Purple Lotus of the orient. - Sunday Morning Fiction

in writing •  2 years ago 

First chapter of the story.
Audio at the bottom.

Chapter {1}
{Moonshine River Waltz}
Lian was a pretty girl, Lian was a clever girl, and Lian was an outcast. She grew up in a poor farming village near the misty Yangtze River in the Hubei province. Her wholesome daily diet consisted of mere rice porridge seasoned with some local wild grass and occasionally a couple roasted spicy chicken feet.
On unlucky days she could only eat mere leftovers and food scraps from the market, maybe also a couple savory dry crickets on a stick. There’s nothing like yummy bugs cooked on a stick.
“You like them crunchy bugs?” The street-seller used to tell her, while he slowly roasted the succulent delicacy.
“You know, modern scientists think that eating insects, is the way of the future.” He joyfully said.
Lian could only respectfully smile, she tried as hard as she could to not instantly burst into mad laughter.
She found this concept tremendously amusing.
Lian daydreamed, she imagined some eccentric European scientist wearing a long white robe. There’s a plate full of dry bugs on the table, he very precisely sips some red wine while he carefully eats some delightful crunchy bugs. It’s all so amusing and deceitful indeed.
A big, fat, fucking lie.
These bourgeois scientists, they’ve got a choice, to eat or not to eat Foie Gras. Unlike us, the poor and marginalized people of the world. We are relentlessly forced to eat disgusting stinky bugs to survive, while the rich and mighty fatten themselves up on fancy duck liver. It’s all a big fraudulent lie.
Lian was a very hungry girl, her young and malnourished body was too weak and feeble. She could barely tend the rice fields, and do her daily chores in the house. Her daily existence itself was a constant reminder of how pathetic life can be. Misfortune is the anthem of the poor, raise your hands and fucking clap like an epileptic clown.
In the fields as a farmer, she was utterly worthless. She was too small and weak to be able to handle the water buffalos to plow the water terraces on the mountain. Instead she was forced to plow the fields with her bare little hands, regrettably her feeble noodle arms were too weak for the task.
She was a complete and absolute failure. When the crops were ready, she couldn’t even harvest the rice. What kind of farmer was she? A pathetic one indeed.
Her despicable mother had no productive use for such a pitiful weakling. A walking shame.
“I wish you were never born.” She used to tell Lian every day as she whipped her with a stick. Lian’s back was full of scars and open-wounds made with the wretched tool. She cried and begged her mother to stop but she never listened. It seems that her only mission in life was to torment the poor child.
Repugnant and embracing, motherly cruelty.
At the tender age of 13 Lian was sold in to modern day slavery, as a servant to a wealthy family in capital city. She was shipped off, on a very simple and common Saturday morning. Luckily for her, she was never to return, and never to be seen again in the piss-poor rotten place where she was born.
Lian didn’t shed one single tear on that wretched and treacherous day. She despised her village and her heartless mother that sold her for a couple gold coins, like a bag of brown rice to the highest bidder. For her mother she was but an unnecessary commodity, ready to be used and dumped as pleased.
Innocent Lian swore in that particular moment, never to be weak and vulnerable. Never to let her precarious fate, fall in to the hands of another. Never to have a heart again.
Never to be a weak, little cunt.
At the time, only dark dreams of hate and sorrow would fill her mind. Yet she made a choice, in a moment of grandiose unforgiving truth. She would truthfully and willingly decide to abruptly transform herself. A wishful majestic promise, the metamorphosis of a megalomaniac to be.
Lian’s eyes glittered with hate, a vengeful spark ignited inside her eyes, inside her heart, deep inside her soul.
“I’m not weak, I’m the Lotus” She told to herself. “I’m the Purple Lotus, and I shall make myself eternal.”
Shining faithful reflections of the Lotus.
Up until this day she still remembers, that precise moment in time when it all changed. How it all began, not by choice but by misfortune itself.
She remembers.
How the farming village slowly disappeared in the distance. The green mountains full of rice fields, never to be seen, never to be remembered again. Lian’s intimate sorrow and sadness dissipated, as blissful rain poured down on the countryside. Lush green mountains and dirt-roads suddenly turned in to steel-made buildings and asphalt highways.
Hundreds of erratic bicycles swarmed the road, like hungry Amazonian ants amassing on flimsy old branches. The blue sky was no longer blue, it was replaced by thick, dark-grey, polluting smog. The sounds of car engines and busy streets were the only things to be heard.
Lian’s reality was completely violated, shattered and broken. She had nothing because she was nothing, a poor farmer girl from a piss-poor village. The only consolation to alleviate her sorrow was her majestic promise of vengeful dreams.
Wishful hope can drive humans very far in their own masochistic delusions and desires.
Lian arrived during the night to her new home.
Beijing, capital city.
This is the place where the great “Purple Lotus” will be reborn. From the ashes of a piss-poor farmer girl with nothing in the world but her own pure will and desire to conquer. Seeds of hatred sown in the field of wishful dreams to realize. In this place, she will ruthlessly grasp her own fate.
In this city she will get everything that her cruel mother never provided. Lian will get everything by her own hands. The immaculate hands of the Purple Lotus.
A child with a majestic fate.
The precarious situation of Lian can truthfully prove that people from humble beginnings can rise to the top of the world. On the back of Pegasus, ambitiously riding towards the sun. Pushing the world against the burning sun, solely by their own ambition. Although this remarkable pure desire for power, is a double-edged sword.
If you fly too close to the sun, your wings will get burnt. Remember Icarus?
Charred and deaf misconceptions of fate.
Lian is yet to see, her fate unfold in front of her.
“Tick, Tack.” The Swiss watch says.

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I am Cornholio! You will co-operate with my bunghole!