Girl Who Thrown Into Bhumi Javacekwara

Chapters 1. The Shit Bearer's Chance

...Is our life currently determined by charity in the past?...

...🍃🍃🍃...

Damn bearer!

Am I really the unlucky carrier they say I am?

Ever since I started to understand the meaning of a word, I've often heard you say that.

"Since you were born my life has always suffered. Husband died. I got fired from my job. Losing my son, for not being able to afford the proper treatment for him. The house is on fire." The woman paused her sentence. Patting chest. Relieves anger that makes it difficult to breathe. "What other destruction are you planning for me? You fucking carrier!"

That was the beginning of my exclusion in the environment of the remaining family members. On my tenth birthday, I received a gift that I will never be able to forget for the rest of my life. My mother said she couldn't afford my life. The poverty that always whack him makes him give up to bear me who he considers as the heaviest burden.

Even though the woman said well. However, the impact I felt was far from being okay. The sadness I endured made me unable to cry out, even though my heart was in pain. I don't know why I can't shed a single tear. Either because I had predicted this or because my heart was already immune to all the words of oppression that accompanied my growth for ten years.

If I could ask the Creator, I would cry. No matter how many gallons of tears you have to shed. I just want to cry until I get tired. Because honestly, not being able to cry made my heart feel so much pain.

Not long after my departure, my mother and three-year-old sister left this village. According to neighbors, the mother returned to her hometown in West Java. I knew the woman's hometown and had thought of following her secretly. But I did not do it. As soon as he sees me, I will definitely be told to leave again. So I'm still here because I don't know where else to go.

Sometimes time goes fast, sometimes it's slow. I work in a tea garden in one of the highlands in Central Java. Life hitchhiking in the house of a neighbor who felt sorry for my misfortune, did not change the luck of my life. My neighbor's husband who works as a oddball laborer often complains because the wages I share with them are not able to meet the needs of daily meals. Though I hold more hunger for the sake of their six young children. I dare not complain that being allowed to stay here is already a fortune to me. But one day, one week before Eid al-Fitr, my neighbor's husband invited me to shop for necessities at the market in the city, but in reality he left me alone in front of the entrance gate of an orphanage.

I was stranded in a place never imagined before. Entering the third year, the orphanage building burned down due to an electrical short circuit.

My foster care changed hands with the mother of my late father who lived in another village. An elderly grandmother who works to support five grandchildren, who left their parents working as TKI in a distant land. Dear thousand dear, four months after my grandmother left this world for good.

Finally, I was able to breathe a sigh of relief after my mother's sister who lived in the city was willing to support me. He was kind and loving, and devoted to the hungry market cats. He was a beef and chicken trader at a traditional market near home. Almost every day I help him keep the merchandise and occasionally come to serve the buyers. This activity is quite I like, not all of them, just when counting the groceries of buyers. Yeah, I like counting.

I studied math while in an orphanage. The nanny mother said, if I can't sleep, then I have to imagine a number of sheep that are in the pasture, then count each tail when it will enter the cage.

I comply. Really did. But, that didn't make me fall asleep immediately. Every time I forget the number of sheep I counted, I have to re-imagine taking all the sheep out of the cage. Just to make sure that every sheep has come in as counted. Unfortunately I never managed to finish my calculations, having fallen asleep after tired of thinking; how many sheep were there in the pasture? The point is, I forgot.

Auntie realized my ability to count. He decided to send me to an elementary school not far from the market. Continuing education that had stopped was indeed the thing I wanted the most. The kindness of a widow divorced from death without the child I felt until the eleventh grade.

Bibi died because of a huge fire that hit all over the market. At that time, he helped several other traders who were trying to save their wares. However, fate. The fire quickly reached where they were.

From then on, I started working part-time to finance my life and school. Worked in a bookstore until college, and it's in this office building that I work currently as a secretary. It turns out that misfortune still lurks up to this moment. The old officers still grieve me. They say I'm slow, not smart, and not fashionable. Even my boss is fierce instead of playing. Not tolerate the slightest mistake. Sand sugar in coffee if not a single grain can be felt. The temperature of the brewed coffee water does not fit seventy-five degrees he will know.

My days are always filled with scolding, and it will last for a full day. My mistakes will continue to be revealed until I make a new mistake, to be revealed again until the next mistake is made.

It was truly a wonder the person with such temperament had yet to feel such high blood.

Even so, there is one person who is good to me. He works in the Production Division that I can't see very often, because we work in different buildings.

Lunch time is a time for me to complain to that person. Is he seriously listening or is my story just a ride through his sense of hearing? I don't know. I still feel happy, at least there are still people who want to hear the story of the weak protagonist who has always been oppressed by my version.

