Let Me Call You Mine

Untitled Part 1

If there's something this messed up and sad excuse of a world has taught me is that you are your own saviour. I learned that fact with my back on the cold, concrete floor and with a knife pointed at my head. At the age of 9, it was something relatively traumatising but as I grew older, I can see that memory as something I could consider as a gift.

Pulling my hood further down my face, I leaned against the wall as I watch men walk in the streets in organised lines as people gathered around. 

Violence isn't a foreign thing in this country, in this world and with the way those men are currently lining up, filling the streets, I can already tell that the day won't end without any blood shed.

I feel my blood boil at the thought of these men and the people on top of the hierarchy having their way with these people again. The urge to speak out, punch and kill them all is still as prominent as the day I joined the resistance but then again, that won't do me any good.

Maybe ease me from this painful and shitty excuse of a life but that's a thought for another day.

"I thought you were going to be a mere bystander" A voice says beside me and I don't need to look up to know it's Cal.

"I am" I said without taking my eyes off the scene. He says nothing for a while, shuffling closer till he's leaning against the wall as well, close enough to touch my shoulder.

"Your hands are clenched" He notes, making me suddenly aware of how hard I was clenching my fists. Immediately, I loosed them up because it's almost always pointless to get worked up over matters like these since it won't change the fact that status and money are your ticket to a good life.

Pushing myself off the wall, I took one last glance at the scene, at the faces of people who some will probably get killed or taken away before leaving, Cal hot on my trail.

We're both quiet for awhile until we reached my studio, a relatively decent-sized room at the far end of the street, tucked in an alleyway that I've come to call home.

"You can't keep turning a blind eye on these things Zari" Was what he immediately says after closing the door. 

Choosing to ignore him, I removed my hood and grabbed the small bucket sitting on top one of the tables.

It's not that I'm turning a blind eye on the situation, he's over assessing things. It's just the fact that we're badly outnumbered, the resistance, both in terms of money, connection, and people. The only way to tip the scales of this hierarchy into a somewhat more balanced equation is getting rid of the three people that makes it uneven in the first place.

If you think it's easy, considering they're only three, let me spoil it. 

It's not.

Aside the fact that these people have hundreds, if not thousands of men working under them, they basically control everything going around in this country.

The last time the resistance tried to fight back, we were almost wiped out. I still have the goddamn scar on my hip to remind me of that pleasant day.

"Zari" He begins making me drop the bucket intentionally hard on the wooden surface.

"I'm not turning a blind eye on this" I finally said.

I managed to survive that day, got this decent studio and have a business of doing and selling pottery. My life is as stable as I can make it in this world and as selfish as it sounds; I'm fucking content with it.

"Is watching from the side not turning a blind eye?" He snaps. I glared at him.

"I'm one of the people that provides financial aid to the resistance you fucking prick" I snapped back, throwing a chuck of clay at him.