Written By Qadira
Jan. 21, 2020, 8:50 p.m.(8.31481357473545/11.629560185185184/1012.6095677978947 AR)
It's strange, to be noticed. If I could go back and speak to myself, younger and more foolish, committed to a life none would ever choose, what choices would I have made then, I wonder? She'd have claimed to live by her wits, that nameless girl, to be a survivor at any cost. But what a cost. She was less than the nobody that first arrived in this city. Now she hears her name upon the lips of a handful of strangers, words that encourage direction and passion. Words that compel her to reach for the stars, where the gods themselves reside. To fight, to evolve, to change for the better with each passing day.
Stagnation is no way to be. A lifetime of spite, and furor, and all she had to show for it were the scars on her back.
Those scars empower ME now; I will keep them covered because they belong to a past that was ill-judged and brashly preserved, but they are covered in a finery she never knew. There's a blade in my hand, and the iron in my blood has become steel. My foundation remains the same, but with each brick laid a tower climbs skyward. It seems there's worth in other souls, after all, in their capacity to reinforce that teetering brickwork. In time I will name them, but for now that is the least I can do for myself. My name is Qadira Thorne, and into this rising monument I plant a flag.
One foot in front of the other, one more day survived, has become a race to the finish. This isn't her fight any more. It's mine, and by that name I'll win it. This is strength, this is power, and it is mine where it was never hers. To those that watch and listen, I am grateful.
Keep watching, and see me soar.
Keep listening, and hear my roar.
Stagnation is no way to be. A lifetime of spite, and furor, and all she had to show for it were the scars on her back.
Those scars empower ME now; I will keep them covered because they belong to a past that was ill-judged and brashly preserved, but they are covered in a finery she never knew. There's a blade in my hand, and the iron in my blood has become steel. My foundation remains the same, but with each brick laid a tower climbs skyward. It seems there's worth in other souls, after all, in their capacity to reinforce that teetering brickwork. In time I will name them, but for now that is the least I can do for myself. My name is Qadira Thorne, and into this rising monument I plant a flag.
One foot in front of the other, one more day survived, has become a race to the finish. This isn't her fight any more. It's mine, and by that name I'll win it. This is strength, this is power, and it is mine where it was never hers. To those that watch and listen, I am grateful.
Keep watching, and see me soar.
Keep listening, and hear my roar.
Written By Qadira
Jan. 18, 2020, 3:50 a.m.(8/2/1012 AR)
All my life I have refused to be judged, weighed, or measured. I have said, "Let others think what they will." As if their stones could not strike me. As if nothing could bring me down. But they thought, and they judged, and they brought me down over, and over, and over...
I stood the same number of times, and one more. Always one more. To spite them.
I should not be able to write this. By their black justice, I should not be able to write at all. There are many things I should not do, and many more I should not have done. Through it all, I have prevailed. Despite everything, I have survived. To spite them.
Now the venom curdles in my throat. Am I a better person? Am I, somehow, a good person?
By gaining my freedom, it seems I have imprisoned myself in doubt.
I will not be chained. Not again.
Whatever I do will be right.
I stood the same number of times, and one more. Always one more. To spite them.
I should not be able to write this. By their black justice, I should not be able to write at all. There are many things I should not do, and many more I should not have done. Through it all, I have prevailed. Despite everything, I have survived. To spite them.
Now the venom curdles in my throat. Am I a better person? Am I, somehow, a good person?
By gaining my freedom, it seems I have imprisoned myself in doubt.
I will not be chained. Not again.
Whatever I do will be right.
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