Kenku, Notebook

  I looked up to purple hair and a barely conceivable unimpressed stare. “You drunk?” She asked, staring down at me.

  “A story I tell ya.” I mumbled, continuing to stare up into piercing orange eyes and a judgemental stare hidden by a polite customer service smile. She groaned, then called over one of the other people working at the tavern. “I’m taking this one to the drunk room.” She announced, and I perked up.

  “Drun’ room?” I’m not drunk, ne’er have been.” I protested, and she grabbed my arm, leading me away as I continued to mutter drunkenly.

  When we got into the corridor, her customer smile disappeared, followed by the full brunt of her disappointment in one big judgey stare, unimpressed vibes radiating off her so vividly it was almost visible to the naked eye.

  “Kenku!” She whisper-shouted. “Again?! I saw that parade, it was too big. You brought suspicion on the Underground again. We almost lost one of our entrances.” I stood up on my own, walking alongside her as we went down the hallway.

  “Yeah, sorry. The Puppets saw us as we escaped. It was close to fleeing though..” She sighed, as we slipped through a door, down a hole to a tunnel. “You are our leader, Kenku. If you die, this whole revolution will crumble. People hang onto your every action. If you lose, they’ll drown.”

  I looked around at the tunnels silently. All of us, outcasts of the upground, people who could never succeed if we spent time above here, but underground, we thrived.

  The lights danced across my eyes, people dancing, others laughing, noise and happiness overwhelmed me in a world below..

  It was funny, sometimes. Hilarious to me. We all knew what we were, scum and rats, except we acted like the highest of nobility, when we were simply in our own domain. It was ironic, laughable even.

  We couldn’t drink, didn’t have the money, but we had lights, we had each other, and we always wanted to be happy. Because even the most miserable of people just want to be happy sometimes.

  It was a tearful life occasionally, it was a lonely one, it was sad, it was trying and it was most definitely hard. But so long as these tunnels existed, and my hope riled the masses up, we could continue to rebel, fight back, and take a place for ourselves in this land of puppetted heroes.

  Purple hair next to me reminded me of why I was here. She walked with me until we got to a tunnel change, and we went into an office.

  The office was bland, boring. There were no lights like out there, instead it was a boring wall of grey stone and one singular light, fueled by electricity we somehow got from above. I found it annoying, a distasteful extra to an underground world of lichen and festive lights.

  ‘I think offices are boring. They’re controlling Kenku. A cage of expectations. Every job, really, is a cage, but this one is the worst. Its paperwork, and simple, bland repetitiveness. I could never understand why people liked it. Maybe Kenku you’ll hate it like me, maybe you’ll like it akin to Violet, but I think, you always need to remember one thing. Paper is a lie. Always, sometimes. It doesn't matter when. It simply always will be, in the end.’

  “Violet, I can't believe you like this place.” She rolled her eyes, flicking hair back out of her face. “You’re so like him.” I looked down silently. She sighed. “You need to get over it sometime. It's been a year already. Come on, I took you here because it's the closest to the medics.”

  Going through the back of her office, and down a couple more tunnels, I was practically falling down in agonising pain by the time we reached the medics area.

  “Wow Kenku. Got into a fight again?” Asked Marie, as she grabbed some salve to put on the worst of my wounds. “You have to be careful, we don't have much left. With all the activity lately, and people getting ready, we have to stockpile some at least.”

  I collapsed onto a bed, and time passed by, all of it a blur of pain and sleep, never fully awake as I rested and recovered.

  I won’t bore you with what goes on, it's terribly annoying and sadly nothing that I could want to talk about. After all, this isn't for that. This is a description of my story, something that's for the truth of the world.

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  ‘Oftentimes, the truth is lie, Kenku. Lies are the foundation of society, and people accept them much more readily than the truth. For to them, truth is a poison of reality, and lies are the drugs of addicts.’

  Violet rushed into the room, red hair joining. “Kenku!” They yelled in unison, and I looked up sharply. “Yes?” I ask, worried.

  The boy approaches. “Kenku, we’ve got word the Puppets are assembling. I think a speech is about to happen. Come on, you need to be there.” I stand up instantly as soon as I hear that a speech is going to be spoken, my mind filled with thoughts, mixing and twisting in my brain.

