A Poem of Endurance

There was one time during my elementary days when I was forced to recite a poem that I made in front of the class. At that time, I was already having a terrible day. After enduring my classmates' antics and discreet bullying tactics, I also had to bear my teacher's scrutinizing gaze mixed with pity that made my stomach twist in painful knots. The combined look made my life an epitome of shame and suffering that I could never forget.

And I did not want to give them another chance to feast on my vulnerability. However, when my name was called out, I had no choice but to stand and walk up in front of the class. I could barely move my legs because of fear and anxiety. It felt like years before I managed to reach the front of the course, and I had to lean on the table to keep my shaking legs from falling and giving up on me. Hundreds of useless thoughts swirled inside my mind that I could barely open my mouth to speak. I could not think straight, and my senses were suddenly overwhelmed and hyperaware of the attention from my classmates. They were waiting for me to mess up and make a fool out of myself—and I was right.

I was afraid my classmates would laugh at me, and then when I stumbled on my words while I recited my poem, their snickers filled the room; it felt like I was inside the mouth of an erupting volcano being roasted alive.

I was afraid my teacher would think I was such a bother for acting like a wimp just because I had to recite a poem –and while I was on the verge of tears because of embarrassment, I could feel her harsh gaze poking at my insides.

That was enough for me to faint in front of the class and be carried into the infirmary. Since that incident, I begged my sister to have me home-schooled, with which she vehemently disagreed. We were too poor to buy a proper meal; certainly, home-schooling is out of an option. And it was a momentary lapse in my judgment. I am too afraid to go back to school that I forgot we were broke orphans who could barely live a decent life.

That is why I was forced to grow up. I learned how to be patient and endure everything. Almost always, and invariably I try to understand those people around me, yet I find it difficult to trust them. And since then, my life has been just a silent test of endurance.

Like how I am doing right now, soaking wet and shivering from cold while sitting on a cold slab of stone in the middle of nowhere – enduring the curious but critical gaze of strangers crowding me while the man in a white robe painstakingly inspects my body for any injury that will prove that I am also infected. My heart hammers wildly against my chest as he rolls up my sleeves and scans my arm for bites or scratches.

There was nothing malicious with the act, but it was the first time I helplessly allowed someone to invade my personal space. It is uncomfortable as hell that I almost forgot to breathe.

At that moment, all I can do is avoid others' gaze by doing the same thing as he is doing. Overall, my body is still intact, aside from feeling sore in my legs and arms. It must be because I swam for quite a time. Still, I could not help but anxiously check for any tears in my skin. I hope that I will find nothing. I do not want to end up like them. Just the thought of it makes me break out in cold sweat.

Thankfully, he withdrew a few steps when he could not find anything out of the ordinary. I noticed that the others did the same, standing behind him. However, he did not peel his gaze from me. With my head ducked down like a coward, I could feel his hot gaze burning at the top of my head. I had no choice but to meet his stare –and the moment I did, it felt like giant waves swallowed me whole. His eyes are beautiful, but it is suffocating. It felt like I was drowning in those dark azure eyes.

"How did you survive?" the man suddenly asked in a clear-cut baritone voice. His cold demeanor is tinged with a sudden spark of curiosity.

I find myself squirming uncomfortably beneath his gaze. "I don't…." I swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in my throat before continuing… "I don't know what you're talking about," I croaked out in a weakened voice.

An exasperated sigh escapes his lips as he roughly runs his fingers through his silky silver hair. "Do you live here? If not, how did you end up in this place?"

I shook my head in confusion. "I don't…know. When I woke up, I just found myself in this place. Where is this place?"

His azure eyes clouded with confusion, and his mouth twitches in frustration before setting into a thin hard line. "You're telling me you don't know where you are?"

I quietly nodded. Then, a quick burst of murmurs rounds up the ranks of men watching and intently listening to this small spectacle. I can suddenly hear snippets of their conversations, like how I am supposed to be dangerous and should be isolated immediately. In contrast, the others could not believe I managed to survive without turning into one of the Rotters. Their accusing and frightened gaze were getting too much for me to handle until someone came into my defense out of nowhere – the last person I would expect to help me.

It was the bear-man lookalike from earlier. He threw a concerned gaze in my direction before stepping in between the white-haired man and me, hiding me from him and the others. I am thankful for the short reprieve.

His rough and grave voice suddenly sounded comforting in my ears. "Bastian, I' am confident that she's not infected. That's also the sole reason why I tried to save her earlier,"

I couldn't help but stiffen with the statement. Does it mean he would have shot me on the spot if I had even a tiny scratch or bite on my skin?

"Then, how do you explain her survival? No one since the Black Wave managed to survive the sickness except for young children. All of them turned into those mindless creatures. If you are right, and you think she's different from the others, then we should hand her over to the Tower,"

My savior took a slow, deliberate step towards Bastian as he stared him down. He suddenly looked menacing, especially with his towering height but the other didn't back down. "We should continue our conversation after everyone gets settled. This is hardly the appropriate place to talk about this,"

He motions to the frightening stillness of the frozen lake, but he is most probably talking about the dead beneath it. They must just be bidding their time, waiting for the right time to attack.

Bastian caught my gaze, and it lingered on me for quite some time before looking back at him. I couldn't decipher the look he gave me; I'm not too fond of it.

"Since you insist, you watch over her. We are invited to stay in Count Bellaviti's manor. We will continue our conversation there."

As if not wanting to waste any more of his time, he turns her back on me and starts giving directions to his comrades, who are more than unwilling to let me tag along with them.

I'm used to being hated, but I didn't realize I would be hated. Will life once again be hard on me, even in the afterlife?