Bitter ice seeped through the poor animal's skin. I stand there in a daze. The world is spinning around. The floating murky water had stained its skin, creating sandy puddles around its being.

I was being sold. I was to be sold into a different land, a different culture, a different tradition, and a different family. I was to be taken care of by people that were not my parents. To be fed from cutleries that weren't as old as age. Or not have fry-ups every morning.

But I was fine with it. It didn't matter. It should not matter because it's their doing. My body rattles as the bitter cold slowly seeps its way into my lambwool Ruana. The lacklustre shawl did nothing to block out the cold. I was certain I would be dead before my feet touched American soil. No, before I departed from the Queen's country, my body would be harvested for hypothermia. Large curves drawn in the air catch my attention. I straighten my spine as my seller has adorned me in ridiculous clothes and is taking my pictures. To pose for the bidders.

Mathair.

She wildly flails her arms and an eerie crescent draws across her parched, prickly lips. People cast me weird looks. It's 8 in the morning and everyone is miserable but Mathair just pops off like a huge bundle of joy, bringing unsolicited light to everyone's day. 

"Oops" Her giggle is like forks scratching ceramic when someone shoves past her with their musical instrument; a cello. She steadies her camera and attempts to take another picture but more people shove at her making her smile falter. Her eyebrows cringe into frustrated lines and she turns to me with this strong pout and fierce accusing look in her eyes like I was the cause. Might as well have been.

"Move over to that side" She fervently swings her arm indicating me to move over to the right as more people walk by. I am standing there with my luggage, a plaid shawl wrapped over my head, a red knee-length skirt over black leggings to cover my legs, traces of water are scattered all around my luggage, making little sandy puddles under my feet, and my umbrella isn't too far away, besides mom.

I waddle to the side, temporarily moving my bags out of the way of the influx of people. My shoulder sags and I almost fall as I kneel to pick up the bag. Strands of my hair protrude out from under the shawl and I sluggishly tuck it back in. Mom steadies her arms and I can see her make a pinch motion probably zooming in on my black eyebags, messy damp hair, smeared lipgloss, hunch back or how my shawl is one inch off to the side. The only thing to left complete my fabulous aesthetic is a sign board stating my occupation as a homeless orphan.

"I told you not to touch the hair-do" She stumps her feet to the ground and I wonder who's the kid here. I am almost relieved to see the second seller huddle over with my gift bag. Before we came to the arena we are standing in, I had spied a piece of pink jewellery with three equal halves of a heart, perfect for a triple.

Since all this was impromptu...for me, I didn't think of breaking into my piggies bank to use as a means to living, so I really hoped, the fact I was asking my sellers to lend me a few dollars papers wasn't me being a burden. Keyword, seller. Keyword, hope.

Ignoring mom's angry eyes I once again waddle in my soggy shoes to collect my gift bag but inside it are a pair of Halloween masks. "This isn't what I had asked for" I state as my cheeks grow pink, I loosen my tight grip on the paper bag as I stare at the pair of horror-inspiring Halloween masks. I already concluded what had transpired.

"Yeah! well~, Mo Ghradh, I thought it would have been a better idea to share the tradition and love with your cousins over there" Mom chirps in and playfully swabs at my arm, she pauses and looks up through her lashes, staring at Dad. When she catches me staring at her with a wide-open jaw, she coughs up and looks away.

"Anyway, that's what you'll be giving 'em, I told Dad to change 'em" She folds her arm around her chest snuggly. Our ears perk up at an automated voice calling out departees just a few tabs away from mine."Isn't this too expensive? For us at this time? The bracelets would have been much cheaper" I bristle at mom's words. I cry out in something lodged between anger and patience. My string is growing thin and my patience will snap in any moment.

Sharing love and tradition? What bull! If they really wanted to gift the Hendersons then they should buy things for them but our situation wasn't exactly keen on spending more than 3 dollars outside of budget. But I know Mother well, if she really wanted to do something, she would have gone above and beyond. I am still surprised she hasn't handed me an antique clock from the 16th century to give to our American cousins while she hands me a list of druids that had touched the clock or stuffed it somewhere in their library.

But no! She just...HAD to change her mind when I was making a request to Dad, to go behind my back and order something different, and spend over the 3 dollar budget. I wasn't angry because of the budget but because...

"You have to teach your cousin our family ways. Don't turn into them once you go over" She scoffs and states the last part with much derision. At me? At them? At their culture? I don't know. She better not hit me with the "Remember where you are from" talk.

I look back at Dad with my reddened cheeks. They feel so red akin to the sting of when I've been brutally slapped. Which I might as well have been. My world is spinning. "Can you return it?" I plead back at Dad. Maybe he will be able to tell this wasn't what I wanted. Maybe he'll for once listen to me.

