The Adventure of Shurui and Yuki

Chapter Two

The picture above show what Shurui look like. As I stated in the introduction of the book  Shurui is the representation of Shaquan Harry. Yuki and Shurui are us (Joel and Shaquan) in character form. Do enjoy😄

[Damn it. What the hell is he…….can he really be here?........Shurui…]

My family was forced into slavery. The duke of some land came to our village in search of slaves. And my entire family, even relatives were some of the people that were chosen. Could they have refused? Sure they could. But would they defy a man of authority with the weapons to beat or even kill us? Definitely not.

Before they arrived, I was hidden away. If my mother was going to leave, she was gonna make sure I was at least safe from the dreadful life of a slave. Was I pleased with the decision of my mom hiding me in a box behind the building two streets away from them? I don’t know. I was only seven years old. I didn’t understand what was happening and why my mom was crying as she left me.

I used to think, why is mom crying? Parents aren’t supposed to cry. Where is she going? Why is she leaving me in a box? Was I that too much responsibility, a burden only to throw away when it gets too heavy? What was I to her? A couple years passed and I knew that I was her son she was protecting. I was the youngest brother of three and the son of a good, providing father.

I thought she would come back for me. I thought if not now, maybe in the next minute, then the next minute again, and again, and again…until I fell asleep in the box. Sleeping was furthest from my mind so I was awake for quite a while, but as
all humans, you need sleep.

I felt the sun's raise pierce through my eyelids. As they opened slowly, there it was trying to blind me. My mother hadn’t return. So what was I supposed to do? I thought. Do I come out and look for her or wait another night? Do I ask someone if they saw her? Should I visit the authorities? My brain was baffled at the situation of abandonment. I couldn’t stay here so, I got out and began walking. I didn’t know where to begin, but I knew I had to.

Two hours had passed, I had been walking for 2 hours around the Village. Zenchi Village. The highest of them all. All being eight- one others. After searching most streets, in the bars, the hotels, every nook and cranny, even rapping on people’s
doors and asking them if they knew where my mother was. No progress, not a single person knew who she was or where she was.

I finally decided to give up.
The thought of being abandoned, left to fed and survive on my own in the streets without anyone by my side frightened me. I was only seven years of age and I had to do all of this alone? Not even a friend or a cousin?

As these thoughts sank intothe soil of my soul, my confidence in the flower of love, care and family, wilted
completely. And in exchange, a flower of woe and hollowness blossomed. That particular flower was taken care of perfectly to bloom gorgeously. Now that everything was planted and bloomed, I broke down.

Vengeance, depression, hatred, all the words to describe a vendetta was sewn into my head. My tears flowed like a River with rocks. It ran then paused then ran again then paused.
Finally, there goes my knees, there goes my hands, there goes my elbows.

Such a heavy load to bare it rolled me into a ball suffering under the weight of something heavy. So heavy the ball couldn’t move anymore. It stayed still, thinking and fearing all the worse case scenarios. Was this it for me? At the age of seven?

“Why are you crying?”

I shifted my head just a bit, so I can see the shape of the figure. The slim, darkly toned figure seemed to be a boy. I moved a bit more and saw his caramel brown hair and multi coloured eyes. I sniffled profusely and loudly. The boy lowered his hand to pick me up and just when he did, I sneezed gooey, icky snot and mucus
on his palms.