Once Upon A Broken Dream: A Creativia Anthology

by Richard M. Ankers

  Of course, family was a vague term. Mother Ruth was sort of the town's matriarch, keeper of wayward children and foster mother to those who were orphaned or abandoned. Of the five kids currently living there, the only one with any direct relation to Mother Ruth was Sara, who was the daughter of Ruth's only son, who had died when Sara was small. Dex was likely a distant cousin, and Levi and Matthew were brothers who had been found nearly dead in a beat up trailer beside their dead parents when they were only one and two years old.

  Ruth was a woman well into her sixties, but she was strong with a heavy hand and a sense of religious morality that she felt it was her duty to impart by any means necessary to those in her charge. She dragged Jericho into the room and over to the punishment corner, shoving her head at the wall and commanding that she strip.

  Jericho knew how this would play out and while instinct drove her to rebel, she simply dropped her light jacket and unbuttoned her shirt, dropping it to her feet as well. She pulled her pants down, leaving her standing slightly bent over in nothing but her undergarments. The rage was nearly palpable, Jericho could feet it in her stomach, even though Mother Ruth hadn't said a word yet. This wasn't going to be a spanking. This would leave marks.

  “Levi, bring me the cane.”

  Jericho bit her tongue and didn't say a word. The first touch of the thin bamboo cane made her gasp, but she forced herself to be quiet as the cane came down over her ass. Even through the cloth of her undergarment, the blows hurt, but they were nothing compared to the first blow against flesh. She fought to keep from making noise, but lost the battle as the cane rained down on her back over and over again.

  Her knees began to tremble as sweat trickled down her back and they buckled completely with the final blow. Ruth's hand was still in her hair and she squatted next to Jericho as she gulped in air and tried not to cry from the pain.

  “You are lucky I don't throw you over that wall and leave you to die in hell where you belong.” Ruth said fiercely into her ear. “I'm done being kind to you, devil-spawn. From this moment on I will treat you like the demon you are.”

  Jericho quivered as Ruth made her words abundantly clear, holding out her hand and bringing it back with a rusty metal manacle. She fitted it to Jericho's neck, tight enough that it would keep her to minimal head movement. It sat hot and heavy, thick against the column of her neck.

  Behind her, one of the boys was laughing. Her back screamed in pain and her humiliation wasn't over yet. Ruth shoved her so that she was kneeling up, lifting each of her braids in turn and cutting them off with the kitchen shears Sara handed her.

  Ruth dragged her then, her fingers twisted in what was left of Jericho's hair, out of the common room and down a flight of stairs and into the closet that served as the place she put Jericho to think about what she'd done. Ruth pushed her in, then leaned in around her to attach a chain to the heavy manacle, further limiting her movement.

  “You will learn your place or you will burn in the fires of the righteous wrath of God.” Ruth said furiously. “Three days in the closet and you'll do all the chores yourself for two weeks.”

  * * *

  It was difficult to determine time in the closet. There was no food, no light. Just Jericho, the chains and the sound of Mother Ruth's voice reading from the book of law that came intermittently through a speaker mounted somewhere above her.

  With the manacle around her neck chained to the wall, she was forced to remain on her knees, even when she dozed off.

  Her back burned, from her neck down to her thighs and at least a few of the welts had broken open at some point. Jericho shifted and tried to find a more comfortable position, but Mother Ruth had made certain there wasn't one.

  About the only movement allowed to her was the raising of her arms, but that made the welts on her back stretch and break open. She found herself drifting in semi-consciousness, some part of her repeating the endless litany of scripture that she had long since memorized from previous days spent in the closet. Her mind drifted, spurred by the sense of Ruth's rage that was as palpable to her as if it were her own, down the long corridor of memory.

  She had not been born there in Judah. She and her mother had come from somewhere else, riding in a beat up quadwheel that broke down just outside of the town, or at least that's what she had been told. They were unwanted, outlanders, strangers. Jericho knew that she'd been barely days old when they were found, and that her mother had died just hours later.

