And She Shall Rise

     Memories are valuable. Yet, what do you do without them? No knowledge what-so-ever. Who will teach you? Who will stay?

     The day had fallen and it was dark out. Just dark enough for her skin to camouflage her to the edges of the shadows. She was skimpy, hungry and parched. Her hands were calloused from the work she'd done, but she was sick. She didn't feel well and she didn't understand why. She knew that her mother had been through the same, but her mother has long since disappeared.

     She wandered through the streets, arms squeezed tight in front of her. The distant sound of gunfire was muffled, a constant reminder that the ringing in her ears won't ever stop. She wasn't born like this. She knows she wasn't. At least that's something.

     Little dots of white dance in her vision, making her wonder if this is death in its prime. Still, she keeps moving forward. Even as it gets harder and harder to breathe, she keeps moving forward. She wanders into a broken house, unaware of the bags that sit inside. She stumbles… she falls.

     The soft thud of her body hitting the ground rings in her ears. She winces. 'How much longer,' she thinks to herself, 'must I… keep…' She doesn't dare finish that thought. She's miserable and desperate, but in her state, it's near impossible to call for help. She wants to close her eyes, yet the fear of no longer waking up scares her, so she refuses to.

     Until…

          it gets…

               too loud.

     The gunfire had traveled, sounding closer to the tiny broken hut than before, but she has no strength to move. She has no motivation. 'What's the point,' her thoughts say. 'Just let them take me.' She's tired of trying. Of moving. Of making an effort. She's… nothing.

     Minutes passed when a strange smoke had started to flood the hut, but unlike normal smoke, this sunk to the ground. It didn't rise. Still, she didn't move. When the door burst open, she didn't move, but she flinched when a set of large hands turned her over and yanked her up. They were unfamiliar, but she didn't have much of a choice.

     She catches a glimpse of the person's face, realizing it's a man. He looks young, but the scars and bruises make him look old. He's talking, yelling even, but she can't hear him. She shifts, her hands going to cover her ears, trying to muffle the sound of the ringing. It only gets louder. What is she to do? How does she fix this?

     It's difficult to breathe and all she can do is wheeze softly. The man looks at her when he makes it outside. He finds cover behind a tree, gently laying her down over his lap as he sits. One of his arms holds her behind the shoulders, giving her support. His other searches in his pockets and pouches. She closes her eyes.

     Everything is too much, but the feeling of the cold glass pressing against her lips is soothing. His hand squeezing her arm isn't. Hesitantly, she parts her lips, letting the man pour the liquid down her throat. She winced and squirmed. It burns. It shouldn't burn. 'Why does it burn?'

     The man holds her still as he keeps the liquid going, ensuring that she swallows by pressing the hollow of her neck gently. The ringing in her ears is painful now and her head just hurts. She wants it to stop…

     Then it does.

     Everything goes quiet. The ringing comes to a stop, the pain comes to an end. It stays like this for a while. She doesn't focus on how long it lasts, just that it's peaceful. Soon enough, she works the courage to force her eyes open. At first, the bright light was blinding and she wanted to close her eyes again.

     Something warm touches her hand and a deep voice speaks. The voice is gruff yet soft. Quiet. "Hey there, kiddo…" The owner of the voice says.

     She stirs, searching for the voice. The warm thing tightens, and she realizes it's a hand gripping hers.

     "Relax. You're stressed enough." The voice says again.

     She turns her head to face the voice and she opens her eyes again. She see's that she's facing the same man who had taken her. He has a soft smile and she can see his face clearly now. She see's his skin is light but his hair is dark. Stubble is scattered on his chin, scars all over the place.

     "Who are.." She tries to speak, but it doesn't really work. Her throat is dry and sore. He smiles.

     "Oliver, kid, but call me Oli." He says. He reaches over grabbing a small cup of water, putting it to her lips. "What were you doing out in the front anyways, kid?"

     She takes a few sips before refusing anymore. She doesn't know the reason why. She was just there. That's all she really knows. So, she doesn't respond. She looks around, avoiding eye contact. She stays quiet before deciding to avoid the topic altogether and ask something else.

     "Who am I?.."

     Oli remains quiet. He doesn't know how to answer that. How are you supposed to tell a kid who they are? You can't. So, he smiles. He takes her hand, raising it up. His voice is soft and simple, his hands warm but rough.

     "Hope. You are Hope."

                                                 "And I'm going to teach you how to live."