Mostly Human

Amana The Bull Ⅰ

Her head hurt. It was pounding. Her fear was beating against the front of her skull as a way to let her know that she hadn't escaped yet. Even if she had escaped the Bovi province,, where would she go? She had no friends, no family. Would she end up like the outcasts on the streets? The ones she ran by now were looking up at her with eyes that were widening with the first surprise they'd had in years. These people would watch her pass and then go back to their sad lives, the excitement gone and hopelessness settling back in.

That's all she could really see at the moment, their eyes. The snapshot of that hopeless look had been attached to her frontal lobe and everything else became blurry. She didn't want to end up like that, she should go back, beg for forgiveness she should grovel and just work at that stupid place for the rest of her life and — and what was that terrible ringing. She looked around frantically, unable to make out her surroundings, all she could see were those sad eyes. Those eyes that had lost any resemblance of life long ago and were now the embodiment of acceptance. The people that those eyes belonged to would be happy to lay down and die. Not her, not Amana. She would fight and live and —

She felt a sharp tug on her ring. A metallic scent filled her nose where her piercing had been yanked down by a milky white hand. Her eyes traveled down the hand, to an elbow, a bicep, to shoulders where strands of long alabaster hair sat, and finally an almost paper white face. Icy blue eyes gazed up at Amana with a look of such intense hatred she thought she might turn to stone. Be frozen forever on the sidewalk under the gaze of this angry woman with her pointer finger hooked in her septum.

The woman flicked a forked tongue in Amana's face.

"Watch where you're going! You may not care about these people, but they would appreciate it if you wouldn't step on them or their livelihood," She hissed, pulling Amana's face so close that she could see the individual strands of white hair.

"Get your finger out of my ring snake, I've got somewhere to be," Amana had regained her confidence, she was no longer a frightened animal, and she would not take being assaulted lightly. Especially not when she was being assaulted by a woman so much lower than she was, in every sense of the word.

The woman complied, using her newly freed hand to brush away the strands of curly hair that had been plastered to Amana's face by the sweat and tears of her mad dash. Her look of hatred had been replaced by an apologetic grin. The woman did not seem to be unnerved by Amana's angry disposition and stood on her tiptoes to whisper in her ear, "Of course Miss, if you stay in Elswher much longer you might catch something."

Amana started to offer a rebuttal, but the woman had already left to tend to an angry street vendor. Feeling unnerved to say the least Amana continued searching for a place to go. Remaining in the Elswher slums was out of the question. Amana had a rough life, but that was the only place she was scared to end up. Nothing terrified her more than the quiet resignation of the poor.

She continued walking, earning some stupefied gawks of spoiled rich, curious to see what life in Elswher was like. Curious to find out just how good they had it, and dangle it above everyone else. Being rich in this society did not just mean monetary wealth. The upper class was not something that you could earn, you had to be born that way, an ingenious way to snuff out hopes of the lower classes. Everyone in the lower classes were trapped in their rigid caste, one job, one look, no pay. No one had hope anymore. No one except for Amana. Whether it was hope or some sort of blind desire for something better, it all seemed lost on the others. The rich were the only ones who were happy, but everyone else appeared to be content in their unhappiness.

This thought reintroduced to her the terror from her earlier encounters, but she kept up her journey through the streets, her eyes darting from left to right, unfocused. It was as if her eyes were living things who were frightened and seeking solace in the far corners of their sockets. Continuing on with her wavering steps, she caught the shoulder of a passing salesman and was spun around on her heels. She staggered, and began to fall backwards. She braced herself for the impact of the ground, for the rough concrete to scrape her shoulder blades, but it never came. She was suspended a few feet off the ground. She looked down at the concrete that had been narrowly avoided, then back up at the — were there three male faces looking down at her, or was she just dizzy?