"Just take the gift anyway, it was much worth more than the pink bracelet you wanted to get" Mom snickers by Dad's side. She flings her hands recklessly, it hits Dad's chest and then silence ensues between us. She drops her hands back down. Tension cuts through, it ripples the curtain we have so expertly placed over the underlying issue.

Why I was leaving England to 'visit' my American cousins!

As I am about to take my leave Mom grips my hand stopping me from leaving. She shoves the bag into my armpits. "Just take it you, silly girl-" She squeaks out like it takes her much effort. I shove the bag onto the floor, the contents in the paper clatter and Mom shrieks in horror. I didn't intend to throw the gift away but I couldn't let her get away with everything like always. "You should return it, you'll need the refund more than I do" Last night's circus was enough to tell me just how deep in water we were in.

"Why you little-" She starts and raises her hand in the air. She is livid but Dad intercepts her and pins it back down to her waist. "Go, your plane will be departing" Dad simply huffs as he tucks his two thumbs back into his front pocket. 

"Huh? Wait, she has to take pictures with us. For memories" She adds the end involuntarily. She always would say how pictures captured words and memories. She wanted to capture moments as often as we could. That's why she's hung a digital camera around her neck. But if people knew she didn't take photography as a hobby, she would be locked up in jail for potential stalking. I squeeze my lips clamped shut. My anger and patience are at wit's end. I turn around quickly walking back to pick up my luggage.

"Ach, the wee lass is pure ungrateful, so she is. I'm breakin' me back tryin' to make her look proper, but she goes and messes up her bonnie hair and lets the miserable rain ruin her nice shawl. Look at her now," I feel her point before I see it.

"Shiverin' away like it's the middle of winter and givin' me the evil eye like it's my own fault! If she only knew how fierce and awful it was back in the day, with families as big as twelve and barely a morsel to feed each gob. You'd best be grateful we're sendin' her off to her Auntie, it'll be a good craic for her" Mom breaks off into a mourn, drawing even more attention to her. Just what she likes.

My patience is losing, I want to scream at this unfairness. At her childishness. I am an only child and was it my fault my parents couldn't provide for me? They act like having to live in a world where inflation is on the high, your entire life could be destroyed with a single click of a button, and always wearing the perfect appearance wasn't tiring for a teenager.

And now she wanted me to head over to Aunty's place with this outward image like my family wasn't close to living like pigs in the gutters or like my parents couldn't go a day without screaming each other's heads off or so much as looking at each other in the eyes. I am hungry, tired, worried my parents might divorce, ashamed of how I look because mom thought it would be a great idea to bring a fucking bag pipe to an airport to play 'La Campanella'. 

I am wet. The stupid fabric of this Ruana is itching my skin making it feel like a thousand red ants were climbing down my neck and arms, I have to travel alone to a whole other continent and now I am being blamed for Japan's low birth rate??

I distantly hear another announcement informing people from my sector of the plane's departure. I straddle the luggage between my legs as I look around the faces of happy families. Spooky characters of cartoons are plastered all over their luggage or the kids wear them as a face mask. Like the one I had just discarded to the ground. I huff out a breath and remove the shawl over my head, I hear a gasp from behind me but I couldn't care less. I sway my head from side to side, letting my black hair cascade down my back. Its luscious wavy lengths are probably the only good result of my family's tradition. A hair growth recipe was the least they could get right!

"Aisling, you wouldn't dare..." Mathair calls out from behind me, her tone quivering slightly. Oh, she knows...I squeeze the horrible textured shawl in my hands. Family tradition and culture. Let the Celts roll and turn in their graves in agony. I throw the family Ruana over my shoulder, I don't care where it will land. Bunching my luggage, I stiffen my tired shoulders and blow a puff of fresh air to rejuvenate me.

"Aisling! You ingrate!!" I hear cluttering as Mother dives in to stop the shawl from hitting the dirty, muddy airport floor.

I walk through big glass doors, leading me into official sectors that prohibit anyone without a boarding ticket from following after a family member. "Aisling"

I hear more cries. "Aisling, don't you dare"

"AISLING" I fall down the bed with a grunt. My world is tumbling. I lie against the rug in a daze. It was just a dream.

    ***********************************************************

Erm...This is my second book. It's not official official yet. I thought of this idea for like 30 minutes and then I suddenly dived down a spiral of learning about Celtic/Irish/Scottish history, Celtic languages and cultures and stuff.

I really hope this book teaches us about the origin of Halloween (Sam hain) This is supposed to give cultural appreciation and little snippets of historical facts so I'm sorry if this offends anyone! I have NO knowledge on the Irish people and I am not confirming to the stereotypes that are typed a lot around these type of people because tbh i don't even know them😭

Aisling is pronounced (Ash-ling)

Máthair is pronounced (Mat-her) meaning 'mother'.

Mo Ghradh  is pronounced (Moh- graw) meaning 'my love'.

PS: Felt cute might delete later😗✌🎀