I want to be loved. I want to be recognized. I want to be told I did well when I try my best at something, even if it's a lie. I want to be held by warm arms and promised a future. I want to make my Papa proud but I also want revenge on him for making me like this.
"You have such pretty red eyes," said a man old enough to be my father. "Where are your parents at?"
I stare blankly up at the man before me. He's tall, an orca like myself. His face is battered and scarred, but clean, shaven, and proud. I believe that, were a bucket of water to be dumped over his head, his long hair would shield me from the rain with ease.
When he places his hand on my head, I don't drink back or react. If I show weakness, he might devour me.
"Are you hungry?" He asks as he retrieves a candy from behind my ear. Is this magick? Or, maybe, it's the sort of magic without a 'k'. When he holds it out to me I snatch it from his hand and, with all of my strength, run as fast I can back to my hiding spot.
The next day he comes again and, hoping for food, I poke my head from the broken wall of the crawlspace I call home.
Amused by this, he tosses me a candy.
The next day is the same.
The day after that is the same.
Then, nothing.
Then, something.
I'm coaxed out of my hiding spot entirely. The older man is dangling an apple in front of me this time, promising me he'll give it to me if I answer his questions. Fresh fruit is unheard of in this district, so I can only assume he brought in from somewhere else.
"Can ya talk?" He asks.
"Yeah," I grab for the apple as I answer, but he holds it above my hand.
"That's good. Where's your family?"
"Dunno. Gone. Dunno, been real long," I mumble, jumping to grab the object of my desires. I've seen them in the commercials that play on the market street, but I could never have imagined they'd smell so sweet. The aroma poisons my senses, driving me mad with hunger. When he takes too long to ask the next question, I use the little bit of magick I'd learned to blind him, hoping he'd drop the apple and I could scamper away again.
But, no dice. Though I mimicked what I had seen perfectly, my fingers posed in a framing rectangle that did manage a bit of light, it was only enough to produce a faint glow.
"That little bit of magick isn't enough to hurt anyone. Keep practicing," he says as he drops the apple into my hands.
A month later and I'm accepting food more freely from the man. He sets me up on his leg and we sit at the restaurant. Everyone assumes I'm his daughter, and I don't argue. Today a man sits across from us, rattling on about something I don't understand. When we arrive back to my hiding spot, this strange orca that feeds me asks me a question again.
"What do ya think about the things Mr. Alexander said today?"
"I dunno," I shrug.
His hand collides with my cheek with enough force to send me tumbling over myself.
The next day, I listen to the stranger at the table, and at the end the peculiar man hands me another delicious fruit. The day after that, I listen again and formulate my own thoughts on the conversation.
"I think if we make the company public, a few shareholders won't be enough to throw a wrench in the works at all! We just gotta play ball a bit and we'll be expanding into markets we only dreamed of before!" Mr. Alexander seems particularly animated today.
"What do you think about this?" The orca man I've come to learn is named Bruiser is looking down at me expectantly.
Motivated by the expectation of food, I speak up without hesitation.
"I think you guys are… smart, so…Havin' other people tell ya how to run your joint don't seem good, even if they are givin' ya money for it…."
"Thatta girl!" Bruiser beams proudly at me, handing me a butterscotch that tastes like paradise. "She's my daughter, y'know," the gruff but lanky man flicks a cigarette at his business partner, who laughs it off casually.
"She, uh–, has your eyes," he stammers as he wipes the ash from his coat.
"Yeah, she does! You look just like your Papa," Bruiser smirks at me. I've spent enough time around him to understand the expectation he's putting on me right now. Perhaps if I play along I'll receive another sweet.
"I have apple-colored eyes just like Papa," I mumble, waiting for my treat.
To my dismay, I'm rewarded with Bruiser's pleased laugh instead.