Chapter Text
Probably not the best impression, but I am hesitating. My hand, black skin browned by dirt and laced with incense, usually so steady, shakes. No matter how long I postpone this for tho, those boars aren't leaving by themselves. I sigh: oh well. Creeeek, opening the wood door of my residence unto flaxen, I whisper to the wind,
"Take your time... Take your time.."
So while the forefront of my mind concentrates to the task at literal hand, the back of my head wonders off.
Glory of the new day, heh! It's dawn, when the first birds sing, and I was wiping down my ceramic skin. Although not necessary, it's pleasant, so why not? Afterwards I stood up, confidently stepped across the floorboards, and met myself at my steel mirror. Held upwards by a pretty darling vase, the mirror leans back proudly too, inanimately smiling as I did. Sure I may not be the most conventionally attractive, with a face so quick to glare when called for, but under the morning sunlight my red-hued brown glaze glinted so majestically. On my forehead is a birthmark of beige paint thickly in a quaquaversal little shape. It's only very simple, but I love it. So cute! My mother argues it's a Sun; my father disagreeing to claim it's a flower - I lean on the fence perfectly in the middle. Neath is the ash-collecting tray part of my body, a neat hole through my head at the top where an adequate incense stick would go. Again I was wishing I could have a huge ring go through that hole as a piercing, but neither is that allowed is that available.
When my check-up finished, I went to wash my face one more time fore applying a certain cream on. As personal preference I mixed essential oils with it so such cream can smell of lavender, then alike to the rest of the village we'd rub the cream into whatever material our object body be and into our fleshy limbs. This time I forgot. It...was inevitable, day by day I missed the point of the hassle - in fact it should be impressive I went so long along. I forgot this morning to apply the cream; saw no adverse effects. Nobody found out, nobody will, and this isn't an overt matter. As always I have glossy skin for no difference is borne.
The Church is what gives out these creams. If I am to be frank I don't really know anything about it, which is an inconvenience considering how prominent its control over us is. I'm only a teenage girl though, so they don't give me any control back. Fortunately I'm better off than most women: objects at the outskirts of the village are given more liberty in their isolation.
I don't like being a girl. Too many objects expect me to act in a highly specific way to appease them, and treat me unreasonably if I am to not conform. Feminity is something so beautiful: it's graceful, it's creative, it's wise - yet my family and my neighbors and everyone I've met act as if grace is killability, creativity is delusion and feminine wisdom is untrustworthy. But isn't it so untrue? If it were to be, why would they shove down half of folks' throats a scheme of inferiority based off the apparent binary in our cells? Why? It doesn't help that my very source of income revolves around giving: I think that makes others believe I truly am just a ditzy little daughter. No, not daughter, that's a powerful word. Ditzy little weakling. I am not weak. I sow the very seeds that bring life. I am persistent and stubbornly loving. So when the crops are ready I spend hours reaping. Often alone because my parents entitled all of the garden labour to me. That can't be weakness. Sometimes I notice some village boys with muscles so scrawny and paltry they couldn't even serve as poultry. Meaning - at least comparatively - I am strong!
Or... I don't know - I keep ruminating about these matters. It's redundant; every time I ponder the currents of my thoughts always drift to it. Everyone who hears my complaints knows very well that my mind does that. There isn't a single object who is aware of what I truly believe.
Okay - am I done? No? No. Ugh! Alright: every boar is dead but I was a bit too late. Quite a few metres of grains have been eaten. Firstly I'd kinda have to - well, obviously! - clean the fresh blood off myself & my incense sword. Then... Mmm... Uh, well I'll figure it out when I get there, ha.
Every now and then pests invade the fields and will not leave with the mark of my presence. If I want them to stop, I can't just ask - I have to kill them. Often I'll sell the cadavers if they're worth something - like these boars - but if not they're compost. During my birth I came alongside a singular incense stick which suits my later adult size, but I use it presently as a weapon. Sharpening the edges of the herbs & oils amalgamation created something potently lethal; which nobody except myself can use. The thought of that fact makes me wildly giddy.
After dragging the boar corpses into my kitchen, I begin to prepare them for selling. This time I want to sell every pig in parts; meaning I have to tediously cut up all of the meat into marketable quadrants over and over for each individual pig until they're unrecognisably worthy to purchase. How exciting.
My village has a very lovely street where anyone can set up stalls for free. Said street leads onto a barren grassland where even more stalls are if there's no space. Trading is thus the most common way objects make money, in addition to how satisfying the entire ordeal is because of local amicability! Although this street runs through a neighbourhood, so even if the backs of the houses face the market, the noise must be a nuisance to whoever living there. Oh well.
A few metres before the market street is a well, and this well marks the centre of the village. North is The Church and whatever they need; east is the market; west is where proper businesses and commercial whatnot reside; south is more residential houses and also the pathway in or out of the village. I think. Yeah, it's like that simplified, but there's definitely a lot more details I forgot about. Overall everyone is nice enough and polite if not for their absurd actions but I don't socialise all that much.
Primarily that's due to how I've been raised. Blood is thicker than water as they say! Although, well..my family could treat me better. I know my parents love me to bits, but I kinda don't like being 'in bits'. They made me someone independent, so I don't need any living companion. Funnily enough my brother is the direct opposite, always bringing home beautiful girls to have a good time - I leave them be and just keep to myself. That's also empowered by the fact I'm jealous of him. He seems to have everything so easily. I mean I do too, but I worked for all the stuff I like. I don't ever recall him doing the same. Our parents or his friends always gift him wonders!
I have nobody I quite call a friend. There's this girl named Truffle who I'm most comfortable with, as we see eachother regularly during work and have supported eachother in the same field too, but I don't know her family or birthday or interests or anything which friends know of their friends.
If I wanted to make friends though, I believe I could. For now there isn't any need.
Finally! The boars are ready, and I've even packaged them in cute baskets to increase chance of sales. Washing my hands, I tap my feet rhythmically to my humming; eventually are strolling outside.