Red All Over

Memories lingering in my brain, some entertaining, some torturing, and some just letting themselves go. I can't even remember when they occurred, but I know it was long before my wandering. Once again I found myself mindlessly tapping on the pommel of my sword. Each tap flashed a vision from the past to my mind. Memories that had long been called stories by others now with no one telling. Stories, now only I can tell myself. Each tap feels louder and louder as the images become more vivid. I surround myself with a dream.

_Long ago, around a decade before the selection_

I was hiding in the closet. There was a little hole through the closet door. I saw a red liquid spreading on the floor. I understood what had happened. I shut open the doors of the closet and started to sprint. I dove into the supply room where we kept all of our knives. I swiftly opened the drawer and took one out, it was rather dull, so I quickly picked up another. I heard the screams coming from inside. "It's red! Red everywhere!" I heard my mother scream in a distressed voice, while beating her knees. My father wasn't here, and my mother was in no shape to calm herself down. I knew that I had to take the job into my own hands. It happened again, what my mother feared most had happened, in such an important time no less, in the prime time, in the dawn when everyone had just left for their jobs.

The tomato sauce was all over the floor again, and there were many customers waiting for their food. I grabbed a couple of tomatoes and prepared to slice them up with the knife that I had just brought.

I was stressed too. But I stood tall and regained my composure. I gently placed my hands on the handle of the knife. Started to concantrate, didn't really feel natural. I tried to let my feelings go numb, but I couldn't. The same heat from the stove that was surrounding my body started to feel warmer, reminded me the- Thats when my mom grabbed the knife from my hand and pushed me to the side. Clicked her tongue and silently -although I could hear from here- judged my warrior stance in front of my mortal rival (the tomato). She always says that I take too long. She started to cut the tomato and prepare the sauce again. Apparently she _was_ in shape to calm herself down. Indeed, she was so calm that she made sure that I didn't go without an ass whooping before delivering the dishes to the customers.

My father often told me that the strong hunters can feed themselves, patient hunters can feed others, but the best hunters are the ones who know how to eat.

Before every sunrise, my dad would wake me up and teach me the ways of cooking. We would start our day going to the market, showing me how to select the best ones. Best produce didn't always mean picking the best looking. Every dish he made had a different balance, a harmony of ingredients of different ripeness and ratios.

A customer would walk in, looking normal to me, but my dad would notice something in their eyes. Sometimes about their health, their energy, mood. Thinks about the time of the day, day of the week, the current season, and the upcoming season, then he prepares the best dish for them.

Once or twice a week, my dad would go hunting with some of the people he trusts. Bringing meat to our kitchen and our table. Some days when there aren't many customers, he would show me how to clean, season, and cook the meat. How well it pairs with different ingredients. How to make the most out of your hunt. And of course, the part where I put the most attention was the time we ate it. For culinary purposes, as you can imagine. He told me that I need it to be strong and stay strong. He showed me the herbs too. We would add them to dishes and eat, or boil them in water and drink. He somehow convinced my mom that feeding me all these expensive ingredients is worth it since I'd need more energy to work for our place. Although I sensed there was a little more to that.

My father now lets me pick up the herbs from the nearby forest. Sometimes I came across rabbits and took my shot at throwing them some rocks to hunt. Never really worked before, I don't have my own bow like my father, and he refuses to take me hunting until I am older.

He didn't know it yet, but I started to wake up even earlier than before. In one of my herb-picking adventures, I came across a very cool stick that gave me the inspiration to study sword arts. I promised that I would swing it a hundred times a day until the day I join the hunts with my father.