Short-ish Stories

An Ifrit's Lament

WARNING: implied sexual assault, mention of depression, mention of attempted suicide

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For a long time, I thought that things would 'get better'. My mother's words of 'hope for the future' and 'fate has a plan' would echo in my head in even the darkest of times. However, I quickly learned that she was lying. I'm not sure when the realization dawned on me. Maybe it was the fight I watched from the staircase, the second I saw the glint of a knife. Maybe it was the stranger in the corner, watching as she was carted away, watching as she was sentenced to death. Maybe it was years later, when I first found my affinity for herbal sensations and would burn sage leaves on the orphanage roof, letting the smoke fill my lungs and reflecting on what had happened once everyone else was asleep. I may never know.

Despite that, I knew that I had to push on. I had come this far and would not give up. That mindset was short-lived. The next day, some of the children were laughing, pointing, laughing while the rest were running away in fear. Rumors were whispered about the little girl with insane parents, parents that were watching from the heavens in sorrow. I had no friends, no family, no one. I fell into a deep depression, unwilling to go anywhere besides my bed and the roof. I did not eat. I did not drink. I did not care, for I had no reason to care. My life became little more than a whisper, a void of shadow. I had lost all sense of hope and was simply stuck in a torturous limbo, awaiting my imminent demise.

The caretakers did not help. Strict rules, harsh words, and even harsher punishments. However you could not see that unless you took a closer look. The wards seem kind until you see the whips tucked under their robes. The children seem happy until you see the despair in their eyes. Many of them tried to leave, but that was difficult. You had to be fast. Which most kids were not. And those who stayed often ended up like the wards. Cold. Heartless. Just as ruthless. I was a common victim of their aggression, both of the corrupt children and of the corrupt wards. They often held me down, pulling at my robes, running their hands over my body, baring my back and lashing out with their tongues of leather, all while laughing at my cries. I still remember the fear. I still remember the pain. I still have the scars to prove it.

I tried to end the torment twice. Once with a rope, once with a pool. The first time, I was found and 'saved' by a ward, the second time by another orphan. Even before outside help had stepped in, something had always stopped me. Stopped me from fading into the darkness, stopped me from choking it my final breath. I was never sure what it was or why it wanted me to survive. I was suffering during that time. Praying for death, but never being enveloped in the sweet release of its arms. I was trapped in sorrow, drowning in despair, unable to find a light. This sorrow never lifted from my shoulders. It would not leave for many years to come.

One day, there was a light. A glimmer of hope. The gates of the orphanage had never opened in my 40 years spent there. But on that day, they were opening for the first time. I had all of my belongings on me at all times, I had been waiting for an opportunity like this one. It had never came. Until today. I took my opportunity. I ran. I ran away from the torment and the howling wards. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. I ran as if my life depended on it. I ran until I could not run anymore. Away from the sadness, away from despair, away from the hell I had lived in for most of my life. I ran. I created a fake I.D. I entered an academy. I met the sister I never had. The glimmer of hope that had sparked that day consumed me. I was free. Oh, how I wish that glimmer had stayed longer. How I needed it again, only a few years later...

Although the orphanage was the most difficult time in my already difficult life, I now understand a part of it I had never thought of at the time. We may all attempt to lose ourselves, but we will never succeed. All of our souls will rest at ease eventually, but as we live, they will continue to burn with the a flaming passion for life. And that is the bittersweet truth about us. There is no release until fate decides that it is time for us to sleep. For good.