by Charity B.
The anticipation is daunting, yet the pain that shoots through my body comes fast as my voice screams in my own ears.
“BE CLEANSED OF THIS EVIL!”
The world tilts around me, people becoming a distortion of faces and colors. The tears are hot in my eyes, stinging my irises. My back is overtaken with heat as the fire kisses my exposed skin, small pieces of flames landing on my arms and face like scorching pinpricks. I’m unable to regain my breath before more torture, in the form of the Prophet’s new locust tree whip, consumes my body. There is screaming in my head…no wait, not my head... The screaming is in my throat. The base of my spine splits open as I try to reach for anything, anything to grab onto, but there is only the night air.
“BE CLEANSED OF THIS SIN!”
The warmth of the fire pulls sweat from my skin and it drips into my eyes. Pressing them closed is my only option as I freely weep. I don’t try to be strong. Another lash rips at my flesh while my body arches in protest. I need this to be over. How many was that? I can’t open my eyes. White light bursts behind them and my back explodes once more. Slowly pushing up my eyelids does nothing for my vision when the white turns black…
Reality becomes broken pieces of glass. The light breaks through the darkness only to be swallowed once again by night. I am overtaken by agony until the freedom of the blackness throws me into reprieve. It isn’t long before I’m sucked back into my body where every inch is wailing to be relieved of the torment.
“THE SPIRIT OF ZAARON WILL BURN FROM WITHIN!”
Air slices its way down my throat with every breath. Time doesn’t make sense.
The Prophet’s voice seems to clear my mind, and the world comes back together like a puzzle. “Any sinful thoughts or temptations you have will be washed away by Zaaron’s grace and the holy fire.”
My head refuses to support itself anymore and my sight is reduced. My eyelids are heavy, and even with them closed, the smoke burns my eyes when it blows against my face. I think I cry as I try to push them open, watching my dirt and red speckled feet dragging across the ground, no longer strong enough to serve their purpose.
The rope attached to the right pillar loosens, making the ground jump closer. The other rope is undone, and I am unable to catch myself, getting dirt in my mouth and hitting my hip as I fall.
My body fights, wanting nothing more than to stay on the ground. The Prophet yanks on the ropes, taking me with them. He’s pulling too hard and walking too fast, causing me to trip over the hem of my dress. Whispers are in the background as he tugs me to the box of repentance. When he removes me from the confinement of the ox yoke, my arms fall limp, screaming in relief.
“You have rebuked the prophecy of our God, Zaaron, and you have paid what was asked. Now it is time to be in solitude with Him, explaining why you would betray Him and us. Plead for His forgiveness, child. You have thirty-eight hours to convince Zaaron that you are truly remorseful and fully understand the error of your ways. Is there anything else you would like to say?”
I have a lot to say. I know I do…at least I think I do. I can’t think straight while my throat fights me, so I inhale through my nose. My eyes struggle to open and my voice comes out scratchy.
“I’m sorry. I won’t…I won’t disappoint you again.”
I am speaking to the Prophet, to my God, to my father, to my family, to Zeb, and to all the fellow children of Zaaron.
I am also speaking to myself.
The Prophet walks me up the plank, opening the door to show nothing inside. It’s endless darkness. His hand pushes against my back, his fingers digging into my wounds, making me cry out. My shoulder slams against a hard floor as I fall inside, the last stream of light evaporating when he closes the door.
The wood pokes against my wet cheek. My arms and legs are twisted into an uncomfortable position, but my body and mind are too weak to care. The land of dreams is pulling me away, and I am all too willing.
The Prophet’s voice slips through the cracks around the door. It’s the last thing I hear before I drift away from here.
“There is much to celebrate this night. Another child has been saved from the clutches of evil. Let us rejoice in Zaaron as we commence the gathering!”
LAUGHING, A ROGUE HOLLER, SOME talking to break it up, and then, more laughing. Opening my eyes makes no difference. There’s only black. While I may not see anything, I feel everything. My body shrieks in protest with every movement, and my limbs don’t feel right…unattached.
