Prologue
A/N The first part of this prologue is kinda boring, but it's necessary. It's the backstory for the main character. I promise though, if you even make it to chapter 2, it will get a lot better.
© Aliyah Ezinma 2018. All Rights Reserved.
***
I love living alone. It's one of the only pros that comes with living in the foster system for eighteen years; you get to be left alone, and I have to admit, I quite like it that way. Once I got out of the house of my foster mother, I found myself a job, and an apartment. She's a bitch, who disliked me, but not nearly as much as I despised her. She's one of those people who seemingly performs acts of great kindness, but only does so to keep up appearances.
This is why I'm glad I left, glad I'm alone.
There are many benefits that come with living in isolation. I don't have to interact with anyone else intimately on a daily basis. I don't have do deal with disagreements, confrontations. I don't have to compromise. I don't have to support anyone else; just my African Grey Parrot, Silver, and myself.
However, living by yourself also means that you have no help, i.e. you have to do all of your chores on your own. I look at this as yet another symbol of my independence, albeit a huge inconvenience at times, especially for a lazy shit like myself.
Once I got out of that God awful woman's house, I did interviews for a job at Burger King, the cashier at the local supermarket, and a waitress. I got accepted for all three. I chose the waitress job, as it only requires me to go to an uptown restaurant on Sundays, Saturdays for overtime, and it pays relatively well. I've never heard of that kind of impossibly convenient arrangement in my life, but I didn't —don't — really question it. Things have always kind of worked out for me; ever since I was a child, I always seemed to get what I wished for. Firstly, getting accepted into a foster home; although the bitch never adopted me, most children in the foster system in Jamaica, from what I've seen, never see outside of a children's home.
When I was six years old, I wished for a foster parent to take me in. I didn't want to stay at the home, fighting the other children for food and toys anymore; even then, I liked being alone. I wanted to live only with one other person - I disliked company - and I didn't want to be adopted; the idea that I'd have another human being tied to me for the rest of their/my life because they'd legally taken up the title of 'parent' disgusted me, even at the age of six. The next day, I found out that a woman by the name of Ms. Williamson was interested in taking in a foster child, about the age of six. She came in and spoke to me, and even then, I sensed something off about her. She just seemed wrong; I knew that I wouldn't like her.
However, she decided that I was 'the one', and I decided that if I had to put up with a two-faced demon for the next twelve years of my life to get out of this hell hole, I wouldn't complain.
This wasn't the last time that this happened to me; Williamson knew nothing about me, but every birthday, I got exactly what I wanted.
For my fifteenth birthday, she got me a full sized violin made of Brazilian wood, as well as a beginner's guide to learning it, although I had never shared with her, or anybody else, for that matter, my obsession with wanting to learn how to play the instrument. For my seventeenth, she grudgingly gave me a female African Grey parrot (again, exactly what I wanted), which I named Silver, although she herself hates birds.
This would happen every single year.
My luck wouldn't stop there, either. I always got the test grades that I wanted, yet I've never studied a day in my life. As a result, I have a scholarship to go to University and do a degree in biochemistry. Again, something ideal - a degree that I can use in a lab - because I hate interacting with people.
That last statement brings me back to my loneliness. I live alone in my studio apartment, with Silver, and work as a waitress in a nearby restaurant on the weekends. I go to school on week days, and somehow, I manage to do all of this without exhausting myself.
As I pick up my garbage and haul it outside, I wonder to myself if being alone is really better than living with someone else. It would really be more convenient, and honestly, I don't think that I can do this all on my own.
As I manage to throw the bag into the dumpster, I turn to go inside, only to see something red/orange under the mango tree right outside my apartment. I squint in an attempt to see the object properly, before freezing in fright.
Not one... but two.
Balls of fire.
As eyes.
On... a bull.
A huge, black bull, by far bigger than any bull I've ever seen.
What.
The.
Hell.
Please tell me that this isn't what I think it is.
To make matters worse, he's looking right at me, almost as if he's staring me down. I think I just peed a little.
As if he can smell the fear - and the trace of urine - on me, me makes a grunting noise, as if he's laughing.
That's when I decide that I've seen enough, and I run back into my apartment so fast, that I trip over the threshold and fall straight on my face. I scramble up to lock the door, my heart beating so hard fast that my chest hurts.
Did I just see...
No.
But the eyes...
Did I just see a blasted *rolling calf?
Tentatively, I look out my kitchen window, which allows me to see the mango tree - and he's still there. Watching me through the window.
I pinch myself hard enough to confirm that I am indeed awake, then I look up again.
Still there.
What's even more interesting, something that I just realised, is that he hasn't moved from under the tree; he didn't chase me.
***
*rolling calf: Creature in Jamaican folklore resembling a bull, sometimes said to have blood red eyes, other times said to have balls of fire for eyes and sometimes said to have smoke coming from their nostrils. It is said that rolling calves are the spirits of dishonest/evil people, as well as butchers, trapped in this form, who supposedly kill anyone who crosses their path. Some stories say that they have a particular liking for children. They usually have a bell and/or chains which make noise, allowing others to hear them approach. I have personally heard several stories of people seeing rolling calves, and they seem to have a liking for rural areas. I don't know if the part about evil/dishonest people/butchers is real, but I haven't completely disregarded the people who claim to have seen it/known people who saw it.
