Strings of Jade

It has been five years since that day. I am 13 now.

Nothing has changed. They think I am just a child. That I will not hear the rumors behind their backs. That I will not understand what my mother did. Or that I will never stop to think why I am excluded, or I will never find out that they tried to drown me to my death that day.

I did. I do. Every day. I am not just a child. I never was. 

The only thing I look forward to in my waking is Ichora. Her stories, and knowledge. She too, thinks I am just a child. That I will never understand why they stare and whisper behind her back when she passes. Of course I do. She is like me.

My education is the finest provided to anyone with my history. Not that it is of any use. When I look down, the words in my book break into a merry little dance, refusing to stop their waltz to catch my eyes. Nobody bothers to ask if I have understood. Nobody cares. 

I have grown, certainly. My once large pools of eyes have now narrowed a bit with maturity. My face has lost it's childish roundness, and slimmed out, my skin turns paler each day, and though I have grown, I am not half as strong as others my age. My dark black hair dangles uselessly above my eyes, refusing to settle where I tell it to. Nothing ever listens to me, not even my own hair.

The girls brush past me, and giggle foolishly, as if I don't know. I know they do it on purpose. I am not a fool. Ichora once noticed this and asked me if I knew what it meant. 

It was then when I decided to act like just a child. 

The High Priest glared at me once, and asked me how much I knew of my mother. 

It was then when I decided to act like just a child. 

People jeer at me, and looked my way, as if to see if I understood. But I did not. I am just a child.

Days pass and the more I try to, the more grown up I get. People have left me no choice but to do so. I do not laugh until I am supposed to, nor do I say much. There are rumors that I have a curse. Of course I do not. That is not just a child.

I think about all this, as I walk around the reserved gardens. I see the beautiful lake, depth unknown. The blue of my eyes yearn to merge with that of the water. I stare and stare. Is is then that I am pushed.

I do not know who did it. At this point, it could be anyone. Everyone hated me enough to push me to my death. I sink, like a worthless piece of junk discarded, down, down, down. I close my eyes and accept my death. It is then that I am pulled just as brutally as I am pushed, back to the surface.

This could be nobody I could think of. Nobody great enough to save my from the force with which I was pushed down. It was then that I realized, this was not human.

I am not just a child.