave anyway when she hit that age. Of course, that would be asking too much: it was just a couple of days before her 18th birthday, and her time had run out.

The teenager fought to hold back tears as she gave a final check of her room to ensure everything of value had been packed. Silently, she picked up her bags, sneaked down the stairs through the hallways, and exited the house, breathing a sigh of relief as she avoided having to interact with anyone.

She started walking away, feeling the pull of the manor's gravity weakening with every step. Bit by bit, despite her heavy luggage, she started to feel like a weight was being lifted off her shoulders.

She looked back at the house that she had called home for the past 18 years and stared at it for a minute as she tried to compartmentalise her mixed emotions. Just as she was about to turn around, though, the door opened, and her breath hitched.

"¡Irmana!" The figure at the door called for her. "Where are you off to?" Her older sister ran up to her, noticing her distress. "Mela, what's wrong?" She shook her head in realisation, "Don't tell me..."

Mela looked away, a tear forming in her eye. Her grip on the bags she was carrying tightened. "Nemo, I'm sorry..."

Suddenly, she was embraced in a hug. The two sisters weren't very alike. The only traits they shared on first inspection were the dye in their hairs (albeit one only has a highlight) and the freckles on their face. Regardless, Nemona knew how their family was like and how her sister had been unfairly judged all her life.

"It's okay," the older sibling choked out, suppressing her sobs as best she could. "Te amo, Mela. Te amo para siempre."

Waving a 'goodbye for now' to her sister, Mela set off. She plugged in her earphones and allowed her mind to drift with the music as her muscles worked to move her forward. A tune played on her shuffled playlist, one from an old TV show she had chanced upon during her childhood called The Littlest Hobo.