That's Cloud Strife. If anyone doesn't know him already. Anyone a fan of the RPG Final Fantasy VII would know him. *shrugs* First thing that came into my mind from the title. I had wanted his figurine so badly.
The wind whistled through my ears, and I tried to settle back to sleep on the grassy field, which seemed to stretch forever. It was what I thought when I was younger; so it has been my favourite spot to hide and gather my thoughts.
The words stabbed back at my memory, "You've got nothing on you!" I shook my head as soon as I sat up, holding my head with my hand. I didn't believe it. I couldn't believe it. I knew I could do anything if I put my mind to it, how'd those words snipe so much at me? I starred onto the open field and left my fingers trailed on the grass, hoping I find something. Just something.
I looked up and the clouds were trailing, many shapes and sizes just seemed to race against each other. It made me chuckle slightly and put my mind into thinking mode. Suddenly I was on my knees, my fists down to the ground. I started to tremble heavily, every once of my body feared a power. Slowly, I mouthed, "... Allah... I need Your guidance... there is nothing I can do for myself...." The realization struck at me, slightly surprised me; I was sad. I was sobbing, trembling even further.... I had wanted to do this since so long.
The words, the threats, the mocks from those who despise me so badly, it really had tired me down. I calmed down a little but the tears kept pouring out and the voice in my head seemed to sound, "That's it... Let it all out to your God." I choked on my sobs, which forced them to slow down. I sat back to where I was, a hand to the side of my face. I tried to wipe them away, but the voice didn't let me and energy left my body completely. Sighing, I clutched into the soil, practically dragging my nails into it. I didn't mind. I needed to do what it takes to gather my thoughts and somehow find solitary with it.
The wind wheezed through again, signalling the end of my breakdown. It usually happens like that; maybe Allah knows that I needed to cry and talk to Him, that's why He brought me to a quiet place. I glanced up at the clouds again, they seemed to have stopped 'racing'. I reached out my hands, almost waving, but I kept them there. The scratches were still there along my arms where they had put it; they who bullied me constantly, and even though I acted cool as it happened, it stabbed at my heart. Everyday they'd stab at where it hurts, telling me to go away. I had stayed up a couple of nights, asking for His help, and days later, I found calamity in staying, despite the bullying. It had been physical (the scratches from broken window panels), emotional and psychological. They made everyone leave me, and I was forced to spent classes by myself. Everyone avoided me consequently due to fear they'd get bullied, too.
I didn't mind, however. The 'cats' made me realize that I owned nothing -- gave me peace and quiet (oddly) for me to think things out by myself. As they had pointed out, the scars from before meant I was insane even before I came. I took the remark positively -- moving foster homes hasn't been that easy on me and I was tested further with both of my parents (alive and remarried) not wanting me. My parents did visit, separately, sometimes together, literally throwing onto me things that meant very little to me. I kept them, however, in a special place within my gigantic wardrobe, provided by my parents.
Now I stayed with an aunt, who came home very late at night, being a doctor. She'd come in my room, drunk, telling me as she trailed her finger on my cheek, how unlucky I am, how sorry she felt for me, then proceeded with the stories of her patients, her surgeries. I learned a lot from those moments, because for a complex person, she could explain her surgeries in a very simple manner, the diseases, the remedies. Sometimes I'd leave a recorder by my bed stand in case I would fall asleep. Happened often, unfortunately, since I'm weak to her warm gestures.
I never talked to her, or anyone really, about my traumatic experience. I was actually scared of anyone touching me, minus Aunt Sally's petting my head late at night. The scars remained, grew, especially on my arms. Though, due to Aunt Sally's habit of getting drunk, we'd get in trouble with Child services. Sometimes I wish they'd leave me where I was most comfortable, instead of poking where it hurt. CS reminded me so much of my bullies. I attended a girls' school and the workers who visited the house were always women. It actually made me think that men don't work in such area -- I had never seen a man come around. Three foster homes, all of them I had to act out just to get back to my aunt. I had to. I was left with no choice. I prayed countless nights, looking for signs, just trying to hang on.
The drunk nights from Aunt Sally slowly stopped but she still came in before she crawled to bed, caressing me, telling me that I deserved more than this from her. Aunt Sally was very sad for me, sometimes I'd get up and hold her tightly, telling her that she's stronger, much stronger, than what she thought of herself. She didn't get drunk intentionally, I knew without her telling me, but when I begged her before she went to work to not come home drunk, she'd usually listen. The next year, I am to turn 18 and I would be the legal age and CS wouldn't have no business with me any longer, and I would be there for Aunt Sally.
The flashback went away and I was awaken by someone's arms wrapping themselves around me from the back. "Ainaa." The voice almost sighed as the person put her chin to my shoulder; I knew it was my aunt.
"Do you always go here?"
I searched around for a perfect answer, but instead just came up with, "I got lost. Are you skipping work?"
Aunt Sally chuckled and flashed her smile, which always took my breath away. "Saturday, silly." She should smile more often like that, I thought to myself. I turned around and gave her a long hug,
