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The Villagers were pawns! Ђey were the weakest of Chess game pieces. But they were powerfully effective when used in the right way, and at the right time to bring down a power too powerful for its own good. Pawns art used to set up the other game pieces of a much higher entity, to bring to its knees that beastly designed, systematic thing called authority, and handcuff them to the bowels of a repressive state. §ee how the billionaire likes to take a crap on the cracked toilet of the inner city.

For the villagers, the right to life were the rooks, the path to freedom were the 64 checkers of its opposite color, and of its color, opponent, polarization.

Ђe Devil enjoys his demons sprinting and diving inside mortal bodies like an ocean filled with teeming animal life, destroying themselves before the government wipes them out.

Ђe date for that extermination hath yet to be set by the king of darkness, or what God allows him to do, or if God allows him to do it at all, for he once spared Job’s life, but didn’t stop the plague that befell his body, or save his children from death, or save his land from going up in fire, or save the precious stock in animals roundabout, for they perished as well, leaving him alone to mourn, and to think about it, but he never lost his faith in God, and this angered the Devil in the end, and he sends an upgraded, powerful demon for thy soul, but the armor of God never goes away, until ye lose faith.

Ђere was a chance that Chanteuse, Ķleőpĥa, or any of the other children of the Village won’t make it to their senior years.

They better pray the government allows them see the age of 18, or yet, they should wish for the one that pulls the strings to grant them Immunity, for just a while, until they take their last breath on their dying day, and they will surely all die together as a whole, as one reject village, the handicaps from those of dynasties, kingdoms, empires and fortresses brought there to die, and to be stripped of their inheritance!

If Σve can give it up and populate the earth, surely she can do that without getting pregnant in the process. Kleopha and Chanteuse refused to accept the brutal policies of Opus Village as her reality, and set out to change that, and control her fate.

They would somehow, someway figure out a way to flee the Village of Opus.

It was all they ever thought about when it came to the future.

Why should Chanteuse hate a girl that loved her, and was in love with her?

§he always envisioned a cute man kissing her and sweeping her off her feet, and it’s never happened, despite giving her body to random, undeserving men of the Village, men that was obsessed with her gushy opening, men that dreamed and daydreamed about being the next in line to enjoy the fruit of her hips.

Fortunately, to know she shared her first kiss with someone that loves her, and was in love with her without actually confirming it with her lips, and the honesty of her words, warmed her heart, and melted the maliciousness that surrounded the beating muscle.

Ķleőpĥǻ was a gorgeous girl, and the most gorgeous of them all wanted Chanteuse, and wanted to love her, and be her friend, a girl she thought she hated, a girl she wanted to destroy, but her feelings were rapidly changing for the better, and for the positive.

I love Ķleőpĥǻ Achieng, thought Chanteuse, turning to look at her.

Both of them were naked; their breasts were inches apart from each other. As the breeze cooled them down (the sun was setting) they realized they were in the room together all day, holding each other and sleeping together without a kiss, or an act of sex.

Just of genuine love, both of them holding each other and hugging each other close, and laying under the fine fabric of Chanteuse’s bed, and bedding, so they were not caught when Chanteuse’s parents entered her room for whatever reason, for any length or duration of time and energy, they slept soundly and never moved a muscle, their lips inches from each other, their hearts silently beating together.

And after awakening, and after all she dreamt about, thoughts of her past evils, and the ability to change her evil thoughts for happier ones, holier ones, she decided to cup Ķleőpĥǻ’s hands once more.

§he was trying to remember at exactly what point they got under the bed and curled up together and fell into deep slumber and slept as the sun trekked the sky, towards the horizon of the edge of the earth, where the ability to §et itself was a lifelong reality.

Ђey could smell it as it returned, the rain, intermingling with wet earth, and the pine needles, and the trees of all kinds with it, a plethora of scents gorgeously blended into an enormous cornucopia of bark and smooth rubble, overflowing with fruits of the villagers’ labor, compensation collected by the Σlders, and used to maintain the land, though resources were limited, and most of which banned from entering the terrain of the outcasts, that was and is the Village of Opus, the Village of the Damned, the Village of the Repressed Ancients.

It didn’t rain as hard as before, but scattered showers passed over the hut, and the huts roundabout, and on either side of it, divided by 30 feet each one, and never more than seven on a single row.

Chanteuse!” Ķleőpĥǻ said excitedly, throwing her arms around her. “It’s raining again! Let’s go out in it! I know how much ye love it! And I promise to never create resistance from it again!”

Ķleőpĥǻ was testing her, to see where her loyalty lied. Was it with Ķleőpĥǻ, or was it retained for herself?

Before she could answer, Chanteuse pulled back the silky drapes decorating the rectangular shape in the sun-dried clay wall. Ђe long palm tree branches and the wood of the roof of the hut prevented the H2O of rain from soaking into its fabric.

Chanteuse noted the gigantic black clouds heading in their direction, seeming to stretch along the black of night, and the invisible blanket of stars hidden from human sight.

Ķleőpĥǻ gasped at the sight of beauty, even if it did come in the form of darkness. Another part of her began to sprout from her heart, and she was contemplating telling Chanteuse a secret she’s been harboring, one she never kept before for she told Chanteuse everything.

Almost everything.

How will she take the news when (and if) she ever told her? Would she end their friendship?

Will she hate her?

§he must admit that over the years Chanteuse hath grown and matured in a lot of ways.

Gone was that spiteful girl that tried her best to make her own life a living hell, because she felt Ķleőpĥǻ was more beautiful than anyone, and she was, only Ķleőpĥǻ wasn’t aware of it because she wasn’t stuck on herself, and she wasn’t arrogant.

And now that Chanteuse hath apparently let go of her maliciousness towards life, and dealing with life as a peasant girl, when she used to be the daughter of an Σgyptian Queen in power, Ķleőpĥǻ was going to cut her a break, if only she answered her question the right way, to see where her loyalty lies.

If it lies with her person Ķleőpĥǻ would simply go in the rain and get sick as always to make Chanteuse happy.

§he already knew she was going to decide this, and she knew it in her heart, so she swallowed the lump in her throat and prepared herself for the rain, and going out in it, and getting sick from it.

Ķleőpĥǻ remembered Mama Resha’s story, about her life and her once claim to Σgyptian glory, when she wore golden sandals and drank from golden goblets and wore an elaborate golden headrest lined with multi-colored sapphires and stones.

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