Tainted Teardrops [Book no.1- Dhatins of 3030 Indonesia] ✔

13 | stolen my heart

~ Amity's POV, present~

After having escaped from the RVOB as many called it, I tried to search out for the others in the plains. Because of the consistent beatings, I received from the men at the RVOB, my shrunken back seemed frailer than ever before. The grey, moldy skin that us dhatins of Blight had was enduring, the color of red on my spine was more apparent from the whiplash. Such a whiplash has done to me: the bones that used to be in the inside of my body now ripped out of my skin and were creeping out of the regular bone connection. This caused me a pain in my back, for when I said that it hurt like hell it fucking did.

"YAIIIIII!!! AR-RGHHH" I screamed like hell and this screaming was what us Blights resulted in doing: when encountering mortifying pain.

Fucking hell of pain it was.

I twisted my head backward to lick the pain away on my moldy, grey back. Feeling a CRE-EAK! In my neck was enduringly painless for me. I was used to my head twisting backward on itself.

People called us scary, but we called the people scary. These people, beings that I was a long, long time ago, were scary as they were murderers. Remembering that time was a brutal time to think. Brutal because I remembered their scornful faces. Faces that had the nerve to take that torch and set the huts on fire. The fire, as I remembered it, was burning crispy dhatins like our kind, the Blights. The humans would've then chuckle to themselves of their food getting fried like pork skins.

Such cannibals they were.

They, with their faces oiled and their blue and red paint, streaked on their faces. They looked like they were reverting back to the apes they once were. "heehhhhh" us Blights grinned to ourselves. This was the curse that the Prime dhatin of the Berserker Insurgency inflicted upon them fucking bastards.

While they had all the glory in the world that could ever be thought of, we had their children, their bloody hands that would fall off past midnight and walk their way into our ten-foot-long bloodthirsty: tongues.

Oh, our tongues. This was our asset. Emerging ten feet from our throats, they had the ability to wrap the head of a human, until...Its head would plop, plop out down to the ground.

It was just a game of pop goes the weasel, after all. 

Ever since that day, four years ago, my human senses could no longer prevent me from morphing into a dhatin of Blight, I was never the same.

Where I once sought happiness, kindness, and love, now the only word from the human language that ever ran through my shrunken brain is hatred.

Hatred. To be hated. To hate.

Feeling hated was one thing, and to be hated upon was another. I couldn't even feel perturbed anymore. No, I couldn't even feel anymore. What is the point of being perturbed when there is nothing to be anxious about? I don't even know what it means when I see a family have picnics in the forest and I feel a mix of sorry and envy for them. To tell you the truth, even though the Prime Dhatin himself said that I was turned into a dhatin of Blight four years ago, it perhaps was eight years ago... Dhatin years are twice as long as human years. So, how old was I?

Oh, that doesn't even matter anymore.

Nothing ever mattered to me anymore. Dejection was common for us dhatins. Especially dhatins of Blight. We were never the same as we were before, so what is the point of lingering on the past like sick, wounded animals? Beasts we are, the villagers call our kind monsters for a reason.