My father used to tell me of the days before the war when humanity could do great things. We could fly faster and farther than any bird, even climb the sky.

“Ashai’rai, let me tell you of the days before the war.” My father would always say, always on a dark night when it was raining and everyone else would be asleep.

I would smile in the candlelight, safely inside my small bed. I would think to myself, What wonder will Father tell me of today, about the days before the War? Will he even have a wonder to tell me? There can’t be that many wonders about the days before the War.

But my father would always have a new wonder to tell me about the days before the war, something that was great and glorious and made me wish that I had been born in what he called the Golden Days of Humanity.

Once he said to me, “Asha’rai, oh Asha’rai, they used to have competitions which were not life-and-death but rather just for fun. Even the children could participate in them. Sometimes they would have great tournaments where the victors would get only a title. But that title was valued in their eyes.”

“But Father,” I would say, “What was the point of those competitions if not to live another day?”

“Ah, Asha’rai,” he said, and I thought I saw him smiling in the candlelight, “You must understand that the point of these competitions was not to live, but to have fun, and to gain an experience. You see, only in the adult competitions would they gain something of value. The reason is humanity was so prosperous that the people who competed in the competitions just did not need more food. They only wanted more, they did not need much more. There is a difference and in the Golden Age of Humanity, even just before the war, food was provided to the poor in wealthy countries and most could get food with their own money even if they did not live in such a country.”

I nodded with wonder clear in my eyes. At the time, I had a million questions about how they did it but I kept silent, for I wanted to hear more about this world that I could’ve been born in. At the age of seven, I was wishing with all of my heart that I had been born in the Golden Age. It did not happen, but I still did wish with all of my heart.

At the age of ten, my mother started telling me stories of the war that she had heard from her father before her. My mother was a widow of two husbands and her third, my father, was now helping her, however much my mother might resent him and say that he was not of ‘good stock,’ whatever that was.

I lived in a small tribe of about a thousand people. We were roving nomads who did not ever stay in one place, however much I wished we did.

My father was the lowest of the low when it came to tribesmen. He hardly ever caught anything in his traps. Some that he was cursed by God himself. But was never angry at this, at least not around me. He was a great man, a man grateful for what he had, even if what he had was so little. Some said that it was a miracle that he had gotten a woman to accept him. I always thought that such a woman as her was not worth it at all.

See, my mother was never kind to my father, not only saying that he was not of ‘good stock’ but also saying that he was ‘not a suitable man for her,’ and that he was a ‘curse.’ It always gave me a reason to want to punch her but my father always held me back, saying that I should obey my mother as I obeyed him as my mother had birthed me and God said to obey my mother. And I did so, if only grudgingly.

When my mother came to live with my father, for a few weeks she would sleep with him, never sneaking out, never doing anything strange. But soon after, as I was going out to pee, I saw her sneak out of our straw hut and when I heard her return (I was in my bed), she was laughing and when I opened my eyes just a little bit, I saw that she was smiling deviously.

But the days of my childhood were mostly filled with my father, as my mother was mostly absent unless she was telling me stories about the past. Those were about the only time that I saw her be kind to my father. She told me stories about the war and they were so riveting that I almost forgave her for being mean to my father. She seemed to care about me, and she warned that I should not wish that I was born in what she called the Golden Century, as that century had ended in a war in which billions had died. Billions. That was a number of people unknown to me. How could there have been billions of people in the world? Wouldn’t they have made it so cramped that it would not have been pleasurable to live in?

My mother smiled when she heard that. My mother was a beautiful woman, with brown hair that was always tied up in a ponytail and blue eyes as well as a face that she somehow always was able to keep clean.

She said, “But the world was not pleasurable to live in. There was famine. There was poverty. It was better than this world, yes, but only because more people were fed. You see, there were rich countries like America and Britain, but there were also poor countries like Russia and Upper Korea. In these countries, the leaders hoarded all of the wealth, and…”

She trailed off when she saw me glaring up at her from my bed.

“What?” She asked. “Just because it was the Golden Century did not mean that all of humanity’s problems were solved.”

“Maybe not all,” I conceded, “But most must have been solved.”

She sighed. “It is only called the Golden Century because of what humanity was able to accomplish, not the standard of living that they enjoyed.”

“No, that’s not the reason,” I said, still glaring up at her. “Humanity lived far better in those times, father said so. He is the most learned man of the tribe!”

She sighed again. “Your father does not always tell the truth.”

“He does!” I nearly yelled.

She stood up. “You do not talk to your mother like that, child. You will talk to me with respect.”

