Kushim - Part 1

By Cristian Romero de la Torre

He already lived before the World Wars, before the invention of electricity, he lived before the discovery of the American continent, he existed before the Holy Roman Empire, before Rome, before Christianity, before the Greek philosophers, before the Great Pyramid of Giza, before the extinction of mammoths, before the first pharaoh...
5000 years for a human being is an eternity, but for Kushim, it's just one life... Are you ready to learn his story?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cistian Romero de la Torre
• Release date: Oct 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223093183

Cristian Romero de la Torre

Nacido en 1995, en Burjassot, Valencia.Pero es irrelevante, lo importante creo que es justificar porque escogerme a mí y no a otro de los tantos escritores de gran calidad que hay. Y no voy a tratar de convencer a nadie, pero si me preguntan cuál es el motivo por el que escribo, lo tengo claro. Me gusta provocar emociones, sea una sonrisa, un escalofrío o una lágrima. Esas reacciones que yo mismo he experimentado con la literatura y me han cautivado. En mis novelas cambio radicalmente de género y estilo, no se pueden encontrar dos iguales. Yo mismo no seria capaz de leer un solo tipo de novelas y aplico ese mismo principio sobre mis escritos. Espero que si depositas tu confianza en mis libros, recibas una experiencia diferente, entretenida, y quien sabe, incluso enriquecedora, si lo consigo, habré logrado el mejor de los objetivos.Como dijo el gran Edgar Allan Poe: 'durante la hora de lectura, el alma de lector esta sometida a la voluntad de escritor'.Cristian Romero de la Torre.

Book preview

KUSHIM

Part 1

Cristian Romero de la Torre

To my sister.

To my mother.

To my father.

To my 'Jersey' family.

Thank you for your support, your love, and for putting up with me.

It's very likely I wouldn't have been able to do all of this without you.

I love you.

Ashes.

I have done so much, lived so much… It’s curious, but I barely have vivid memories of my early years anymore. I suppose that, despite my exceptional abilities, human memory has a very limited capacity. From my life, I can only recall the most relevant people, specific events, and a few everyday situations. I have experienced sweet moments like honey, bitter ones like vinegar; I’ve had frenetic periods and others of total inactivity.

My existence could be considered unparalleled by some, prosperous by others, and unfortunate for most. But one thing I am clear about is that my story deserves to be told, and I will leave it to each one to interpret.

Centuries have passed since I forgot when my birthday was, or what my first kiss was like; I can’t even remember the faces of my parents anymore. If I concentrate hard enough, I can see their silhouettes and outlines, but I can’t see their expressions. What little I can evoke is that they were both good people; my mother always had a smile on her face, and my father was the most generous and respectable person I have ever known in my long life.

As far as I can remember, when I was born, there were already a couple of generations of my family dedicated to cattle farming. We only worked with bovine livestock: cows, bulls, and oxen. We lived in a small, archaic house in what historians called Lower Egypt, near what was once Memphis and is now known as Cairo.

My father did the same and educated me to learn the family business, providing me with a future to inherit our prosperous work. It wasn’t something that particularly excited me; it was a laborious task but also dignified and neat.

We were settled near the river, from which we obtained all the water we needed. The Nile is a marvel, a vast and fertile river with almost unique and highly beneficial characteristics. At that time, we distinguished between three annual seasons: flooding, planting, and harvesting.

My father was a respected man and a great negotiator; he always knew when to demand more and when to help someone in need. Sometimes he even hosted travelers in our home. I didn’t understand his behavior until one day I asked him why he did it. He told me that we should protect those who weren’t as fortunate as us, that everyone deserved a bit of help at some point.

When inevitably my parents passed away due to the ravages of age, I inherited everything we had. Thanks to the education and diligence with which they raised me, I could fend for myself, and I even learned some writing techniques of the time. At that time, I was already married to my true love, Lilith, and we were expecting the sunshine of my life, my daughter Azarath.

