and let me kick you off a bungee

I don't think spending less time in the Throat will help the degrading state of my mind, that by somehow running away from the problems they'll just go away. I know that's what my mother had tried, but she never got very far at all, because her problems are always there (im gespräch mit ihr). I heard her, listened to her torment as they tore her apart from the inside out, broke her down until my mother simply wept against the earth and moaned to be left alone, begging for Death. She begged the same way I do, but she did it so outwardly, showed her weaknesses so casually, allowed herself to be vulnerable and scared and show it. Yes, I was terrified, a paranoid bubble of child, always waiting for something to go grossly wrong and be blamed for it.

It never happened, not to my face - but what did they say behind my back, when I paid them no mind or looked the other way? What cruel things do they say in hushed tones, mocking me for the way I am, for the way I look (hässlich) or the mouth I have (dreckig). The thought of them conspiring against me when I had my back turned made me all the more anxious, always on edge about seeing them, seeing the hate and disgust in their hollow eyes (was it really there?). But there are shreds of doubt, moments where I believe that maybe I'm taking it too far, seeing too into it, thinking they are accusing me of things they have never even considered.

But those doubts are thrown aside when I see the large body moving towards the familiar petite shape of a new schädel gesicht, as Zeki and Kye and so fondly described my family, full of macabre features over black bodies. "Ja, ihre definierende eigenschaft sind die schädel," the two had told me once, having recalled something of meeting a few during their moments in the Throat - back when my mother was still a member. I had asked them if I had a skull like my brothers and sisters, and I saw the shaking of a brilliantly bright head, "du bist anders, kleiner entlein." I felt my stomach sink, and suddenly I was giving up (hässliches entlein), crumbling to the ground and gasping at the hooves of the brothers, judging gaze laid on my crumbling body, burrowing into my skin as I sobbed (as close to I can get to it). I would get used to the feeling of being crushed like this, of becoming a family disappointment, of being the hässliches entlein.

I stare at the pair, approaching quietly, hesitant as I pick up words from the large stallion, stiffening when his guttural voice breaks the silence, snaking through the air and taunting me. I furrow my brows, quickening my pace, no longer hesitant but desperate to defend my sister with the tiny, almost indistinguishable chick buried in her tufts of mane. I hadn't interacted much with her, but I knew that she was a daughter of Volterra, rushing forward to ward off the bulky prick that loomed over us both. I would not stand for it, despite my dispositions against my family, I felt that I should at least ward off the evil demon of an equine before he did something he regretted. I was not a threat to him, not the way I was now (powerless, useless, a waste), but I could at least try.

"Hé!" I'm shouting, ears flat as I address the stranger, teeth grinding together as I reach the two. I don't even acknowledge the fact that I'm speaking Apa's tongue, that I'm reverting to his roots rather than speaking the native tongue. I don't think I even register that he spoke to Otem in this tongue either, that he warned her, that he even spoke the language at all. I think I'm too furious (again) to piece together the puzzle, too angry, letting the details of his body (bulky, heavy, Volterra) slip from my mind and his knowledge of our tongue run between my fingers. It is just my rage, my brewing blood at his existence. His appearance has my blood boiling, bubbling beneath the surface of gnarled dark skin, mangled wings twitching and scarred features upturned to the warm red of the stallion. "Nézd meg, ki az, a faszfej. Fedjük le a füled, Otem." I would not let this man get away with scaring children, crushing them and so casually discarding of guilt, refusing to accept that he was acting cruelly. "Lelép, hülye picsa, ha tudod mi a legjobb." I spit the words at his hooves - almost literally - sneering at him even though I was petite beside him, shoving my nose up and puffing my chest out, trying to prove that I was intimidating, that I was a threat.