Culture Clash

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Aye, still on the Aztecs...But I like this story - I know it's big-headed, but it's true!!  Enjoy...



“Father, you seem upset,” I murmur as Father bashes his head repeatedly with his fist.

“Itzel, leave me.” he snaps; I stare at him with big coffee-bean eyes.

“Okay,” I whisper; afraid by the anger in his eyes.  I wonder out of the Temple, and numerous people smile at me nervously.

“Hello, Itzel!” they all say in the same frightened voice; I ignore them all.  Someone looking terribly anxious slams right into me and I stumble a few paces back.

“Hey!” I protest angrily; the man looks at me with frantic eyes.

“Where is Montezuma?” he demands without bothering to see if he has harmed me, I begin to warm to this man.  His eyes burn into mine.

“You mean Father?” I check; his eyes bug and dart up and down my body.

“If your father is Montezuma, then yes, I mean Father.” he huffs; I beam at him.

“Up in the Temple and someone should be able to tell you where Father is.” I tell him; he nods and hurries away.  How off a man, I muse as I watch him with the wind in his fist, such light skin. I shake my head of this thought and amble down to the market, a wide berth around me.  “I feel like such a freak,” I murmur; a freak among my own people.  My black ringlets brush my cheek, and I toss them over my shoulder.  Then glisten in the sun.  I glance around; the number of people here seems to have doubled over night.  I ignore the thought and wander down to the river that surrounds Tinochtitlan.  I dip my dusty feet into the warm water; the fishes come over to me shyly.



I stare at them for a moment before turning away; it has been ingrained in my mind that it is very rude to stare.  The fish touch their lips to my toes and it tickles.  A moment of happiness washes over me, the fish are not afraid of me; they do not know who I am and for some strange reason, this makes me inexplicably happy.  I rinse my hands in the warm water, and lie on my back.  The heat of the dusty road beneath my robe goes straight to my core and makes me feel all soft inside.  My black curls fan out around my face and I let the sunlight dance on my skin.  My eyes drift shut, and I drift into my dreams…

…My eyes flutter open and shrink away from the assaulting silver moonlight.  I glance around, my feet are now ice cold in the water and I cannot feel my toes any more.  I wrench my feet out of the water and stand up tiredly.  Something shifts in the shadows and I whirl around; anger pulses out of me.

“Who is there?” I hiss furiously; I get no reply.  Something tells me to turn around quickly; and I whip around in a movement so fast it does not exist.  I come face to face with a girl about my age, with long fair hair.  Her skin is the colour of the dried sand and eyes the colour of the river.

“I am sorry for startling you,” she whispers through rosy lips that barely move; her voice is strange to me and pulls up in weird places.

“Itzel,” I say cautiously; extending my hand.  The girl smiles at me and shakes hands with me; her grip is solid.

“Madalena,” she replies; we eye each other up for a moment before we sit down.

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