The years passed; thanks to the family business, we lacked nothing. We exchanged the meat, milk, and hides of our animals, and through barter, we obtained vegetables, eggs, pottery, textile tools, and anything else we might need. We lived a prosperous and happier life than we could have imagined.

Everything was going great, and I thought it would continue that way, but everything changed with an unassuming visit.

Three men came to our home. They offered me a deal; they wanted meat and supplies, but they had nothing to give us in return, nothing to exchange. They promised that if we helped them, they would repay us handsomely. Foolishly, with the approval of my beloved wife, I accepted the conditions and sealed a pact. When the time came, they would return to pay their debt with barley, grain, and wheat. Once they had stocked up, they left. Time passed, and we never heard from any of the three again.

For months, we forgot about that inconsequential encounter and continued with our work. I was convinced we would never see those men again, but to my misfortune, I was wrong. When they returned to our land, they didn’t come to settle their debt; they arrived empty-handed with more demands. This time, I declined their propositions; I had no intention of trading with them until they paid their debt to my family. They became angry and frustrated with my refusal and persisted, but they had no way to convince me, and I refused time and time again until they finally left.

Once again, I thought it was all over and that I wouldn’t hear from them again, but I was foolish to think that.

Days later, I was butchering an ox inside my humble abode when I heard my beloved Azarath scream. As I rushed outside, I saw my dear Lilith on the ground; one of the men had stabbed her in the abdomen with a dagger. I ran as fast as I could, but I couldn’t reach her in time.

Before I could intervene, another of the ruffians struck my sweet child with a wooden staff. Azarath collapsed beside her mother. My screams echoed like a gruesome refrain; the fury I felt was immeasurable, to the point that I bit my tongue, causing a small bleed. I couldn’t even reach my family before the three men attacked me. They hit me in the abdomen and then in the leg with a mace. I couldn’t stay on my feet, and they didn’t stop beating me, even when I was lying down.

The man who seemed to be the leader laughed heartily while the others continued to beat me. Kicks, punches, blows with the staff. The leader only stopped laughing to declare that I should have complied with their demands. I was exhausted and seriously injured when the leader plunged his dagger into my chest. As he withdrew it, I felt the warm, liquid blood gushing from the wound. I could barely breathe, almost couldn’t move. The men moved away from me and went after the cattle and our belongings. All I could do was look at my wife and daughter. They both lay side by side, motionless and unconscious. I made an effort to reach them and crawled on the ground, but it was in vain. I didn’t make it, and I could feel life leaving my body. My vision blurred, and my remaining strength disappeared; I knew this was my end.

But it wasn’t.

When I opened my eyes and saw the azure sky above me, I couldn’t believe it. I wondered how it was possible; I was still alive. When I looked around, that’s when I saw them… Just a few meters away lay the bodies of Lilit and Azarath. Dazed and frantic, I got up and ran to them. I knelt by their side and burst into inconsolable, ceaseless tears. Their bodies were pale, lips purple, but they still had angelic expressions. The blood they had expelled had dried, and their bodies were numb.

They were what I valued most in the world, more than any possession or even my own life. I cried endlessly until I exhausted the tears my swollen eyes could produce.

I checked my body and noticed that the wounds they had inflicted on me had miraculously healed. It was as if they had never touched me, as if the assault had never taken place.

I don’t know why I did it, but I carried my two beautiful angels in my arms and took them back to our home. First Azarath, and then Lilit. I placed them in their beds and covered them with thin sheets up to their necks. Inside our dwelling, I noticed that the fire had gone out. We never let it go out; we always kept it burning for our needs. However, now there were only ashes…

I couldn’t stay with them; I could barely look at them given their condition. I left the house and screamed like a madman, cursing furiously until my throat was hoarse. That’s when I noticed a detail that changed everything. The cart I used to transport some of my goods was missing. After carefully examining the area, I found a trail. The fools had loaded the cart so heavily that the lower boards had left pronounced marks on the ground.

