Farewell Innocence

I am not some innocent with eyes moistened by the morning dew!

I am the one who witnessed my father's shattered body fall on the good soil of our farm! I will not turn my back on the blood of his killer for fear of blushing , than I already am!

This is my right!

This is what I have been reminding myself of for the past ten years, and this is also what drives me to take this difficult path in search of justice as I like to think, or perhaps in search of blood as my dear mother said.

I know in my heart that my mother does not want a future like this for me, but she also did not try to stop me. If anything, she has helped in her own way for her own purposes. This is the way she raised us, teaching us that our decisions have consequences that no one else will bear.

And she is right in that. This may seem harsh from another person's perspective, and it is. But neither I nor my six siblings see it that way; in fact, we loved her for it and despite it.

I do not expect the path I am taking to be paved with roses and jasmine. I do not expect what I want to achieve and reach to be easy without obstacles along the way, and I do not expect to remain in my innocent self if I continue my relentless pursuit of revenge.

After riding my father's old horse in the middle of the night for a while, I had to stop and find a good place to camp because I had already reached the borders of our farm and the limits of my knowledge, as I mentioned before, I have never left our farm in my entire seventeen-year-old life. Even the map I prepared will not show its value until dawn sheds its light on our red land.

I pitched my modest tent on the edge of our farm, at the entrance of the rainforest, one of my three companions for the next few days: my father's old horse as my ride, the old lady's river as my guide, and the rainforest as a travel companion or perhaps protector.

I tied my father's horse to a young tree at the edge of the forest, something I usually do not do but circumstances precede judgments. Because I know if I don't do that, in the morning I will find my father's horse has already returned to loaf in our farm's stable, which is what it is used to doing. This type of horse works only under pressure.

After ensuring my surroundings safe, I took a deep breath and entered my modest tent, leaving the entrance open for ventilation and also I can't stand closed spaces. I lay my back on the warm ground and stared at the ceiling of my tent. There were no doubts running through my mind; all doubts had disappeared over the past ten years. All that remained was the determination to achieve justice for my father and revenge for myself.

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I reached inside my thick clothes and pulled out the silver dagger to take a look at it before sleep, something I had gotten used to doing. Perhaps to solidify my resolve, perhaps to sharpen my hatred, or maybe just to remember. But it is a habit I will not stop until I see this very dagger piercing the heart of the lying criminal, Ashe.

I placed the dagger safely on my right side, and after a deep breath, I had already fallen asleep.

****

I opened my eyes to the sound of my father's old horse neighing. Light was seeping through the fine openings of my modest tent, creating an enchanting pattern of colors to the eye in contrast to the usual golden dawn light. But none of this caught my attention because my focus was on a more important fact.

'The dream had changed.'

For the past ten years, the scene of my father's lifeless body had never left my dreams. Every day I had to witness his unjust death on the red hill of our farm with the finely crafted silver dagger in his chest cavity. I wanted to hate this dream with all my heart because it highlighted my weakness and helplessness, but I did not hate it for the same reasons.

Today, this dream changed, which makes me feel strange and a kind of incomprehensible longing. What I dreamed of today was myself swinging the same silver dagger from my father's body, but this time towards the head of his vile killer. Before I could witness the dagger penetrate her brain or any of her blood that I wish to see drained from her, the dream ended, or maybe I woke up here because of the horse's neighing. I was not very angry about this; if I learned anything in the past ten years, it would be patience. I do not expect that as soon as I leave, I will magically stumble upon my father's killer and demand her head in revenge.

No, this kind of thing takes time and patience. I have waited for a very long time; there is no harm in waiting a little longer. If anything, she will not see it coming, and this will work in my favor, I suppose.

I grabbed the silver dagger on my right side and placed it inside my clothes, safe from prying eyes. I moved my body lightly to exit the open tent. As soon as I got out, I stretched a bit to shake off the lingering drowsiness and prepared myself for a long day.

I did not know if I would experience this dream again or return to the same old dream, and as I said before, I am not angry that I did not see its end. Simply because it is not that important, dreams remain dreams in the end. What I aspire to is something more realistic than dreams, something darker than dreams. Not that dreams cannot be dark; it's just that dreams will remain dreams in the end, unlike reality.

I took a checking glance at my father's old horse and my modest camping surroundings. After making sure everything was in place and okay, I took a few calculated steps forward.

What met my gaze was a field of hibiscus bathing in the golden dawn light, creating a contrast of red and gold colors, I cannot deny the beauty of the scene. My gaze shifted to our modest house in the middle of this light paradise. Memories of my life flashed before my eyes quickly and haphazardly, but what surprised me was the memory that stuck in my mind at this farewell moment. It was not the memory of my father's death but unexpectedly the memory of the first day my mother taught me to make her famous hibiscus drink.

I still remember its bright red color and distinctive taste that combines acidity and refreshment. I found myself smiling from the beautiful and distant memory.

I took one last look at everything I could call mine: my home, my barn, my well, my farm... my family. Because I do not know when I might return, if I will return at all.

And after a long sigh, I turned my back with a heavy heart and began to prepare to enter the rainforest.