(#BBBXCOVID1920) The Final Sadist

3 || Delusional

She reads it over and over again, her head spinning in different moments of time. The dreams were forgotten, the world plummets to the black. The last nine percent of the world knew, they aren't getting their world back. The land flooded in tears, each heart aflame and heated. Today, the world feels happiness.

It's all too identical for her. Her life always rotated around the grassland. To play in spring, to laugh in summer, to play and explore again during the autumn, and to migrate off to the mountainside during winter. Yearning for more was all she ever wanted. Even when it sounded too far-fetched. 

Today, the world feels happiness.

One time she felt happiness was when she went to walk around the swamp with Ying. It was a crystal clear memory. The chatter was no more than twenty-five seasons prior. They talked of their legends, their folklores, like youngsters skipping merrily through the woods.

She remembers. "I can't believe you still like that book, though," Ying once told her. "Do you even know how many times Otoi mentions 'world' in one page? See, the redundancy, the utter vagueness of it all, and really, what panther drinks milk?"

Ying once said those all.

Yaya once replied. "I like Otoi's writing. I like his imagination. I like his wits. He's like my dad."

Bold of her to say that. She knew very little of her dad.

Strange it was for her. Being the only one remaining to care for her mom, the only thing that appears to be her only escape from such misery were the remaining remnants from her brother. A remnant that was never exactly so fine with words, still, it had always been good enough for her.

There was little mystery in her life. If there ever was that exciting sense, it would've been her lifelong questions. Her life has always circulated around the thought of her brother's beloved folklore. It was a realm meant to be explained, but left to be one she is now tempted to unfold for herself.

If one question ringed in her head, every time, it would be, is it all just a myth?

The last nine percent of the world knew...

Are there really more people like her out there? Were they never really alone? Was Ying rubbing the wrong facts in front of her face all this time?

The daydreams bring her into her mother's tent. Yaya sits on the old quilts Aunty Yang sleeps in, folded and ready to be carried away for migration. They're worn out, torn up by time. Though Aunty Yah doesn't seem to have any problem with it all.

She lays quietly on the floor, her breathing ragged and brought slower by her age. Her garments have barely changed, mostly because she's been offering all her found clothes to her lovely girls.

Ying and Yaya were like daughters to her. But growing old, she was. Perhaps it would be Aunty Yang's turn to be fully in-charge in a few years time.

After all, she is sixty-two years of age. But they knew that not.

Yaya can't help but return favors, tucking in her exhausted mother under some thick blankets. Cold fumes float from Aunty Yah's breath. It's migration time in a few days, an inevitable time of year for the four to head somewhere without the violent snowfall and blizzards.

"Mom," Yaya breathes amid her busy mind. "I'll be fixing our things soon. I'll just go outside to wait for Aunty Yang, okay? I'll be taking a breather too."

Yaya forces a smile while her mom can only moan, nod, and whisper. "It's okay, darling. Take your time, okay?" she faintly murmurs.

"I will, Mom. Goodnight" is all Yaya can manage to say.