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Mibba

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My Arrow

Naming

Someone kicked me on a shoe, which gets me annoyed from the start. I raise my head to see Mr. Dirty and some old guy with walking sticks. I arched my eyebrow to Dirty. But he does not spare me a word. Well, it doesn’t suit his style anyway.
‘’I came to check on you ‘cause Carol had other things to do’’, said the old man, ’’I’m Hershel and you are...?’’ I rise to sit and watch old man for a moment. I don’t feel comfortable when they are looming over me. It makes me feel trapped like an animal. I straighten my back to gain more height. I just inspect them for a moment. Their body language doesn’t tell me much. Dirty is ready to action but it does not seem like a threat, more like ‘that’s just how we roll’. And Oldie is definitely trying to make me relaxed with his calm face. It’s very bizarre to be surrounded by people. I’m really not sure how to take it. I have been so long time alone that I think I have turned to unsocial.
‘’What if I give you three shillings and we forget the name?’’, I say and lean to my hand. How in the hell did that came out of my mouth? Old man face turns to an odd expression.
‘’This ain’t Port Royal and you, girlie, ain’t no Captain Sparrow’’, Dirty says. I do a little Sparrow swing with my upper body and turn to look him.
‘’Well shit, you got that right but that’s all you get’’ I answer .There is long silence but I notice that their waiting still for me to answer the question.
‘’No seriously, I’m not telling my real name’’, I say like it’s absurd to tell my name. And to me it is absurd. If you would know my real name you would laugh. My parents were hippies or wannabe hippies before their divorce. Unfortunately my existences begin then. So, they were so in love and happy to have baby and they gave me lovely hippie name. Didn’t do much good for me, got bullied at school until I learned to fight and then it only got me in shitload of trouble.
‘’Why?’’, asks the old man. I stare at him. I’m not sure what to tell him - the truth, nothing but the truth, the whole truth… lies? Don’t tempt me, I hiss to my inner voice. I weight my pros and cons for a while. Well, what the heck, I won’t be here long so.. go ahead.
‘’My parents were wannabe hippies when they got me. So I’m not telling my real name. I don’t care what you call me. Have a meeting for it or whatever you guys do in situation like this’’, I say. Again there is long pause. And this time I don’t think anybody is going to say anything. I watch them and they are watching each others. Dirty furrows his brows.
‘’Fairy duster’’, says Dirty.
‘’What’’, ‘I ask.
‘’It’s a Flower growing in desert. Hippie name for hippie girl’’, Dirty answer.
‘’It’s settled then’’, Oldie says.
‘’Fine, see if I care. At least it’s not my real name’’, I say and got up and dust my clothes, ‘’so what did you want to check?’’ I praise myself to be touched. He takes a look at my bruises and gives me more pills swallow. I started to call them walking pills ‘cause they give me freedom to walk. So, when the Oldie is satisfied by my condition, they leave. I go to rest to mattress again.

I haven’t thought my parents in a long time. It was weird to talk about them. It felt like I was talking someone else parents. Our little happy family was happy only for a while. Their divorce shattered everything. Still I try to remember the good times when they were truly happy. We went camping and lots of picnics. I remember the smiles and squeals. All sunshine and rainbows like hippie life should be. It was best eight years of my life. Now it’s just unreal like it never happened. I try to push the bad memories away but they just invade in my mind and then they are all I can remember. My mom couldn’t take the divorce. She just crushed and never recovered. She just didn’t care anymore, made bad mistakes. And we suffered for them. She got us because dad needed to find himself again or something. I had a baby brother, Sparrow Love. They wanted our names to rhyme and they sure did. After their second breakup I was the one who took care of him. His life wasn’t happy or long. I tried to make it better as much as I could. But I couldn’t do miracles. I wanted to give him so much more. He died first days of this shit. Maybe he finally gets to be happy. I don’t believe in prayer but I have always prayed for him. I hit my head to the mattress and try to forget everything. No need to look back there.

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