(Ororo POV)
I was a thief. An orphan. When I was 6 years old, a plane crash destroyed our home. My parents were killed, but I survived, buried under rubble near their dead bodies. Ever since then, I have suffered from the severe claustrophobia that still afflicts me today. I managed to escape the rubble of my shattered home with nothing but the tattered clothes on my back and my mother's ancestral ruby.
That was 7 years ago. I was found by a gang of street urchins who took me to their master, Achmed El Gibár. Achmed trained me how to survive on the streets, begging, stealing and picking both pockets and locks. After being trained extensively by Achmed, I became his prized pupil, the best thief in Cairo. I continued to steal for Achmed for years until roughly one year ago, when I felt a strong urge to wander south and leave Cairo.
I followed the Nile out of Egypt into Sudan, reached Khartoum and continued to Ethiopia, going through many towns and villages on my way. During my travels, I naively accepted a ride from a complete stranger and was almost raped by him. Forced to defend herself, I killed the man. I hated that feeling, the blood and the reality that he wouldn't ever breathe again and, from that moment, swore never to take another human life. Eventually, I reached Kenya and joined another group of child thieves. Our Teacher was a good friend of my old master, Achmed El Gibár, and continued to teach me.
"The camera - you want it?" one of my fellow urchins asks me.
"It reminds me of... it reminds me of... my father. He used to take pictures."
"Take it," he tells me.
"No. Those men are big."
"They're lazy fat Americans," he says. "You're getting too comfortable picking locks, Ororo."
"I earn my keep," I tell him.
"You're so American," he tells me.
"I'm African!" I say.
"But you're becoming as lazy as the Americans," he says.
"She is afraid," Zenja says.
Zenja is the daughter of the Teacher and doesn't like me at all.
"I'm not afraid!" I say.
"Ororo is not one of us." Zenja continues. She doesn't like me.
"I pick locks, don't I? I do my share."
"But can you outrun the White Man?" she asks me.
"I can outrun you."
"Prove it. Take the camera, outrun the fat and lazy Americans." Zenja tells me.
"No."
"Chicken. You're not of Mother Africa."
"My mother was an African princess. What was yours?" I challenge her.
"Ha! You were born in New York. You're a black American pretending to be African."
"I'm better than you," I tell her.
"Prove it."
I think back to my parents. Their image is in my mind day and night. They were special, they loved me; I can't let this go. So, without further thinking about it, I walk over the edge. All my life, I had to prove myself worthy. All my life, I wanted to be accepted for who I am. I reach the fat American, take his camera, and start running.
"Stop, thief!" he shouts, and they start to chase me. The other urchins run beside me.
"Faster, Ororo."
"I'm trying," I say, while I push myself as hard as I can. I can't fail, not this time.
"Give me the camera!" he tells me, trying to pull their attention away from me.
"No!"
"Ororo-"
"I pull my own weight." I say and continue to run as fast as I can, holding on to my wig, hiding my silver-white hair.
"Faster, Ororo! We have to make it to the heart of the village!"
If I die a thief, I wonder if I will be reunited with my parents. Will they welcome me with open arms? Or would what I have become shame their spirits?
"She is weak. Let the white men chase her. Let them catch her. Maybe they will take her back to her precious America and teach her how to pick cotton." Zenja shouts and then runs in front of me, causing me to trip and fall.
My wig falls down, and I lie on the street with the men catching up to me. The one I stole the camera from aims his rifle at me.
"Thought of this madness. Give her the JFK special," he says and aims at me.
The feeling overcomes me... the same one that I have felt for a while now. My eyes turn white, and the sky opens up for a second. The winds pick up speed, and mist begins to spread, covering me and protecting me from their view. The more the mist spreads, the less they can see, and I stand up and run away as fast as I can.
*BANG BANG*
I hear the shots they aimed at the ground, trying to kill me. The wind follows me, like a restless spirit. I run as fast as I can through the jungle until I reach the village.
"You made it!" Zenja sneers.
"You tripped me," I say.
"Don't blame those big feet of mine."
"You tripped me. I made it on my own, I outran them." I say, hiding the truth of the matter.
"Lucky," she says and shrugs.
"Whatever!" I shout, angry that I can never do anything right with her.
"The slowest Zebra becomes the lion's dinner. Remember that."
...
Thirteen years old and I am a thief. When I was in Cairo, I was trained by Achmed. He trained me and the other street urchins. That's what they called us. Now, I am in a different country, with other street urchins, once again alone, an orphan amongst other orphans, struggling to survive the only way we know how. No one has a mother, no one has a father. All we have is each other.
"Hey, Ororo, let me see that."
"No, Chacha," I say.
"Why?"
"You might break it."
"It's just a stupid camera. Bad luck. It steals images and steals the soul." Chacha says.
"It does not, Chacha. It captures memories, things we do not want to forget." I explain.
"Why are you so protective of that camera?" he asks me.
"Because."