Wiggling my toes helps me get into a sitting position without too much agony. The wounds are tender and sensitive, sending bolts of sharpness down my spine with every move. I slowly take in air, breathing and allowing my eyes to adjust. Then I see it: light.
A flickering, thin, long, horizontal light. My grunts and groans give me a boost as I pull my legs beneath me to crawl to my only escape from the darkness. The floor beneath my hands splits every few inches, scraping hard against my knees. Suddenly, my head slams against the door, causing a ringing in my ears. I lie back down so my face is directly in front of the sliver of dancing illumination. Making out any shapes is impossible, so I listen to the rustling footsteps, the talking, and more laughing. I don’t know how late it is, but the gathering is clearly still going on. All the young children should have been sent to bed by now.
It feels like I listen for hours before the noise dies down.
I fall in and out of sleep until an orange glow brightens behind my eyelids. My awareness of the heat and the dampness of my dress from sweat brings about my bearings. A sharp stab pulls tears from my eyes when I try to open them. My eyelashes are dried together. I lick my lips, coaxing a small amount of moisture into my mouth, and use it to rewet my lashes. They flutter open, and I’m instantly blinded by a stream of yellow.
“Ugghh!”
I roll away from it, forgetting about my back until it presses against the wooden floor. Tears spring out to run down my cheeks. Pushing myself up, I hear the softest noise.
Splat, splat, splat.
As I listen closely, I’m able to see a little better than I could last night. The room is short and small. I could stand, though my head would touch the ceiling. I focus on following the sound when my eyes fixate on something in the corner. I crawl to it and reach out to touch it. It’s smooth and cylindrical, like a large barrel. It feels somewhat cool so I press my cheek against it, and while the relief is miniscule, it’s still existent. My fingers find their way down to discover a long, skinny metal piece. At its end, I trace the pads of my fingers over the tip, and my heart leaps into my throat when I feel the wetness. I know what this is. I laugh regardless of my less than comical situation.
It’s a water tank!
I attempt to move quickly and carefully, situating myself beneath the tank, and getting my mouth as close to the nozzle as possible. I feel around for the lever only to cry out in frustration when I realize the handle has been broken off. The water only comes out drops at a time, and still, I’m grateful for it. I lap at it like a cat drinking milk until the scratchiness is out of my throat and my thirst is no longer at the forefront.
Now my hunger is.
I squint to look around the room as if I will find a pantry. I know it’s bare— I was lucky to get the water, yet here I am, crawling around, feeling my way across the room, hoping to find something.
All I find is an empty bucket, and I allow myself to wallow in my unfortunate predicament. The sweat is stinging my fresh wounds, and the rip in my dress is making it difficult to keep it on my shoulders. I wish I had been wearing my bonnet when the Apostle came to get me. It would have helped keep some of the perspiration out of my eyes. I settle for tying my apron around my head, but after a while, it makes me too hot to bear. My feet are nicked, cut from walking barefoot. My stomach pangs from hunger, and I feel hopeless in the fact that after all of this, I still have to be bound to the Prophet.
Last year, I followed Benji to the edge of the compound without meaning to. We
were walking, lost in our conversation, and before I knew it, he clamped his hand over my mouth as he held a finger up to his own. He took the finger from his lips to point only a few yards away through the fence to where I saw them.
Philistines.
The anger I had for them rolled in my stomach. Treacherous heathens. They were the first and only ones I’ve ever seen. There was one male and one female who appeared to be a little older than us. I was shocked into silence because they were playing, laughing, and kissing. They chased each other around until finally, the boy tackled the girl in the field. I thought he had hurt her until her giggle rose up to slow my heart. Every once in a while, when they would sit up, I could see their arms wrapped around each other as they kissed. I remember thinking they didn’t look evil or wicked.
They looked in love.
