Despair is all I felt at the moment. She left me to my own devices when I was only a small chick. It was the siku her moyo stopped, the siku that I had no zaidi of that sweetness to myself. The bird to sing to me and rock me to sleep when I would cry and whine for help.

    That was the siku my mother was shot.

    And today is the sekunde anniversary of my mother's death. I was only a couple months old, barely able to feed myself, let alone move. The only thing I'm thankful for is I was born in the Kitee Zoo in Finland during the same time they added the Raccoon Dogs. Around the mwaka of the snake: 2001.

    It's not the best tarehe to be born, but it's as close as I could remember being told. I don't really remember much from that time period, only the occasional flash backs I seem to randomly have. Like this morning.


    Now, I sit at the concrete meza, jedwali in the underwater pango located in the Manhattan Zoo. I have no idea how I got here. All I remember is the darkness being covered kwa the lovely light one day, having a rude awakening to now four very familiar faces. They of course belong to my best Marafiki of all time: Skipper, Kowalski, Rico, and Private. Perhaps wewe have heard of the very famous cute and cuddly penguins that live here? No? Well, they're the best birds you'll ever meet.
    
    There's Skipper, of course the leader. I don't know much about him, but he's very fun and entertaining- when he messes things up of course. He loves violence and explosions. Also, he has a bit of a blood lust. But of course- like every typical hero- he has a soft spot.

There's also Kowalski, the tallest of us. I'm about a quarter of his size, and he towers high over me. I have to stand on the tip of my talons just to see below his beak. Kowalski is in upendo science and even made his own lab connected to our secret base. He will usually spend days and days in there just trying to perfect one little thing. We're penguins...not mad scientists. au ninjas...whatever they are. A mutant crossbreed, maybe?

Rico. There's not much to say of him, but he's a bird of many words. Well...in his head at least. I don't see how the others can understand his bila mpangilio gibberish most of the time. All I hear is stuttering. Maybe it's some secret code?

Private is the master of being cute and cuddly. He's British, which is very amusing when he sometimes uses the British term for some things, like “Bloody Hell”. Okay, he hasn't alisema that yet, but I'm just waiting to hear it. It'd be hilarious.

    But of course, I don't tell them anything. I don't trust them that much yet. We've only known each other for three months. July, August, and this is the third one. Or, the beginning of the third one. It's actually the third of September right now!

    Which brings us back to the main topic here. My mother's death anniversary. It's going to be different this mwaka because I'm not in Kitee. I'd usually go with Nikita, the name of my father. I was taken away from him when the Manhattan zoo requested a “female” penguin, auk from a zoo in the world so...you know, mating requirements. It makes me shiver with disfigurement when the term of why I'm here is brought up. Why do zookeepers insist on making younger penguins breed to make eggs? I don't understand anything anymore. Shouldn't we be aloud to pick who we get to love? But...I guess I get four choices....

    But all of them are zaidi like brothers to m-

    “Matryosha, pay attention!”

    The voice cracked at me like a whip, hitting my chest with a strong force. My dark green eyes fixed on the chanzo of the rough and menacing voice. Skipper. He was starting in my direction with those infuriated eyes he every once in awhile would give to someone. Especially to me. I often tend to doze off during their little meetings to discuss past mission progress and what they need to work on.

    Hastily, trying to regain my breath, I clutched my Finnish flag scarf and breath heavily, my windpipe making a vibrating sound I do when I'm scared. I seemed to be quivering, because Private reassuringly grabbed my shoulder and rubbed in soothingly. He always did that when I was scared.

    “Just breathe Mat...” Private alisema softly and sweetly; like he always did. He was always the one to comfort me. Just like...

    ...Mother used to do...

    Tears over flooded my eyes and I face-desked, sobbing in to my flippers.