"Hit it." Roscoff murmured commandingly, pointing his bony finger at the dummy's awkward face. Nervousness grew inside me stomach, one bad punch can transform Roscoff into an angry ball of humiliation and impatience. I drew my fist back and propelled it forward, square into the dummy's nose. The dummy rocked back and forth, nearly falling off its stand. I felt impressed with myself, but Roscoff quickly denied it.
"Syken, were getting nowhere again." He sighed, "You need to focus on your target. Try again."
With a stern gaze on the dummy, I punched it once again in the nose, only to get more nagging.
"Goddamn it Syken!" He snapped, "Focus! Focus! What part of that don't you understand!"
Frustrated, I socked the dummy in chest, knocking it off its stand. Noticing what I did, I was filled with ecstasy. Roscoff wasn't impressed, he walked off to the door.
"Training again tomorrow morning." He ordered, "You better get to bed, it's nearly midnight." He shut the door behind him, leaving me alone.
Roscoff was my trainer... and my guardian. He never respected what I did, just had his eyes on how I fought. Joyful memories with him never existed in my brain, just a stabbing commands and threatening insults. Sure that would teach me, but he also my guardian, he should be a little more...I don't know the word for it.
I balanced the dummy back on it's stand, it's bland face still intact, then strolled out of the bamboo dojo.
I slid the paper door open to my hut and walked in, shutting it behind me. Immediately, I threw my shirt off. Being a Libow, I have spines poking out of my backbone, the spines rub against the shirt and irritate me to extreme levels.
I laid down on the small, comfy blanket laid across the flat floor and closed my eyes.
My eyes were shaken open after a time lapse of sleep. Roscoff violently wriggled my shoulder, yelling at me to get up. Gunfire penetrated the paper walls of the hut. Roscoff lifted me up and stuffed me in a cabinet.
"Stay in here!" He briefly instructed, slamming the cabinet door closed. Gunfire peppered the air, blasting here and there. When it finally stopped, I waited. I waited an extensive amount of time, listening and listening. My anticipation reached the hilt, I needed to take a peek. I kicked the cabinet door open and stepped out. Bullet holes vandalized the beautiful room. I ran over to the door and powerfully slid it open. All over the village ground, were dead bodies. Only one crouched in between all of them. An old Baeku, singing a tribe song to himself.
Bewildered and choked up, I approached the Baeku and asked, "What happened."
"The ones in the black." He replied, his voice chapped with a mixture of driness and bitterness, "Are you Syken?"
Shocked greatly, I answered, "Y-yes."
"You must go. Roscoff told you to leave this place once they have left. Go north until you see yellow, clay hut. Live there, never come back."
Confused, I teared up, "What?"
"Go!" The old Baeku yelled, raising his sword. I dodged one slash and ran full-fledge into the forest, tears streaming down my eyes. I kept running and running until the old one's "Go!" faded away.
Seven years have past since the massacre. Seven years trapped inside this cozy yellow hut. Everyday I woke up, drank a glass of water, picked and seeded the new plants for the garden, eating the good ones for dinner and using the bad ones as a compost. In my mean time, I would read encyclopedias and dictionarys, learning every possible word and content stored inside. This was a perfect life. A perfect life for me. No rules, practice, worry. Just me.
That is until the freakiest sound rebounded from my door, like someone was banging a rock on the door repeatedly, but had no strength to break it open. I swiftly opened the door and got into stance in self-defense, but instantly loosened up.
There stood a Wather, about as tall as me, wearing a black trench coat and shady glasses.
"Hi, I'm Tagen." He introduced, "I'm here by the will of Roscoff, died a week ago."
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