The Essence of Balencia

ROTTEN. A putrid, ghastly smell infected the sticky brittle air that invaded her lungs. A fitting feeling for one with a suffocated future and stifled life. Every reluctant breath she took of the repugnant air, conjured sickening nausea. It smelt as if the air itself were decomposing like a dead body. She wished to throw up. She wished to show the onlookers just how disgusted she truly was.

"Perhaps if I did throw up, these vile beings would then, reconsider their inhumane behaviour? Ah who am I kidding?" she said to herself, shaking her head. Alas this young woman knew deep down that wanting the people to care was little more than wishful thinking. Like expecting to find water in a scorching desert before dehydration seizes you. Such was the likeness in parable between that and wanting sympathy from the people.

"They'd only look at me with more disgust... the only thing to follow a draught is death. If my existence is a draught, then how long until death touches me?" the miserable maiden uttered to herself. "Ever since I was born, I've been waiting for death, yearning for it almost. Ever since... I was sold for such a small price..." she whispered to herself as her face became hot and she looked down, lamenting her hopeless existence. "It's all HIS fault!" she murmured through the clenched teeth. "That hopeless excuse for a man, he's not even worthy of owning his own name let alone a child! He sold me and mama! Was it because he found another woman? Who knows... but it's just me now, mama is gone and my fathe... no that man may as well be on another planet for all I care." she continued.

"But (sniff, sob) but!" the woeful woman muttered in the throws of her languish. "But why? WHY!? Why would a father sell his own daughter, his wife, his family into a world of misery, humiliation and slavery? Has he no honour or pride? Why didn't he want me? Want us!?" she emphatically questioned as tears descended from her sorrowful eyes. All this pure soul ever wanted was to run through sun kissed meadows of green grass and beautiful flowers. To have the wind caress her hair as she would live in blissful harmony with her parents. But the world was much too cruel for her dream to be birthed. Truly, she felt that perhaps, such a dream will only be realised after she is finally touched by the cold grasp of death. Only then, would she find happiness in the afterlife.

This young, unfortunate girl's past was irretrievable just as her name was. Her mother used to call her by it all the time, but now, to recall such a memory is to grasp at water, hoping to take hold of it. Alas, where she was from and who she is was but a forgotten relic, lost to the passages of time.

Maybe it was because with every master she had, would also come a new name bestowed upon her; her most recent one being Hemp. The slave girl looked around her, absorbing the sight of slaves all lined up and obnoxious men bidding over them all, like veracious piranha's.

"Humiliated, subjugated. Used and abused. Sold... for a measly price. Devoid of identity until our new masters lend us one. Boy, girl, it doesn't matter. All that matters is putting a smile on the master's face, lest you become unknown..." the slave girl muttered to herself with a raspy crackle in her voice. "I yearned to be alone, but now I see it is far better to be with a master..." she continued, hunched over, with her hair drooped downwards covering her face. For indeed she knew submission to a master to be far more desirable than sleeping on the streets with one eye open. Though both lead to misery... "I- I just (sniffle) I want to be free.... (Sniffle) no. I can't let them see these tears. Heartless. I have to be heartless!" the broken slave girl whimpered emphatically to herself.

"1000 CIDAR FOR THE LONG HAIRED ONE!" an eager voice boomed.

"No- no, not me!" she uttered as her heart dropped. "(Sigh) What was I expecting, this bidding war has been going on for 15 minutes already. Of course I'd get sold sooner or later." she lamented. The tortured soul looked up, catching a glimpse of her soon to be master. And there he stood, a tall slim man dressed in black, with pure gold sown into his garment. "I see he's at least a man of wealth." she said to herself.

"SOLD!" a man shouted. And thus the deal was done.

Her new master slowly sauntered towards her, his slender frame almost dancing like a willow tree. Anxiety suddenly struck the slave girl as she felt beads of sweat pierce her skin like needles. "No, I-I'm not sacred, I'm not, I'm not!" she repeated to herself.

"A pretty face." her master said with a sick, sly smirk. Immediately, the poor slave girl's body tensed up, she knew what those words just uttered could lead to.

