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May - Short Fiction Story by tamacvet

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· @tamacvet · (edited)
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May - Short Fiction Story
> "How can someone with such black eyes have a bright view of the future?"


![pexels-alexander-krivitskiy-1406722.jpg](https://images.hive.blog/DQmUiJYEhj6YYhm7TQT4uBoAyxJnUzPfLeWSdUh5oMmDbaw/pexels-alexander-krivitskiy-1406722.jpg)
[Source](https://www.pexels.com/photo/grayscale-of-woman-1406722/)


It's the question that everyone bothered her with, ever since she could talk, but she would only smile. May certainly didn't look anything like other girls in the village, where blond hair and blue eyes were a must. She was tall, with black long hair and big dark eyes, that would stop a man in middle of a sentence with a single look. Eyes have many colors, but hers were so dark that you couldn't distinguish the pupil from the iris. 

> "It's a bad sign"

Midwife said the moment she was born. Her mother, on the other hand, didn't believe in signs or God to be honest. She believed only in her own making of the destiny. After all, she was alone in the woods raising this child, no one could ever tell her anything that would separate them. She named her May, beginner of spring and awakening of the nature. Being exiled based on the color of your eyes was such a long time ago, that her mother hoped people would accept her now. 


![pexels-eberhard-grossgasteiger-4406222.jpg](https://images.hive.blog/DQmcFTWY6s3LFNqTxS5tE4kWQUHXrfjGUfCu5TW9CBBzugv/pexels-eberhard-grossgasteiger-4406222.jpg)
[Source](https://www.pexels.com/photo/rural-houses-on-mountain-slope-4406222/)

The village was small and in a remote edge of the Mystic forest. War ended long ago, but only few men survived. It was up to women to carry on the legacy of the warriors that gave their lives for freedom of their country. Stories told around the fire sparked the imagination of children and bled the wounds of those who remembered.

May loved those stories, even heard from far away, because she was considered cursed and thrown in the darkest corners of the room, when she was allowed in, or better said when it was too cold outside to survive. She didn't mind, she got used to it. Dolls made of twigs made her company on the dusty floor. Mother though her to see the better side of everything

> "This way, we can make our own stories and play them out with the dolls." 

When days were forgiving and a bit warmer she would go to the forest to search for mushrooms and roots, but she would always come back with more colorful flowers than something to eat. Color was something she needed to fill up the dark cave her and her mother were condemned to live in. She didn't mind even that, flowers and colorful trinkets made the cave the playground for her imagination.


![pexels-snapwire-615293.jpg](https://images.hive.blog/DQmPB1cSvgPqWKuBnj5tHR3sRSdV93rQkaUueV7Y1NhhT1Z/pexels-snapwire-615293.jpg)
[Source](https://www.pexels.com/photo/selective-focus-photography-of-red-blue-and-yellow-petaled-flowers-615293/)

She always had a vivid imagination, that it almost sounded like she was talking about things that actually happened. Her mother attributed it to dreams of a lonely girl who just needed something to occupy her mind with. But the stories became more detailed as she grew up. 

She would often gaze in to the water when they washed clothes and almost got hypnotized by the waves reflecting the sun in the deep, dark eyes. Then out of nowhere words would flow like the river in front of her, about war, battles, horses and fields. She would suddenly stand up, proudly looking in the distance as if she was waiting on someone to come, before she would sit back down and continue with her chores as if nothing happened. 

To be continued..

With love,
Tamara
👍  , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , and 47 others
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