Since receiving the blood of innocence, there are things that I wish weren’t the way they are. I don’t understand all of Zaaron’s laws, and although I believe in them, there are things I have begun to question in my head.
Bindings for example. Why must we be bound before we are ready to be? Why does Zaaron wait so long to place men, yet He places women within a year of receiving their blood? I know it’s partly because women are unable to have children as late in life as men. We don’t live as long either, and I understand it’s our duty to populate the Paradise Star, but why can’t it be with whom I choose? And with someone who chooses me back?
Voices distract me from my self-pity, and I ease back over to the line of light. This is the first I’ve heard anything since waking up. I still can’t see other than a bit of the earth, and I can’t make out what’s being said either. It’s too far away.
That’s the point I suppose. Seclusion. Just me and Zaaron.
I know lying about the blood was wrong. Please, please forgive me. I was frightened, I didn’t know what to do. Why won’t you take away this fear if this is what you want from me? I desire to be a holy woman for you, I just need more strength. There were still many things I wanted to do before being bound. I…I just really like Zeb. I had hoped he was who you had in mind for me. Now that I know it’s the Prophet, I am scared of losing him. He’s my best friend. It’s the fear I beg you to take away. I can’t feel this way forever…
I don’t know if I finish my prayer. I zone in and out, the heat and the hunger pangs making everything feel like a half existent reality…half of a dream.
My tongue is dry, and my lips are so tight I fear they will tear if I open my mouth too wide. The fullness of my bladder has become painful, and I don’t know what to do until I remember the bucket.
I push my bloomers to my knees as the sweat rolls down my temple, dripping to my neck. Although it’s too dark to see, I can feel the dried blood on my thighs, and I wonder if I bled through my mother’s cotton pad. I was supposed to change it yesterday.
After I finish with the bucket, I feel around for the mouthpiece on the water tank. I can barely breathe, the muggy air sticks in my throat, and I could cry when a single drop falls onto my tongue. It does little to sate my thirst, yet the moisture is a small relief nonetheless.
I don’t know if I will make it to this evening. Sweat flows from every pore in my body. Since my dress is barely staying up anyway, I pull it down off my arms. There is an instantaneous, momentary ecstasy of relief when the stale air hits my flesh. Pushing my dress down, I toss it against the wall. I tug my bloomers as high up my thighs as I can, and it’s still not much better.
I spend my entire day drinking from the water tank. My tongue is completely raw, and my jaw hurts with the water being my only sense of relief.
Thunk… Thunk.
What was that?
Thunk.
It’s coming from right next to me.
Thunk. Thunk.
I get up, my fingers leading my way to the sound, and I press my ear against the wood. “Hello?” THUNK. The panels shake, and the sound is so loud against my head I jump away. There’s someone out there—I can hear footsteps and talking. “H-hello?”
Their voices sing, “Your soul stinks! We can’t stand the smell. We think you belong in Hell. The stench of your sin makes our stomachs turn. We want you to burn, burn, burn.”
It’s children from the sound of it, but that doesn’t make the sharpness in my chest any duller. I don’t know what to say. It doesn’t matter anyway when I hear their laughs receding.
People tend to keep their thoughts to themselves in public, though I know in my own home, the opinions of my mothers and father are made clear. There are those who are surely disgusted with my actions. As they should be.
I never thought the Devil could get me…worm his way into my mind to trick me. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling scared like this. The Devil is making me feel this.
A wretched smell floats its way into the box. Manure. That’s what the children were throwing.
The emptiness in my stomach turns at the unwanted aroma. I let my mind wander to the creek with Zeb in an attempt to distract myself, but with the heat and being in such a small space, the smell is quickly becoming unbearable.
I am frantic in my search for my dress. When my fingers grasp at the fabric, I thank Zaaron. I cover my nose with it as I crawl back to the water tank. The dress does little to help, and soon my empty stomach can’t take it anymore, forcing me to gag and dry heave.
I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and very little comes up, making me more nauseous.