"You are a mystery, Ororo. Such a mystery. Do you remember when you were a baby in America?" Chacha continues to pester me.
"I see it in my dreams."
"Why did your parents leave America?"
"Because of... because."
"Tell me."
I don't answer Chacha and look at the others who are looking happy around the fire. The wind follows me. The skies respond to my fears with fog. When I cry, it starts to rain. Clouds respond to my anger with lightning. And now I have become a woman, a strange thing in my own body. My body betrays me, my skin... pimples at times. I am going through the changes of a woman. The moon that was always my friend, now, for days at times, my enemy. I desire to touch, but inside that desire is fear. A fear of getting close. A fear of falling in love and losing that love again.
"Dance with me, Ororo," Chacha says as he usually does.
"Tomorrow," I answer.
"You always say that. Tomorrow never comes. It's just today."
"I know."
"One dance?" he asks, but I shake my head.
"Dancing with me means more than just dancing."
"Wait, where are you going? We're not supposed to be alone!" he says as I move deeper into the jungle.
"Sometimes, it's safer that way."
...
Hate is a four-letter word. The cancer of the soul. When it is watered down with ignorance, it spreads fast. In my father's father's time, it was water hoses, German shepherds, the bombing of three little girls in Birmingham... Not much has changed, not much ever will. Hate shifts, it puts on a new dress or a new face, but it's just old wine in a new bottle. I think back to our time in America and the reason we had to leave. I don't know why it was so special to be of a different colour, and here, it's the same, just the other way around. The White Man, Zenja calls them.
Suddenly, I feel the touch of a human hand on my shoulder and exclaim in shock.
"AH!"
*RUMBLE*
Lightning strikes from the clouds in the distance, responding to my fears.
"Teacher."
"Ororo, come, you missed your lesson today." Teacher says.
"But... they were going to the village and I..."
"Don't give in to peer pressure." Teacher tells me.
"But... if I don't..."
"Choose to be a leader or a follower," he says and walks forward.
"But-"
"No buts. Come, we have lost a day of training."
As we walk, he asks me about today and I tell him.
"The wind came..."
"Did they see?" he asks.
"No. They left me, so they didn't see. I don't want to be different."
"You are different, Ororo."
"I was scared, not only did the wind come..."
"What happened?"
"Lightning struck from the sky, and fog surrounded everyone."
"Wind, fog and lightning?"
"I was terrified," I say.
"Remarkable."
"What?"
"You are describing a storm."
"Storm?"
"Anyway, let's get to practice. Tonight, you will train lockpicking, but on these safes. Someday, you will unlock a safe and become rich through it, " Teacher tells me, bringing me to the wall that has several replicas of safe locks for us to practice.
"By doing that, will I make someone else poor?"
"As is the nature of the world, wealth creates poverty. Now, get to work. Once you're done, you can go to sleep."
...
"ORORO! LOYAVA KEENECK Q WI! LOYAVA KEENECK Q WI! ORORO!"
The voice of my rival startles me. Zenja runs through the forest and shouts my name. 'Loyava keeneck q wi' is our warning. Trouble has come. I stand up and start running, seeing that the men following Zenja are the same ones from whom I stole the camera. They found us, as we're running, Zenja suddenly trips and falls.
"Windrider. My prize of all prizes," the man says as he looks at me. All this for a camera?
"Leave the camera!" I shout at Zenja and help her stand up again.
"No, Ororo! Leave me, run! Don't be the slowest Zebra! Run!" Zenja says and pushes me forward.
I follow her advice and run as fast as I can, as fast as my legs will carry me. With my new fear, the wind rushes into my face, works against me, and is no longer my friend. The skies light up, revealing where I am, as lightning strikes. I must have angered the gods. I wonder if death will embrace me today.
*BANG*
I don't want to die like this. A pickpocket, the picker of locks, a thief since I was six years old. And not being able to see my parents on the other side. I run downhill and feel myself slip, but I don't fall; the wind lifts me. I feel like paper, weightless... it scares me. These strange darts fly through the air next to me, missing by a hair. I fall to the ground again and continue running. Because the slowest Zebra...
*Bang*
I am hit with one of the darts. The force of the hit pushes me forward, causing me to fall to the ground.
"Reduced to being a thief? Damn shame." the man says and grabs his camera I stole earlier today. "Don't fight it, child. Go to sleep. Let the rains stop. Windrider... you will be worth a fortune. Rope her. We'll keep her tranquillised. Carry her back to the village and put her in a room. Keep her powers at bay, and tomorrow I will contact the Bull."
"..."
He doesn't receive an answer and shouts at the men.
"I SAID ROPE HER!"
He turns around and realises that none of his men are left. Instead of them, there stands a boy... no, a young man. He looks at me. I feel his eyes lock onto mine, and I feel his reassurance as he nods his head.
...
Who is he?
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I hope this was somewhat interesting to you. I know that most readers only want to get action.