"Oh no... he's going to be one of those... who touch me.... At least they usually give nice clothes, and treat me relatively good. It'll be ok, I know it will." the newly sold slave thought to herself, as she painted a smile of obedience upon her face. From this moment onwards, she is no longer her own. The strange man takes her with him, the slave girl looked him up and down as she trailed slightly behind. "Look at him, I know his type. He likes them pretty and clean. Too bad! My last master was the polar opposite so clean is like a foreign word to me right now." she thought to herself. Thus set in her curiosity. For there were prettier, cleaner girls he could've chosen, "So why me?" she muttered.

Alas in such poor situation all she could afford to be was grateful. As there was another man at the slave auction on a horse. A vile man. A known abuser of women. All who are purchased by him, end up dead and mutilated in his backyard. According to rumours anyways. "Oh Melaniee..." she whimpered. Melaniee was a fellow slave girl, once owned by that infamous abusive slave master. She was a sort of sister figure. And had protected the current slave girl from gang related violence among other situations.

After one particular situation Melaniee protected her from, the slave girl went out in search of her at night. She expected to find her battered and bruised for interfering, however, such a state would've been a blessing compared to the vile fate of Melaniee. Her once full head of luscious hair was torn out and scattered like plucked petals. Her eyes were swollen to the point she was nearly beyond recognition. Her smooth skin, now burnt and charred. And most deplorable and sickening of all, her private parts were... well only an animal could ravage and maul a person in such a disgusting way... "Melaniee, I wish it could've been the both of us. Now I'm alone. I pray my Lord graces you with eternal gardens beneath which rivers flow. I hope that.."

"I didn't choose you because you're pretty." her owner said, interrupting her thoughts. Confused at this statement, the slave girl looked up at her master.

"I need to snap out of it, I can't grieve now. Melaniee is gone... I need to focus on surviving, I must please my master." she thought to herself.

"I like your hair, sweetie. It looks rather golden in the sun." her master said warmly, but still with that sly smirk glued to his face. Unsure of whether he wanted her to speak or if he liked them silent, she remains quiet. "I think I'll call you... Lalzari. Lal as in ruby and zari as in gold. A golden ruby. My, golden ruby." he continued. She merely nodded in acceptance of her new name. Suddenly, it was like a siren going off in her head. She felt as if this particular moment would be crucial, for reasons yet unknown.

"Lalzari... I don't hate it. But it is not my own, I am not even... my own. I. Am. Owned." the newly dubbed lalzari pondered internally.

"Come. Let's go." her master ordered. Lalzari followed like the good girl she must be. To her surprise, they made their way on foot. It was almost customary for wealthy men to travel in private carriages, pulled by majestic, elegant horses with long wavy manes that flowed like a heavenly waterfall. In that moment, the pair then entered the forest which seemed like a bizarre path to take. Anxiety seized Lalzari.

"Oh Melaniee, will I share the same ill fate as yours?" the worried slave girl silently whispered to herself. Her fearful mutterings, muffled by the loud crunching of trampled leaves as they trekked the forest. Flashbacks began to frequent her mind. She remembered the gruesome state she found Melaniee in. She remembered naively calling for help... as if anyone would help a slave girl... Melaniee's body was simply scraped off the floor, folded up and thrown into the trash. Like a dead animal who's carcass would cause the streets to reek. No, for indeed it was surely the wealthy and free, who were the animals. Those who rejoice in bloodshed and savagery, those who relish in crushing the weak. Simply because they can.

But Lalzari wouldn't let her precious Melaniee's grave be a dirty dumpster. No, she was better then that. Lalzari buried her sworn companion in the very forest she and her new master were walking through. A place of serenity. A grave of honour. A place of peace. "Melaniee.... I hope and pray that you get something even better than this forest. I pray you are graced with gardens with a horizon unfathomable, with rivers of milk, honey and wine that does not intoxicate. A place where..."

"You're probably wandering why I'm walking with you, aren't you my sweet Lalzari?" her master said, interrupting her silent mutterings.

"Sweet? Why does he speak like he loves me. I am no more than another object he purchased to boost his silly ego." Lalzari thought to herself with disguised disgust.

"We're walking because I like walking, sweetie." he continued.

"I didn't ask, nor do I care." she thought to herself. However she knew she had to act like everything he says is like the most astounding revelation to mankind.

"Ah, here at last." her master announced, as the trees branched away like theatre curtains, revealing a lavish castle.

"THE KING!?... THE KING!? It is none other than HE who bought me!? Why on Earth would the king buy me?" Lalzari silently thought to herself as she stood with her mouth aghast.

