I slowly opened my eyes as I awoke from my slumber. The sharp afternoon sun and the sound of the cicadas of late summer greeted me with their heat and noise. I got up from my makeshift bed and found the hut to be empty and messy, my father’s not around like always when it’s this hour. I swiftly slept through my fever for the last three days and they never even noticed. I looked out of the window and felt the summer breeze and  sighed . For a while I relished such peaceful moment before moving.

As I got up though, I felt a sharp pain on my shoulder and found it to be very bruised. The hell. Was it father? Or mother? Did one of them hit me in my sleep? Could be because they must have thought I was ignoring their orders. I cope my poor shoulder as I wonder who did it. When I heard my stomach grumble, hunger flushed through me like a lighting bolt. I wouldn’t be surprised if at this age I’d already have ulcers. Right, I should find something to eat. But as I snooped around for food, I couldn’t find anything else other than empty bottles of rum and some spoiled chess with an overgrown mushroom on top of it. The rats have better feasts than I do. So, with nothing to eat inside my own home,  I went outside and found myself heading to the  market place  to ask for some food. I feel like I’ll pass out  at any moment now unless  I quickly find something to eat.My mother put a lock on the food cabinet and even before the fever I haven’t really been able to eat anything. I remember she said she’d cut my fingers off if I ever did try to steal from it.

 I should have at least stock food before I slept through my fever. Three days is a long time, I underestimated myself in how much endurance I can handle. I feel odd all of a sudden.

“Fruits! Fruits! Juicy fruits”, the bustling noise of the market folks deafeningly rang my ears as the smell of freshly cooked meals harassed my nose and my stomach even the more violent. I can’t think straight.

“Have a watermelon for only 10 pennies, it’s great for the summer heat”

“Fresh pie, Apple pie, Carrot pie!”

“Get your salmon here! We’re down on our last few, it is only worth 1 silver coin for 3 pieces”

“What?! 1 silver coin? That’s too expensive”

“Miss, could you please spare me some food”. I hadn’t even realize it that I had spoken those words out of the sight of the first stall I landed near. The food looked like a piece of jeweled delicacy in my eyes and found myself gulping down my own saliva so I wouldn’t droll.

My feet had taken me to what I desired most. Food.

“Huh?! You again, go away. I barely even had any sales this week, shoo!”. The pregnant lady in the lunch stall immediately had a scorn on her face the moment she had me in her sight.

“But I’m not asking for money, I simply ask for a bit of food”

“Go beg somewhere else kid, you’ll scare away the customers”, she shooed as she took a bite of the peach in her hands. I moved on to another stall feeling my hunger intensify even more.

“Food, please spare some food”

“Food, please spare me some food”, I began repeating it like a ritual as I walked through the market clutching on my painfully rumbling stomach but none of the stall keepers would even meet my eyes.

None of the people look, none of the people were bothered by my appearance, none of them bat an eye to the scrawny, smelly, slut-born of a child. Guess they were used to me by now but not that they cared.

“I take scraps, anyone?”. I think it wasn’t me talking because I’ve never felt this humiliation of desperation over food before but I felt my eyes starting to burn from the rising tears. Am I angry? Am I embarrassed?

‘The heck? Won’t anyone help?’

“Good Sir, could you spare this poor orphan some fo--*WAK!”, I hadn’t even finished my sentence when an old patch of cabbage leaves were thrown at my face.

“Orphan! Ha! I know your mother kid, get out of here before I kick your lying ass”

When the leaves fell to the ground, so did the tears from my eyes as the stall keeper continued ranting, I couldn’t hear anymore of what he said after that.

I haven’t really cried since the day I was born. It’s been a long time, so I must have forgotten this feeling. The feeling of being turned away from while you’re at your most desperate plea. I remembered that not just  gods but people as well are masters of this better than any other being. This feeling of being  utterly neglected.

Am I feeling this strongly due to my emotional capacity as a child? That’s just it. In the story, Lupa was remembered as a sweet girl that would just smile at any misfortune and still be willing to help anyone even if no one did the same for her.

“I’m sorry Sir, I’m just really hungry”. I forced a smile in defense but I was still met with disdain.

“Out!”

“That kid’s gotten bolder”

“She’s really desperate”

“The poor thing”

“What are her parents doing”

“I’d like to help but I heard slut-born children carry a contagious disease with them from birth”

“From their sullied mothers nonetheless”

“It’s a miracle that she took after her father’s hair otherwise, that could just have been anyone’s child”

There, as I took my leave, they  began to gossip. From what I can see, humans aren’t really naturally sympathetic they just get to be so because someone, from some point in great history pointed out that violating your own race or even anything of the living for that matter, is not respectable. Violence equals violence so with that view in mind, they figured they’d get away with useless fights with that philosophy. If you appear to be at least heartfelt, you will instantly get a praise  for seeming benevolent which is actually more important to them than their thought of pity for the unfortunate. Guilt is that they are glad they are not in my position and never even be involved in it in the slightest to keep their good face. It is always just as the saying goes,’Oh well, that’s unfortunate but what can I do’.

“Hahah she’s begging for food~”

“Beggar”

“Tiny beggar!”

Even the kids joined in on the pathetic delectation. Sigh. It sounds fun and it gets you riled up when you read these kind of scenes in a story but not so much when you’re actually experiencing it yourself. Even more so because these kind of enduring situations are intensified for a better appeal in stories. And it is just so happens that I am in one.

Oh well, if they keep doing this. I really won’t have any regrets in the future.

I’ll play my role as proudly as a  jester would in a court full of kings.