  A speech. Was he perhaps planning to eradicate us? His actions right now pointed towards it, being hostile, hunting us down.

  ‘The hunting often do so because they feel threatened. Though on rare occasion, it's because of hate. Hate is illogical, purely insensible, and I despise it. It is despicable of human nature. We are bonding creatures, are we not? So why should we hate? Why should our eyes burn with unbridled rage when someone is dumb, why should we leave people behind in a storm of emotions. It is pure foolishness. I had even heard of one who left his family behind, in all his anger….’

  “Take me to where it’s happening, Asn.” Red hair dips, and turns around. “Follow me, revolution leader.” He teases, yet I had no time for it, and didn't respond.

  The Puppeteer. He was devious. Mysterious. And most definitely, egregious. He was blasphemy to the rules of the world, controlling those who had powers, and using them to enforce rules and societal norms. He gave speeches rarely, so this must be a special event. Meaning- They discovered something. Important, and probably about us.

  I think back to the last time this happened. Blood. It was very bloody. And red. How could I forget? It replays in my nightmares all the time. But you aren't here for that. No, you’re here for a telling of a story, nothing more, nothing less, and always in the middle.

  Life is precious, don't you think? I do. As I gazed out to hundreds of controlled citizens under the Puppeteer, I thought of things. How the powerless, sometimes are the most keen-sighted.

  People don’t control the weak, they assume that they won't have enough power to ever overthrow. The mass of people move in synchrony, a pattern even in chaos, swarming around a stage, packed like sardines to hear their dear leader speak.

  “Citizens of this nation, children and adults alike. We have been plagued with those who dwell in the streets, threatening our everyday as they rob and beat us blind. We will not stand for this no longer! We shall now take action! Eradicate the rats of our city, and make this place pristine once again!”

  Every word he states gets a cheer, and I glare slightly. They’re the ones who drove us out, the ones who glare at us on the streets when we have nowhere else to go. The ones who beat us for not having power, the ones who never give us money, forcing us to rob to live. After all, how shall we leave a town, when outside is certain death?

  I glanced to the walls at that moment. Long ago, a thousand long years ago, this world was normal. We could travel outside of walls without fear of monsters, and no one had power, apparently. He at least said so.

  The world was different a thousand years ago. What roamed our world was technology now forgotten, and places could be travelled by a metal bird, an airplane. At least, that's what we called it. We didn't have teleportation. No magic, and everyone was ranked by money. It was a way different world. No monsters, yet we had wild animals, but they didn’t have magic. Kind of like birds. Passive mostly, unless you attack them.

  I found it weird how he’d describe the world back then, always strange to imagine. But one thing that always drew me in? Was his love of a certain hill.

  Kurimusame mountains. They’re covered in beautiful flowers. The flowers are white sometimes. Other times, they’re a deep red, like blood that had spilled onto a tiny bump of a plate, except that bump is a mountain, and the plate is the world.

  I focus back on his speech. “We have found an entrance to our great enemies domain, and shall conquer it once and for all. For all of our safety, and for the people!” He shouts.

  “FOR THE PEOPLE!” They cheer back to him.

  My face contorts in disgust. For the people? For the people? Is it not enough that we live here? Was our lives merely mistakes to be erased because we were born? Is it not already adequate, sufficient that you should ridicule us, that you drive us out of our homes and force us onto the streets?

  “This revolution shall be destroyed, and be merely a step in our ways to eradicate all evil, all monsters, and everything that stands in our way!!”

  “DESTROY THE EVIL OF OUR LANDS!!” He yells, screams out to the groups upon swarms of people. And, they respond, first a thumping of the feet. A slow, quiet, rhythmic thump that grows louder and louder, more demanding, more frightening, more fearful, more angry. Yells start to join in, claps as well. Whistles and applause as my eyes flicker.

  Because on the edges, at the buildings, in the streets, on roofs, and alleyway dwellers, all of them stare, all of them look with disgust at the Puppets. For all of them, all of them, are merely the roaches that have taken over a beautiful city of butterflies.

  “DESTROY THE EVIL OF OUR LANDS!”