"Ahahahaha, oh my sweetest Lalzari, don't look so shocked. You'll soon come to know just how special you are." the king said with a warm chuckle. He then lead her to an expansive room, furnished with a king sized bed and extravagant windows.

"Perhaps I should jump out of them..." Lalzari said to herself, while staring at the huge windows. In the middle of the room was a tub and two maids waiting. Suddenly, like a tamed dog turned rabid, the king's tone changed to something sharp, harsh and violent.

"YOU TWO! Not a SINGLE finger on her, understood?" the king barked. The two maids nodded timidly, as the king left the room. Immediately! (Rip, tear!) The two maids began ripping her clothes off like starved piranhas ravaging a carcass.

"N-no stop! I'll do it myself!" the helpless Lalzari protested over and over again. But the maids did not cease. Then, like a captive destined for torture, they dragged her into the tub and repeatedly poured water over her like she was being waterboarded. "S-STOP (cough, splutter) I CAN'T BREATHE!" poor Lalzari pleaded in futility. This trauma inducing experience was beginning to stir up memories that she desperately wanted to forget! "I, I need a distraction or my mind won't last! A distraction. Ah yes! Jamshar!" she thought with relief.

And who is Jamshar? Jamshar was her source of peace. He was tall like a mountain, yet loving. His strength could only be matched by his unyielding sense of honour. His face was one which granted Lalzari bliss. His smile was a sunset that soothed her aching heart. His black skin was kissed by gold itself, glimmering and beautiful. And should a soul ever lay eyes upon him when the sunlight adorns him, you would think he was the most beautiful man in existence. Verily he was a sign. A sign and proof to Lalzari. Of what her Lord, her God was able to effortlessly create. However Lalzari's romanticised daydreaming was interrupted by the sound of the two maids lost in jealous speech.

"She's a feisty one isn't she?"

"Why does the king want her anyways."

"He's been searching for so long and this is what he comes back with?"

"Right!? She's far uglier than his late wife. And she was a real witch! (Chuckle)."

"She must feel so lucky to be chosen." the two maids clucked on, endlessly in vain discourse.

"Lucky? I'm supposed to be lucky? HA! How would you like it? Being sold by your father!? Spend most of your life ruled by another! Your existence nothing more than a living hell. Your body desecrated, violated by countless men. Your life having no meaning, except to be bought and sold. Used and abused. Begging for mercy from those filthy evil men as if it were a daily prayer! Then, tell me who REALLY is the lucky one here!" Lalzari silently roared in her head.

The two maids then left, as she stood naked in the middle of the gigantic room like a single cactus in the desert. Lalzari then noticed a pristine dress free of wrinkles and slipped it on. She then saw a comb, and brushed her hair over and over and over again until her arms began to ache. Perhaps this was a coping mechanism. She then climbed up the unnecessarily high bed, like a child trying to climb a high step; crawling into the middle she curled up. She could feel it coming, welling up. The pressure inside her eyes. The heat in her face. The floodgates silently opened up as tears streamed down her face profusely. Her usually silent bawling soon turned into a full blown echoed symphony of sadness. A cacophony of pain and anguish sung it's wailing song of sorrow to an empty audience of four walls. Little did she know, the Creator she believed in had seen the tears that streaked her face.

"It hurts.." the broken soul whimpered, with clenched fists. "Melaniee, Mama, Jamshar..." she repeated over and over. "Why did you leave me!? Please! Come back to me!" she wailed. "I'm not strong enough! Please come back to me. Come, COME BACK TO ME! MELANIEE, MAMA, JAMSHAR!" she loudly yowled. She wanted to be heard. She wanted to be noticed. She just wanted a single soul to see her. To acknowledge her. To ask her why she's crying. To ask about the names she is shrieking. She just wanted someone to care. Even if it were the maids who would by perchance, hear her cries and race to the door, pressing their ears against it in curious worry. Alas, Lalzari was to remain unheard.

But could they truly be blamed? For who would care about the woes of a random slave girl. Who would come rushing to the aid of someone, no more like a 'thing' that seemed upset. These were the thoughts that swam around inside Lalzari's mind. However, she knew that despite the creation being blind to her cause, deliberately ignorant and obstinate to her painful existence. In spite of all of that. Her loving Lord cared. He witnessed all. And that was sufficient for her. For indeed in the remembrance of their Lord do hearts find rest.