“You do not talk to father with respect, so why should I talk to you with respect?” I asked hotly.

“That is different. Now you will shut up about what I do and do not do before I spank you. What I do and do not do is really none of your business.”

“No, I—” I started, but she flipped me around with surprisingly strong hands and started to spank me.

After that, she never told me another story. When I asked her later about it, she said that I ‘wasn’t worth her time.’

Some nights later, I saw my mother arguing with my father. For some reason, she looked terribly haggard and almost…injured. But she was still talking in her normal voice, saying, “…But it is necessary for the continuation of the human race; she is not good enough…”

“No,” My father said firmly, “She is enough, and besides you have borne six other children with your other two now-deceased husbands. You do not need another husband.”

“Then I will—” She stopped when she saw me peeking. “Out! Out, child, out!”

She ran over to me, making a shooing motion at me, and I ran for my life.

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That was the last time that I saw my mother in a long time. After that, my father raised me alone, and the other tribesmen whispered more of a curse from God himself. They said that he would never be with a woman again. They even said the same thing that my mother had said, that he was not of ‘good stock.’ I was starting to really hate those two words, even if I did not know what they meant.

The weeks went by, and I found that I had a knack for hunting because I had a great knack for the bow. I was even able to bring down a deer first try. But that only made the other tribesmen whisper that it was only more proof that my father was cursed so much so that even the children that he fathered would be better than him at everything that he tried.

I, of course, didn’t believe that for a second. I once said to the men that the only reason I brought down the deer first try was because of the fact that I was lucky. It was nothing else, really, even my father admitted it.

But the men only laughed and said, “You sweet child of the Golden Days.”

I walked away in embarrassment.

But I was not deterred. However, I realized that the only way to get back at them was to fake my being bad at hunting in public. That was bad…but if I could help my father and then say that it was him…ah, yes, that would be right. But would he go along with it?

It turned out that he wouldn’t. In fact, when I tried to lie to the others that he had brought down a boar by himself, he only scolded me and said to the men that I was lying. After that, they only snickered, saying that I was trying to protect my father’s name because he was cursed. That was exactly what I was trying to do, even if I wasn’t doing it for that reason. Or at least, that was what I liked to tell myself.

Throughout the next few weeks, I tried to help my father in the hunting aspect, but he rejected my help, saying that it was not needed and that he had to go his own way, and in the end, he could not be persuaded otherwise.

Part of me thought that he rejected my help because I was so young and he thought that it would not be honorable to accept my help because I was so young and I was a girl.

But my father was nicer than that; he was the nicest one in the whole tribe, except for maybe Shantu Triamen, who told me stories not only about the Golden Days (that was what most of the tribesmen called them instead of the Golden Age, I had realized) but about the great leaders of the tribe. He said that I might be the first female leader of the tribe, as the tribe was always led by great people. Usually, those great people had skill in hunting. Whenever I heard him say that, I brightened up and smiled, hopeful for the future.

The reason why I thought that he might be nicer than my father was only because he said, “This world is not a world for women, Asha’rai. The past world was for because they were fairer, but not this one.”

Not that I was saying that the shantu was a better man than my father because that certainly wasn’t true. There were many ingredients that made up a good man, and being nice was an ingredient, but not the ingredient.

Well, it only gave me cause to want to prove him wrong, even though I eventually realized that he was not trying to be mean; he was trying to tell the truth. So maybe my father was nicer after all.

One day, when I was lying in bed after a hunt, I thought up a plan to prove my father’s blessings. I would say that it was only because of him that I was able to hunt so well, for he had taught me. It was simple, yet it was so brilliant that I wondered why I had not thought of it before.

But when I tried this plan, it did not work. One of the men, a man named Erian’ifa, simply laughed and told me, “It is obvious you have talent, Asha’rai, but we all know that one cannot teach talent. It is born within the person.”

I walked away, embarrassed at myself for not seeing the huge, gaping, flaw, in the plan that I should’ve known all along. Maybe that was why I hadn’t thought of it beforehand.

I set myself on a mission after this, creating other plans on how my father might prove that he was not cursed, but all of them either were too risky to attempt, or they failed.

Eventually, my father said to me, “Asha’rai, you can stop trying to prove my normality. I am deeply touched by it, but you have to stop. I am simply not worth it.”

“But father,” I said, “You aren’t cursed—you can’t—”

“I am cursed.” He said, “It is only honorable for me to accept it, and for you to let me be.”