In a small shed adjacent to my residence, I had an axe. It was rudimentary, a very sharp stone tied with cord to a sturdy wooden pole. But despite its simplicity, it would suffice for my purpose. Focused and consumed by blinding rage, I followed the trail they had left behind. I followed it without fear, as I had nothing left to live for, and if I had to die for revenge, I would gladly do so. They had gone quite a distance, so much so that it became nightfall while I continued the search.

Finally, and to my satisfaction, I found them. They had taken shelter in a natural alcove at the foot of a hill. They had made a bonfire, and thanks to that, it was easy for me to spot them from a distance. As I approached, I had no doubt; it was my cart waiting next to the bonfire. At that time, the wheel had not yet arrived in Egypt; the cart was a unique piece made by my grandfather. With the lower boards, I could make it slide over arid terrain and plains. It could only be them; I had not a shred of doubt.

Without any fear, I went straight to those ruffians. Foolishly, I shouted wildly, yelled insults and threats, alerting them to my arrival. I had never fought anyone before, but anger did not allow me to think clearly. The three of them huddled together and waited confusedly for my approach.

Their expressions twisted when they saw me; their faces paled. Without hesitation, I went to the one closest to me and attacked. Given my lack of practice and skill, he easily dodged my attack. I tried again, but once more, I missed. Their numerical superiority played a decisive role.

One of them grabbed me from behind while the others disarmed me. The leader, who had previously laughed heartily while the others beat me, used my own weapon against me. With a powerful blow, he drove the blade into my chest. As the cold, sharp stone sliced my skin and filled my lungs with blood, I realized that I had truly been the fool; my absurd behavior had deprived me of the only satisfaction that could have eased my loss—vengeance.

Or so I thought at that moment…

My eyes opened, and this time it wasn’t the azure sky I saw; it was the starry night and the immense play of lights in the firmament.

When I looked at my abdomen, there was no longer an axe, no wound, nothing. I got up and saw that I was still in the same place where those ruffians had killed me for the second time. I learned from my mistake, and this time, I was calm and silent. The three of them were sleeping a short distance away; they had considered me dead and left me there, without even moving me from their camp.

With extreme care and utmost delicacy, I approached them. They slept with total serenity; none of them seemed haunted by guilt from their reprehensible actions. Then I saw my axe; the one who had held me from behind had it by his side. I stealthily approached him and grabbed the weapon. With caution, so as not to alert the others, I struck the skull of the man with the axe. The blade penetrated his occiput. I attacked with such ferocity that he didn’t even open his eyes; he died instantly.

Then I approached the next one, this time choosing to strike him in the neck. I severed his jugular, and blood began to gush out rapidly. Unlike the first one, this one did open his eyes. He looked at me with disbelief, the way a human would look at the devil himself. My face was the last thing he saw; he died in a matter of seconds, bleeding out. I was so accustomed to working with the meat, tissues, and viscera of animals that seeing such a sight before me did not disturb me in the slightest. After all, we are not so different from any other mammal.

There was still one left… one that repulsed me more than his companions. I had given them a quick death, but this one would be different. First, I stood by him and observed him. Then I woke him up with gentle taps on the shoulder, and when I saw his eyelids lift, I struck him with the axe’s handle. Now that he was unconscious, I could exact any revenge I deemed appropriate.

I searched his belongings and found linen ropes. I used them to tie his hands behind his back and his feet. I sat in front of him and impatiently waited for him to wake up. As I waited, I thought about all the things I wanted to do to him and how I would relish in his suffering.

After a few hours, as dawn broke, the criminal woke up. The terror in his eyes upon seeing me was indescribable; his body trembled uncontrollably, his voice stuttered, alternating between gasps of terror and disbelief. Seeing himself tied up, he begged me, pleaded for my mercy, babbled, and even cried out in helplessness. I remained impassive; nothing he said or did could alleviate the pain I felt. He had taken my heart; he had ripped it from my chest, and even if I couldn’t make him feel the same, I would make him experience the greatest agony possible.

