The Mafia's Gem

No, I am not a victim. No, I am not in danger, I think. And no, I do not wish anyone dead.  Words that would all become lies once I realised what they meant. I would like to say that I am normal, but I have an evil mother, father, and siblings. I am hated by the whole family; they did wish me dead, but that is okay. I have suffered so much abuse that, to me, it was nothing odd. This is not a tale that requires tears upon reading it. Nor is it a tale that seeks sympathy from any midnight-stranded reader. Introductions are also not necessary, as I do not wish to take up too much of your time, Mr. A. 

Chapter 1: I do not believe in fairy tales.  

My grandmother once whispered to me with outmost spite that even a useless woman is useful for something. In her outbursts of madness, she would also suggest that those unlucky enough to hold enough intelligence to make their own money and keep every dime of it would eventually become cursed beyond cohesion. Those were the words that I chose to live by. The words of the person who feared my existence for no reason that she could comprehend or invent herself. Who would have thought the old woman would turn out to be right? To think that it has only been two years since the day when I was begging frantically for my life.  

“Please don’t hurt me, please. I’ll do anything but that. I’ll clean, I’ll cook, and I’ll be your slave; just don’t take this from me.” I had thrown myself onto the cold marble kitchen floor that I had woken up on. Hovering over me was a muscular man in a black suit and a shirt stained with what seemed like blood on it. “You’re a persistent little weakling.” The strange, blood-covered man says, grabbing my trembling face in his hand. “What makes you think I’d touch this body of yours?” He smirks, and I dare not take another breath. If you want to be useful, then cook me something, and then I’ll think about what I do with my property.   

“I will cook anything; just name it,” I say, trembling ferociously. “Make whatever you can with whatever we have.”  The strange man drops me back on the ground and walks out of the room through what looked like an oak door. I scramble to get up and start frantically looking for ingredients.  

How did I get here? Well.  

"VI, come here, you arrogant little...” She hits me across the head as I approach. I fall to the living room floor. “If you get blood on the carpet, you’re dead.” I nodded meekly, knowing I had blood in my mouth. “Leave my sight!" She screams, kicking me in the stomach with her pointed heels. I ran to the outdoor hut that was my room. I spit the blood in my mouth into the sink and looked into the mirror, only to see that I had no tears in my eyes. Have I forgotten how to cry too? I laugh with shallow irony. I was her daughter too, his daughter too. But my hair was crimson, and my eyes were purple. I suddenly hear footsteps.  No doubt they belong to my sisters. I crawl to a corner, and they burst the wooden door and start laughing. I had three sisters, all hazel-haired and hazel-eyed. Beautiful. Mari laughs, pouring a cracked bottle of perfume on me. “This is too expensive for you, but you stink.” Mari throws the glass on my back. It shatters, cutting deeper than I thought it would. “As the eldest, I just thought I should be kind enough to share." The other two burst out laughing in support.   

“You’re too kind, Mari,” Anna says, glaring at me. She spits on me. “Say thank you, you rat,” Rose retorts.  

“Th... Thank you, sisters,” I replied, trembling. Still, I could not cry.  

“Tom, get in here!" Anna screams. Tom why? I think to myself. Tom was the bodyguard of my sister’s. Tom grabs me from the corner, and I squirm. He pulled open my mouth, and I could neither beg nor move. Rose pours a clear liquid into my mouth. So, this is how I die? Then goodbye. I smile as I lose consciousness.   

Despite my acceptance of death, I woke up by the side of a motorway at night with a note tied to my ankle. You’re too dirty to kill with our own hands, so the foxes can have you.   

I don’t know if I should be laughing or crying. A fox in the middle of a busy motorway days away from any sort of greenery? With the note now in my pocket, I start to make my way away from the currently vacant motorway. How long I walked was beyond me, but with bleeding feet, I kept going. My aim? To die where no one would see me. I find myself at the exit of the motorway heading into what seemed like wasteland. I continue to march without a clear goal in sight. I was certain that death would come to me sooner or later, and when it did, all I had to do was be thankful and accept it. But as I trudged on, a glimmer of hope started to flicker within me. The endless expanse of the wasteland seemed to hold a secret, whispering that there might be something more beyond the horizon. With each step, the determination to find that elusive purpose grew stronger, urging me to defy the inevitable and strive for what I hoped would be an end to my current misery. I had to stop in my tracks as a m