Voracious

• Deon Fagan, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2022

For there she sat, a quivering heartbeat, an offbeat breathing pattern coursing through her chapped lips, shivering, her body immediately dulled by the frigid temperature of the dank alleyway. Yuan-Qing had grown accustomed to the exotic weather of Islavaria, yet she meticulously detoured these regions. Radiant beads of orange light drifted within the distant buildings, reminding her of the lamps of her Baoshurian home, yet where she hungered to be was far from reach. People in the streets paid little to no attention to her. Salvation was distant; her fighting spirit had diminished. Once a rowdy troublemaker, her belligerence had been weakened ever since she was purchased as an enslaved individual. The blazing passion in her sienna orange pupils was close to diminishing. A deluge of weakness had engulfed her; she no longer had the strength to stand up for herself. Nobody wanted a slave, especially an ex-slave and hooligan like her. Besides, it would be problematic to teach a 17-year-old with circumstances such as hers. However, deep within her dynamic heart, redemption was a necessity. To get back at those who had ravaged her life. Her heart ached for revenge, but her guts ached for something to eat. Strong body, strong mind is what they said.
The bustling streets of the night market were not lacking in numbers. People stuck in discussion, kiosk owners calling out to the masses, the aromatic fragrances of the foodstuffs barraged her nose. The drool from her mouth was now profuse; how she craved for something to eat, desire was overcoming her. Striking her mind was the constant urge to steal. With a gaze fixated at the meaty, tender, succulent pork-kebabs on display, she was on the brink of becoming a ravenous beast and devouring everything whole. Perhaps the owner would not catch a glimpse of her consuming the savoury, delectable, juicy-
She let out a disappointed sigh. Looking down to the cobbled ground, she knew that food was not within her reach. Maybe another day. Gloomily, Yuan-Qing turned to her flank, sauntering away from the stall. If only she had spent more attention on her surroundings, perhaps she wouldn't have bumped into someone. Particularly someone who wore embellished armour. Specifically, someone who treated her only second to scum. Especially someone who gets irritated over the most minor inconveniences. "Watch where you're going, you prick!"
Yuan-Qing's throat was seized by this distinct someone. The hardy grip of the gauntlet they wore dug deep into her gullet. Arms squirming, she tried to shove her foot into his face, to no success. This someone, held her high into the air, a fierce countenance plastered on his face. A crowd had begun to assemble around, all gaping at her face transitioning into a pallid blue, yet there was no outcry. It appeared that even in other countries, people did not want to meddle with the Strong’s ordeals. Adrenaline surging, she understood she could be the only one to help herself.