Sometimes I feel tired living my life. I wanted to feel what I had never felt in my life. Blaming him was once thought of by me. I have to admit, it doesn't change anything. Just stupid and futile actions.

I decided today was the lowest point in my life's struggle. No longer able to think clearly. The sky is collapsing. The dark passageway seemed endless. Desperation has swallowed up all hope. Reality ruined my dream of a speck of happiness I was waiting for.

I just want happiness. Is that selfish? No need to answer. I don't need it. It's all too late.

...***...

Sleeking towards the roof barrier of the building. Welcomed the sky that looked sour, frowning at this useless self.

The world doesn't need a loser like me?

His weak body managed to escort the young woman to stand on the roof barrier of the building. A strong wind slapped his body as if supporting what he was about to do.

They think what I'm going to do is going to make me go to hell. I fear. But, has not my life been like hell all this time. Then, what's the difference?

His eyelids closed. Take the air for the last time, accompanying the foot swing into empty air.

Death angel. I ready.

Silent. There was only the wind laughing.

Uh, not falling?

The short-spirited woman looked over her shoulder. An old man pinched a little on the back of his white shirt.

"You don't know me? Ck.cc. I'm your miracle."

There is such a miracle!

"What's? Pull it up, Cake. I'm afraid of heights." He regained his mind after previously flying somewhere.

"If you are withdrawn, you will never have a chance to improve your current fate." Grandpa smiled happily.

Fixing what fate? My fate is at the end of his nails.

The woman's feet trembled like they were made of gelatin so they stared deep down—tens of meters away into the parking lot crowded with cars and motorbikes of employees that looked like toy cars. This height made his head dizzy. He should have chosen a two-story building. That's enough, right?

"Don't I have to stay alive to fix my fate?" The woman was heartwarming, powerless to find herself floating in the empty air for quite a while.

As a person who is afraid of heights, he just realized that the death from falling from tens of meters is very terrible. It doesn't matter if you die right away. The story is different when the angel of death is late.

"Are we still alive?" Grandpa asked in his laughter.

"What?"

The old man climbed easily up the perimeter wall, although he wore a white-colored horn decorated with a gray dragon motif. His clothes clearly did not hinder his rapid movement.

^^^(Sinjang; Cain who has motifs with various patterns)^^

The woman was so dark that she could not blink to see her grandfather standing by her side, without removing the pinch on the shirt fabric she was wearing.

"See."

Not yet had the curly-haired woman lowered her head, the grandfather had let go of his shirt. Gravity pulled the young woman's body very strongly. His heart stopped beating. His breath is stuck in the diaphragm. His soul jolted as if out from within his body.

He saw an old figure who looked like a courtier had vanished from where he originally stood.

^^^(Abdi dalem; One who devotes himself to the court and the king with all the rules)^^

Buk.

His back hit something unknown. Everything became dark and silent. Silence deafens.

...***...

The smoke from the burning incense emits an exotic and soothing aroma from the Sandalwood, melted together with the sweeping aroma of the Plates, filling the air in the room that is dimly lit. The door's crackling sounds open. Many people talk.

"What else happened to Ndoro Putri Anatari?" ask the voice of a young woman.

^^^(Ndoro Putri; Sapaan to nobleman or employer[Female])^^

"Hurry up and call the doctor," make a different female voice.

Anatari is my name, but Ndoro Putri Anatari? A healer? What are they talking about?

"Should we report to Yuwaraja about the deteriorating state of Ndoro Putri?" ask for the first voice.

^^^(Yuwaraja; Raja Muda/Crown Prince)^^^

"I don't dare. Yuwaraja is discussing important matters with the Maharaja" replied a man.

^^^(Sri Maharaja; Raja Besar/King Agung)^^^

A yuwaraja? Sri Maharaja? Who are those guys?

Anatari tries to open the eyelids that feel heavy. They also try to move other limbs. Just futile. His body felt like a stone wrapped around a tree root, heavy and stiff. Something that felt wrapped around him so tightly was like it was about to crush him. Fever, weakness, tremors feel pain all over the body.

One thing he did not understand so he kept trying to maintain consciousness was the strange images that continued to flash indistinctly in his head. Encounters. Hatreds. Love's. Treacheries. War. Principality. All of those things look so real. There was a voice calling out 'Yuwaraja'. Theatricals. Sacrifices. Deaths. Crying. Flames. All the mixed feelings whack his physical and inner self.

"Fire?"

The fire he saw grew. Show no sign of going out. The sound of crying, shouting, and asking for help is mutual.

It's not stable. His soul was drowning in a puzzling unease. The gray face of a mythological creature filled with fire appeared, lunging towards him. The woman's eyelids opened with the sound of breathing stuck in her throat.