Lying beneath the mouthpiece, I almost cry with relief every time a drop of water drips from the nozzle onto my face. I’m so thirsty, and only receiving droplets at a time begins to drive me mad. I would do the cleansing ritual all over again just to have a cup right now.
My mind shifts over in my half consciousness. I think maybe I’ve been too focused on my fear to look at this the right way. Maybe my mother was right. Maybe Zaaron’s plan will take time to see. I might fall madly in love with the Prophet, wanting nothing more than to give him as many babies as I can. Maybe I will look back at this time and be grateful this is happening the way it is. Maybe this will make me happy.
But I was happy before.
The stream of light has dimmed with what must be the evening. The manure has lost its effect as I can no longer smell it.
Crickets begin to chirp in the distance, and though at first, it’s somewhat relaxing, now nothing would please me more than to stomp on each one of their high pitched, squeaky little heads.
My line of vision has all but disappeared. Touch is my only form of navigation around the room. With the temperature dropping in the evening, it’s become much more comfortable, so I curl up in my spot beneath the water tank.
“Laur!” My eyes shoot open at the whispered yell. “Laur! Can you hear me?”
I almost vomit up my heart. I scramble to the door as fast as I can, no longer concerned with the agonizing ache.
It’s Zeb.
My fingers claw at the seams in the door, trying to get it to give a little. “Yes! Yes! I’m so happy to hear your voice!”
“Are you okay? I’ve wanted to speak with you since Monday after I got caught.”
I can’t lie to him. I’ve never done it before, and I tell him everything. “I don’t want to be bound to the Prophet.”
There is a dull thud on the wood, and his sigh creeps in through the cracks. “I…I don’t want you to either. I don’t want you bound to anyone, least of all him.” He sounds so defeated, it makes my chest hurt. “I wish I was already the Prophet. Things would be different.”
“How do you know? If Zaaron wills it, it will be.”
Grunting in frustration, he says, “I don’t know. I just want to stop this more than anything.”
I’m grateful for the wall between us because I’m sure the grin stretching out my cheeks looks ridiculous. My thoughts travel back to the night my life changed, sobering me quickly as if being doused with ice water.
“You tried to stop it, Zeb. There’s nothing
more you could do. Just…promise me we can try to stay friends once I’m your mother?”
His chuckle is heavy with sadness. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”
That’s not an answer to my question, though the urgency of my next statement feels dire. “I like you, Zeb. I like you a lot. And not the way a mother should like her son,” I blurt.
“Can you stop calling yourself my mother? We’re not there yet. And I like you too…a lot. I just don’t see what we can do about it now.”
“There is nothing to do about it. I simply wanted you to know. I’ve wanted you to know for a while.”
He’s silent for a long moment before he says, “Put your fingers down here, along the bottom of the door.” I do what he says, running the pads along the seam. When my fingertips touch his, my stomach dances with my heart. “You will always be my friend, Laurel Ann. You think getting away with things is difficult in your family? It’s twice as hard in mine. It won’t happen often, but I promise I’ll make sure we get time together without anyone knowing, okay?”
“Okay.” My voice only allows a whisper. I don’t know how to express the relief coursing through me at his words. “That’s… Thank you. And thank you for coming to see me. I’ve missed talking to you.”
“I’ve missed talking to you, too. I hate to go, but I’m already in a heap of trouble. I just… I had to speak with you.”
“Are you going to be all right?”
“Nothing that won’t heal. I’ll be in there in a few days too. My time of questioning begins Saturday after…the festivities. My cleansing is on Monday.”
I had hoped being the Prophet’s son would get him out of a cleansing. The Prophet seems less than thrilled to have his family members’ sins made public, something I’m still confused about.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have put you in this position,” I say, holding back tears.
“You didn’t put me in any position. I did what I thought was right. I’ll gladly pay my penance for that.” He breathes out a thick sigh. “I need to go. You’re almost done, Laur. You can do it.”
