I think I could've done better. I handwrote it first, that's the main reason. Well, read it, tell me what you think, tell me what you think I meant. I've been having problems with my implications. Too tiny, I guess.
(this was done for school, my teacher paired me up with a picture of like 10 Hawaiian-looking girls who were rubbing oil on some shirtless guy's back. In a bamboo hut. And I had to write a story to fit it, so voila.)
Fremahli’s Curse
The scent of coconuts filled the air, wafting into her nostrils. The thrill of it all had long gone five years ago, when Teieta was first invited into Fremahli, an exclusive group on the island that she lived on. She could not even fully appreciate the smell of the coconut oil so prized by her people.
“Teieta!” screeched the dark form laying in front of her.
“Y-yes, Mahli?” she answered shakily, quickly dipping her fingers into the container of slippery coconut oil and rubbing it on Mahli’s back.
“Something is bothering you. Your skin does not feel as smooth as the other girls’,” Oh, how she dreaded the sound of his voice, so superior, so condescending. But she had to answer to him. For the money. For her family. “Tell me.”
She drew a breath. “There is nothing wrong, Great Mahli. I have been dreaming about evil things at night, is what.” She bit her lip, hoping that Mahli had not seen it quiver when she spoke the lie. “My mother has already given me remedy; Mahli needs not worry.”
“Good, good,” he murmured, and seemed to sink back into his trance-like slumber.
Fala, a fellow slave-girl and best friend of hers, shot her a look of despair and fear. Hurry, her eyes said. Teieta could not help but oblige.
She clasped her hands together tightly to hide her shivering. Teieta finally reached into the folds of her skirt and grasped the carved bamboo handle of the dagger. Teieta nodded to Fala, rising from her sitting position at the left of Mahli to a tense, but silent, crouch.
Fala rubbed her palms against her sides. Teieta knew that she only did that when she was nervous. Fala squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and the opened them again. “Mahli?”
“Yes, Fala?” he responded, turning his head slightly to his right, where Fala sat.
“My sister, Falea, turns thirteen in a weeks’ time.” Fala’s voice was strong and sure, but Teieta knew that she was mortified inside. “My mother would like Falea to enter Fremahli.”
Teieta rose completely and hovered above Mahli, dagger pointing to the spot on his back where his cold, dark heart beat.
Mahli lay still face down on the mat, seeming to be completely unsuspecting. “Hmm…
“TEIETA, WHAT DO YOU THINK—?!” Mahli had twisted around to stare accusingly at her, but the loud noise startled her. Teieta dropped the dagger in surprise.
Everyone in the room watched as the dagger plunged downward.
Down, down, down it went…
Whistling through the air…
The sharp tip gleamed in the meager sunlight shining through the cracks between the thatches in the roof.
Outside, a bird chirped, unaware of the tension in the tiny building.
No one breathed.
No one made a sound.
And then, the blade broke the tan skin of the man.
Mahli let out a cry that turned into a gag when blood gushed into his throat. His eyes, dark, brown, and muddy, fixed upon Teieta, anger and hopelessness, all there—but above all else—fear. Even such a powerful man could feel fear.
Her heart leapt into her chest.
She could not tear her eyes from his as he stared at her, as terrified as he was.
But slowly, the fearful light in his dark eyes left. They became cloudy. The frantic rising-and-dropping of his chest halted.
The Great Mahli was dead.
The room was still silent.
After months of anticipation of this moment, this moment when they would at last be free, none of them could move an inch.
Teieta thought they would yell and shout and celebrate, but they did not.
Perhaps they all felt the same way she did—she had killed a man.
She had murdered, slaughtered, taken another’s life.
Even though he was evil, he was still dead.