“Father—”

“No,” He said firmly, “Stop doing this. I am cursed, and it is honorable for you to accept it, too. Now go to bed. You need your sleep for tomorrow.”

I went to bed as he told me, but I did not go to sleep for quite a while. Instead, I lay awake, thinking about all of the stories that he had told me, and how he would’ve been better off if he’d lived in the Golden Age of Humanity. No one would have judged him that way, and he could’ve just found something that was easier for him to do, and he would’ve been revered for doing it well.

But thoughts like those only reminded me that I was not living in the Golden Age and that things were much less fair in this age. Ultimately, I decided that if he did not want my help, then I shouldn’t be helping him. It was a hard decision to make, as I deeply wanted my father to be thought of in good light, but further attempts might only prove the curse anyway.

I was only fifteen.

Tomorrow was a big day; it was the day of the Great Hunt. It was said that an earlier version of this tribe had slew forty boars on this day and on that day, the tribe had vowed that one day, that same day of the year, they would kill more in one day. It hadn’t happened yet, and my father was supposed to be part of the hunt, but the chief had told me that I would be going instead of my father. He thought that I had real talent, and my father wanted it anyway.

Fine, I thought, If he wants me to do it, I will oblige.

We set off at dusk and on the way there, one of the tribesmen said that I should feel blessed, as they rarely let women go along with them on this hunt.

But I could not feel blessed. I only felt cursed. Whatever I did, it would only prove my father’s curse. In fact, I felt that I had been trapped because of that.

But I had decided that I would give my best effort, for my father, for even if that did prove the curse, it would be what he wanted.

As we rode out into the deep forest, like I had so many times, I looked back for my father. But he was nowhere to be seen.

The sun shone straight through the leaves and branches of the trees and lit up the forest. The trees looked beautiful today, and it seemed to be a day that would go down in history as a great day.

Some of the men laughed, some of them even trying to make jokes with me, all harmless, but I stayed silent. I just did not feel like joking at this time, especially when I did not have a good feeling about this.

Once the hunt began, it began. All of my other feelings about being trapped subsided as I thought only about the hunt. We had trouble with the first one, as it was a particularly strong boar, but after that, it was easier. I even killed one myself. Well, it was easy until the last one, which was the twenty-fifth.

At first, the boar looked easy. I was able to shoot it in the eye. I felt that this would be another easy kill, as it was down on the ground. I grabbed my spear but the others rode forward.

“This is not your kill, Asha’rai,” One of them, a man named Ashin’ah, said, “Let us take care of it.”

I decided to wait and let them kill the animal. After all, I had brought honor to myself by killing just one. That was what most of the adults did, not usually a child of fifteen, much less a girl.

But that was when the boar started to kick. It threw tribesmen in the air like they were nothing at all. It was at that time that I realized that it was no ordinary boar, but it was one out of my father’s stories, the ones that he said had been given horrible mutations by the war. It was way too big for a normal boar and it was too strong. Maybe that was why they had commanded me to not try to kill this boar. In fact, the men looked like ants compared to it.

At once I had a deep sinking feeling that this would be the last time that I saw some of them. Then, I heard a rumbling from behind me.

I turned around to face the oncoming onslaught of an equally giant sow.

I started to step aside, but it was at that time that I realized that however I might not like these people, they deserved a chance to live. Besides, if I saved them, they might talk differently about me and my father. I had already slain a full-grown boar, this could not be too hard.

In the end, I did not step aside. Instead, I charged the sow, jumped, and threw my spear right into its left eye.

Instantly, the sow let forth a great cry, a cry the likes of which I had never heard before. It stunned me for a moment, and at that moment, the sow charged me, but I leaped aside at the last second. Then, I ran and jumped with everything that I had left in me.

I took out the spear from the sow’s eye and jumped down. I was using everything that my father had taught me and everything that I had learned myself.

I let forth a greater cry and charged the sow, trying to make it think that I was going to stick it in the other eye, but at the last second, I rolled and plunged the spear right into the sow’s heart.

Immediately, the creature let forth a cry far worse than the last. But this time I was ready. I rolled aside as it fell, letting my spear be crushed.

But the fighting was not done. The men were still fighting the boar and doing badly. Most of them were either dead or badly injured.

I looked at the boar and when I saw an opening and I took it, snatching another man’s spear as I ran and plunged it into the boar’s backside.

Immediately, the boar turned, so fast that I was not able to let go of the spear in time. I flew across the forest a little ways. I landed hard on the ground, and as the world started to go black, I heard the men let forth a cry.

I smile and as the world went black I thought, I saved them.