Feathers Of The Phoenix

Chapter 01: Misfortune

When you live in the middle of Arabia, you always need to make sure you're dressed appropriately for the outside world. You don't want to boil and you also don't want to melt in the unbearable heat. Of course, during the summer, sometimes it's too hot to even leave your house.

Asia dreaded these summers as they allowed her father to be close to her. He was a horrid, dirty old man who knew only to think with his genitalia. Asia's childhood consisted of sexual abuse and trauma that she would never lose. She would be beaten, bent and strangled. Nobody could stop him. Asia was merely a six-year-old girl with no other family to run to and not even a speck of understanding that what her father was doing was wrong.

During these unavoidable times, Asia would spend most of her days hiding under tables and in cupboards; suffocating herself under her bed sheets to escape the pain she had endured over the years. Of course, he would always find her. This was the cycle her life had to go through. Running. Hiding. Afraid.

Then one day, only a few years later, Asia was going through this repetitive abuse. Although it didn't last as long as it usually would. Her father would clutch onto her throat, lifting her off her feet and slamming her against the wall. Sometimes he would cry, sometimes he would laugh. It was all the same to her. Eventually, when he was done with her, he threw her onto the ground and simply walked away as if nothing happened. Asia would weep in her place, praying for a better existence than this; begging for answers as to what she had done to deserve her undeniable fate.

The sound of the front door being unlocked echoed through the empty house. Asia's sobbing was then the only thing that was heard. She was alone, her father was likely going to the local again to get hammered; returning home later that night only for the cycle to repeat.

So she waited. There was nothing else she could do. Her tears smacked against her bruises and burns scattered over her bare body. She knew no other life than this. It wasn't fair, but she waited.

She stalled for hours; she waited for the sound of the door's lock being destroyed as it would crash open, revealing her drunk father falling all over the place.

But nothing happened. Regardless, she waited. He always came back for her, even if she didn't want him to.

She waited, waited... and waited some more. This waiting lasted throughout the entire night.

Asia was tired, though she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep with the fear of her father coming home. She rose up, holding at the walls for security as she fought her way to her feet. Her legs trembled as she gently pulled her way around the house.

It was exactly as her father had left it. Beer bottles scattered all over the rugged, dirty brown carpet as well as along the shredded leather couch she had been tormented on just days before. The usual cracked photographs of old family members she couldn't quite make out. The majority of the photos were ripped and destroyed, frame and all. The torn and withered wallpaper with the pale yellow flowers, the mangled and creaky floorboards that were tearing through the carpet.

He hadn't come back. Although this was good news, she couldn't help but be concerned. Although he was an awful man, he was still the only person she had left in this cruel, unforgiving world. She wished she could maybe fly away from it all like a bird, careless and free. The exact opposite of her.

Asia threw open a window. The unfamiliar flaming breeze came through into the deserted house. She proceeded to close the window, locking it as she made her way back to her bedroom.

The room was covered in dry blood and ashes. The bed was untidy and falling apart, alongside all of the old stuffed animals that were handed down to her from her deceased cousins. The curtains were taped together closed, ensuring no outside interaction. They were likely the only thing in this house still stable. Her wardrobe was located on the other side of the room. One of the doors was hanging off, the wood around the entire enclosure had scratches and marks all over it. Screws were falling out and the bar on the inside was bent and twisted.

Asia made her way over to the queer, unsettling wardrobe.

She placed her hand on the hanging door, gently pulling it open as it creaked unnervingly. Behind the doors were multiple items of clothing of the same nature. Black cloaks and scarves, most of her clothing was black. This was likely to be certain if Asia had somehow escaped this hell, she wouldn't last a second outside. She would burn alive, just as the Phoenix had. Though in this situation, the nest would stay intact and she likely wouldn't live longer than 15 years in this state.

Asia had gone through this routine for as long as she could remember, dreading the day her father would return year after year. With every day, she had hope that maybe he had abandoned her, though also dreaded the thought of being alone in this hellish existence.

When suddenly a few months later, a knock at the door. There was only one person that it could've been, but...

It wasn't Asia's father. He'd never knocked a day in his life.

Then, another knock. Then another. Then another.

Asia gently closed her closet, grabbing hold of her dressing gown. She'd fiddled with her hair and tightened her gown securely around her as she'd left her room and walked up to the front door. She'd looked through the glass.

Two grown adults, it seemed. Maybe they were friends of Asia's father? She unlocked the door. After gently pulling it towards her, she had a better look at the two odd figures before her.

One, a scrawny and tall man with a goatee beard and dark tanned skin. He had extremely bushy eyebrows and slicked black hair. He was wearing white robes and was holding a suitcase. The other, a short and chubby old man with messy grey hair and wrinkles all over his face. He was holding a clipboard and a pen. They were definitely an odd duo.

Asia was now twelve years old. Although she had cared for herself for so long, she had developed trust issues and therefore were disgusted at the sight alone of the men. Suddenly, the small plump man spoke up.

"Good afternoon, young lady. Are your parents home?"

No response.

The two men looked at the girl in confusion. By this point, they'd looked closer at the peculiar girl. Asia's hair was caked in dust and gravel; her legs and arms were cut vertically and diagonally all over. Her gown was torn and slim, presenting her skinny, starved body. Her feet were trembling and bruised all over from the mangled floorboards throughout the house. She truly was in a state.

The taller man placed his foot inside the house, catching Asia off guard. She jumped backward in surprise as the two men invited themselves in. The smaller man was licking the tip of his pen as the taller man looked around in awe.

"Do you live alone?" The taller man asked, glancing down at Asia.

No response.

The man scratched his head and then proceeded to leave the kitchen and investigate the house. It looked like a haunted murder scene. Throughout the years, Asia would kick and cry and rip at everything around her from the trauma that wouldn't go away. The curtains were destroyed and hanging from the walls. The floorboards were still creaky though now stained with the blood of an innocent, wasted soul. The dining table had withered away and was scratched all over with a thick, deep burning scar dividing it in half. The only light the house had was from the windows themselves. Broken bulbs and lamps laid across the floor, glass shards everywhere. Asia had stepped in this mess far more than once and didn't even notice anymore.

"This is the house of Fai Mwanzo... Correct?" Stated the shorter man, chewing at his pen yet again.

Fai Mwanzo was the name of Asia's father. Still, she kept silent and looked to the ground.

(THIS CHAPTER WILL STILL BE CONTINUED)