I had been skinning animals for years, and practice had made me a true expert. Before starting, I showed him the instrument I would use. It was his own dagger, the same one he had used to end the life of my beloved Lilit… It had a good blade, but more than its characteristics, its use seemed poetic to me. I didn’t keep that wretch waiting; with the dagger in hand, I began to flay the skin from his legs. I had never done anything like this before, except with bovine animals, but I was professional; I didn’t want him to die quickly. I cut the dermis from his ankles to his quadriceps before he died, slowly and savoring it. He screamed and writhed in pain; his face contorted, his eyes almost seemed like they would pop out of their sockets. I didn’t stop until I confirmed he had died. His expression at the moment of death was horrifying, his face red, his eyes bloodshot, a twisted expression.

Afterward, and to my dismay, I felt no satisfaction. As in so many other situations, thinking about it was better than doing it. I was convinced that such a punishment would quench my thirst for vengeance, but it didn’t. I didn’t feel relief or joy, only a slight hint of justice. I stayed by that monster’s corpse for a while, but looking at my actions, I realized that I was as despicable as he was.

With the imposing midday sun, I left. I left everything behind except for the dagger; I don’t know why I took it, but I did.

As I retraced my steps, I thought about what had happened and why or how I was still alive. I was convinced that in both instances, the wounds inflicted on me had been fatal, yet there I was, breathing…

At dusk, I arrived back at what had been my home. I say what had been because without my family, it was no longer a home and could never be again. I couldn’t bring myself to enter; I stayed outside, in the open, hesitating and pondering what I wanted to do next.

The idea of entering and seeing them… just thinking about it tore my soul apart. I was still alive, but now for what purpose… Without them, I had no meaning.

After much reflection, I decided on what seemed best to me. I entered the interior of the house and went straight to a small wooden box where we kept family belongings. Inside, there were two stones we usually used to start a fire on the rare occasions when it went out. It was an archaic and quite difficult method, but in those times, it was the simplest for us. By rubbing and striking them against each other, they created sparks, which, when combined with dry grass, was enough to ignite the fire. I sat in the center of the room and began to prepare the fire. It took me quite a while to achieve my goal, but the constant effort paid off. When I had created the flame, I brought wood to expand its reach. Once I had accomplished my mission, I lit fabrics and spread them everywhere; the reason was to set the house on fire. With this, not only would I burn the bodies of my family, but I also hoped to end my own existence.

I sat next to the body of my little Azarath and watched as the fire spread uncontrollably throughout the structure. First, I started to sweat from the increasing temperature and coughed from the smoke. When the flames reached me, I screamed, thrashed, and experienced unimaginable pain. The stench produced by burning skin was putrid, an odor that once you’ve smelled, you never forget.

Fortunately, my agony lasted only a few more minutes. Before burning, I was convinced that this would be my end, that no one could survive something like that, but again, I was wrong.

I don’t know how much time it took, but in the end, I woke up. Everything around me had been reduced to ashes; there was nothing left, neither the corpses nor my house nor any possessions, only a few small objects remained intact, including the dagger of my wife’s murderer.

I couldn’t understand how I could still be alive; I had undoubtedly burned myself. I was completely naked among the smoldering remains. I remembered the pain of the flames scorching my skin. The combustion had incinerated my hair, eyebrows, head hair, and body hair; everything had disappeared, but my skin was intact, as if nothing had happened to me.

Nomadic.

Upon realizing that I was still alive, I lost my sanity. The little reason I had left vanished amidst the overwhelming emotions that consumed me. Without a clear reason, I began to walk, aimlessly, without direction, without purpose.

The few people I encountered on my journey stared at me with either fear or indifference—a naked man, devoid of hair, wandering like a lost soul. I kept walking, oblivious to my surroundings, and within twenty-four hours, I had distanced myself from everything I once knew. And I continued. This went on for days, only stopping to relieve myself or when my weary legs refused to carry me further.

I had no idea if I was walking in a straight line, if I was going in circles, I knew nothing. I stopped eating and drinking, and I stopped caring for my hygiene. I continued this way for weeks… or months… I can’t be sure; time seemed irrelevant to me. My body hair grew uncontrollably, the sun darkened my skin, and the lack