I lived in a small, humble house.
Our ‘garden’ was this narrow strip of ground which can only fit one person and that person has to step over whatever potted plants that were placed there.
It was a typical night in the household until we heard car tires screeching loudly. The car accelerated towards the garden which obviously won’t fit. We knew the car won’t stop no matter what we say or do. We started moving things out of its way. The chairs, the plants, the dining table and whatever it was going to hit.
I marveled at how quickly we got things out of the way and how slowly the car was going.
As the car finally hit the edge of the house, it went through crashing – in slow motion…
The car finally came to a halt.
I looked around and there were plenty of people around me. All of us were women. My mother clicked her tongue. Every one around me, including I, put a hood on and I instinctively did a back flip, landing at the edge of the roof. I hung there, motionless, with the others while I saw my mother and her group going through the floors.
All of a sudden, a bunch of men came out of the car and started firing rounds around the house. Clearly, they cannot see at night.
They were not prepared for this ambush and they came to the wrong house.
Another click of the tongue and we lunged towards the attackers.
A servant lit the candles one by one while some took the dead bodies away. Others took away our weapons, knives of various shapes and sizes, for safe-keeping. The master of the house, my father, arrived with his men. He checked on my mother and was proud that I can fight. He inquired about my weapon. I informed him that the hammer I used as a child, finally broke during the attack earlier.
He told me it was time that I used the knife that was made by my godmother.
I was elated that my rank has finally gone up.
I jumped up to the roof and carefully walked towards the large koi fish that held my knife.
My godmother told me a name but it is stolen by the wind. I must look for the wind before I can use my knife’s name.