𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐂 | "You call it murder, I call it
a conversation starter."
﹙spring holds death in it's palm and covers it in a blanket of life. It's revival. ﹚
𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 Amaira is given a second chance at life a...
¡Ay! Esta imagen no sigue nuestras pautas de contenido. Para continuar la publicación, intente quitarla o subir otra.
𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟏
"𝗠𝗔𝗠𝗔, 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨.." The ten year old trailed off seeing her mother hurriedly put whatever she could grab in the suitcase. Her mother, Ayana, looked back at her daughter and let out a small cry of relief, kneeling down and pulling the petite girl in her arms.
"Ma?" Amaira cautiously called out, her arms wrapping around her mother reassuringly. It's been ten years since her rebirth in this world and although it was initially hard to adjust to the 50s, she managed it especially for the woman before her. The strongest woman for her, her mentor and inspiration.
Amaira initially had felt guilty of calling another woman her mother, she missed her family and wasn't ready to call the woman 'ma' but it changed when she saw the lingering sadness in her chocolate brown eyes when Amaira refused to call her mother, she saw the efforts Ayana put to help her survive. No matter what the era was or what people thought, Ayana had cherished, cared and loved her.
The woman was always quick to retort whenever someone taunted about the child being a girl, even if they didn't not live the most comfortable life, Amaira was pampered like a princess. It was different from her previous life, the girl couldn't even handle the smallest amount of dust, the rough floor bed, hated the unsanitary washrooms and dressing style, she hadn't realized how spoilt she was until now. There were times when she wanted to simply give up but the hardworking and loving woman had kept her going.
Ayana would sing her to sleep, her melodic voice echoing in the small square room which distracted her from the hard, cold ground, the hunger she felt due to starving. When she would breakdown because of the nasty, harsh comments of society about being a girl, her mother stood right beside her and retaliating twice as harsh, her chin held high and proud.
Amaira was confused and curious as to why people sneered in disgust at her mother, hated the pair of them so much. She wasn't wasn't allowed in a nearby school. Soon, Amaira got the answers to her question but those were not the ones she had hoped for.
"A prostitute's daughter." That's what the teacher had called her, her small body freezing at the words while her eyes widened and immediately looked at her mother, who had her jaw clenched, her eyes showing neither inferiority nor shame. "What about it?" Amaira had felt a rush of disgust and had almost wanted to pull her arm away from Ayana's grip. She saw the flash of sadness in her mother's eyes at her struggle and the way her baby face was scrunched up in disgust.
"Not everyone has a comfortable life like you and neither does everyone get a choice. It's my job. It is a need, not a want and something that gives me money to protect and raise my daughter." Ayana replied, her eyes calm and cold as she looked at the woman before her. "I would rather be a prostitute than starve my daughter to death, watch her tremble in cold and have no place to call home because I know what it felt like." The woman continued, her voice stern but Amaira heard the slightest tremble and pain in her voice.
