The Orphan

All I remember is being alone in an overgrown forest waiting for my parents to come back, day after day, for months on end. After nearly 10 years, I gave up hope of ever seeing them or anyone else ever again. And, that was the day a girl as tall as the trees and the two boys who always were in a fight or about to start one and traveled with her found me. Wll, more along the lines of they found my house and I found them in it.

The only reason I know that they were there was because of all the noise that they were making. The two boys were having an argument about whether someone lived in my house or not. They were making some of the strangest points–signs of natural decay but ashes of a recent fire, and materials for mending clothes but long-term habitation of vermin. To alert them of my presence, after listening to them bicker and watching their very different forms move about, I crunched on some very old leaves that fell last autumn and kick some small rocks about before entering the only door.

I swung the door open and waited for them to react. They froze and stared at me as I  slowly moved inside and shut the door. The girl who had yet to say much by this point, watched me with her large, round amethyst eyes, taking me in before she enacted one of the plans she must have been conjuring up at that very moment. One of the boys, the shorter of the two, with a fierce look in his eyes, the eyes of a mother bear ready to protect her young from even the slightest of threats. The other boy, the taller one, watched me with the faintest of grins on his face as if he were watching to see what an animal would do in its own home under very obvious supervision. It was the most awkward game of chicken in my life.

The short one spoke first, “Vivetu heer?” He waited as I glanced between the three of them, trying to find the meaning of his words on their faces. He asked again, “Vivetu heer?” with a little more agitation and a little less patience. Picking up on some cue that I did not, the girl walked toward the smaller boy and gently draped her long, thin fingers on his shoulder and eased some of the tension that was growing visibly in his shoulders. He took a few steps back, glaring the whole time.

Now with most of my attention on the firl, she gestured around the house and gently asked, “Vivetu,” pointing to me, “heer?” I slightly shook my head and said, “Po,” in the affirmative. With growing confusion, she gestured to me and then around us asking, “Vivetu heer?” To which I responded, “Po,” with a shake of my head. And to make sure they understood my answer, I went to the mended clothes, picked them up, and said, “Meena,” to the bed in the corner and said “Meena,” to the firewood in a differe corner, “Meena,” and with a large, encompassing sweep of my arms, “Meena!”

“Jha, jha, jha. Aetu, aetu tostos,” the girl said. Since we clearly didn’t speak the same language, we were reduced to this terribly trivial form of communication. She placed a hand on her chest and said, “Ataru. Mo ylame Ataru.” Pointing to the short, glowering boy, Ataru said, “Qirmi,” and pointing at the other, she said, “Anili.”

“Meena ima yed Malvern,” laying a hand on my chest.

“Meena imayet Melvern? Yo ylatu Meena imayet Melvern?”

“Sho,” nodding my head rapidly, “Malvern” with long, drawn out syllables to make sure she could understand me.

“Jha, jha, jha. Malvern. To ylatu Malvern.”

“Po! Malvern yed meena ima.”

Instead of letting this go on all night, I pretended to start a fire with the firewood and whatever it was that looked like it was only getting stiffer by the second, as a peace offering and welcome into my house, even though they had let themselves in. They eventually relented and allowed me to cook for them. And, as they ate, they offered me some and restarted that dreadful game. If I understood correctly, Ataru is either the tallest or the eldest, but by the looks of it both. Qirmi and Anili are the same somehow, but Qirmi was first. It was about this time that Anili started asking all the gesticulated questions as well as when all the yawns began. I allowed them to stay the night. And in the morning, I left with them on whatever adventure or trouble they were going to get into, because I would rather be with them and in danger than alone one more day, especially after knowing that there are others here.

#Fantasy #Fiction #FictionWriting #CharacterArchetype #Archetype #Orphan