  But Judah was all she had ever really known.

  Jericho started up from a daze as she heard voices, then the closet was opening and Ruth was there, unchaining her and pulling her backward, unlocking the manacle. There was a basin of water and clean clothes. Ruth handed her a glass of water. “Drink it. Clean yourself up. Get dressed and get upstairs. Best behavior, we got company.”

  She gulped the water down, uncertain how long she had been in the closet, and looked at the water basin. Impatient, Ruth pushed her, squeezing water out of a cloth and lifting it to wipe at the blood down Jericho's back. Jericho bit her tongue to quell the sounds of her discomfort and let Ruth do her work. When she was deemed clean enough, Ruth thrust the clothing at her.

  “Go on then.” Ruth turned on her heel and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Jericho to dress herself in the dress and stockings she usually only wore to temple gatherings. She dressed as quickly as she could, stretching aching muscles as she went. The dress was her least favorite piece of clothing, the material thick and stifling, an ugly brown that made her skin look oddly yellow. It was secured with buttons down the front, from her neck to her knee.

  Ruth had left her temple shoes by the door to the stairs. Jericho slipped them on and ran a hand through what was left of her hair. It would grow out quickly enough, but in the meantime it would look exactly like Mother Ruth wanted it to, short and uneven and further display of her demon nature. She sighed and headed up the stairs before Ruth could decide she was taking too long.

  The air felt different as she climbed the stairs. Ruth was still angry, but she was suppressing it. The others were all quiet, as if swallowing their emotion and stifled by…fear. Jericho recognized the emotion as she topped the stairs.

  She had no idea who would be visiting them or why it would bring Ruth down to let her out of the punishment closet, but she was fairly certain that good clothes was a sign of something bad, and the dread and anxiety slipping down to meet her only added to her dread. She emerged at the top of the stairs and stepped through the hall, into the living space that was crowded with the kids Ruth cared for and four people in clothes that marked them from the city. Maybe even from off world.

  The one woman among them smiled at Jericho as she came into the room, softening the hard look of her features. She tucked a strand of bright red hair behind an ear and glanced at Ruth in expectation.

  “This is her.” Ruth said, grabbing Jericho by the shoulder and thrusting her into the open space in the middle of the room.

  “Jericho Jordan?” one of the men asked.

  Jericho nodded. “Yes, sir.” Her heart was racing. They were government people. Not Judah government, obviously. No one in Judah looked like them.

  “How old are you, Jericho?” A different man spoke this time, the older one with the longer hair.

  “Fifteen.” Jericho answered. “Sixteen in a half cycle.”

  The woman nodded and opened a case she was holding, withdrawing an odd looking instrument. “Right age.”

  “Your adoptive mother here tells us that your birth mother died when you were young and that you came from somewhere outside of Judah,” the long haired gentleman said.

  “Yes, sir.” Jericho confirmed. “I don't rightly know much. Mother Ruth only said they found me.”

  “Do you remember your mother?” the woman asked as she fiddled with the device in her hand. “Do you know her name?”

  Jericho bit her lip. “No ma'am. She died from having me. I have a picture.” Jericho glanced back at Ruth. She
was supposed to have destroyed it. “Name on it says Malla.”

  The woman took a step forward. “Okay, Jericho, we need to draw a little bit of your blood. Hold out your hand.”

  Hesitantly, Jericho held out her right hand. The woman had a surprisingly strong grip and she used it to pull Jericho's hand closer before she brought the instrument down and pressed it against her finger. There was a quick prick and then the woman was drawing back. She fiddled with the instrument some more, then handed it to the only man who hadn't spoken.

  He nodded once, then stepped around the others. “Jericho, my Jordan is Issac Manns. I have been looking for you for a very long time.” He was guarded, his presence smooth, unruffled…all four of them were, so unlike the rest of the room.

  Jericho could feel herself frowning. “Why?” Ruth was getting angry again. Jericho instinctively took a step closer to the man.

  “You are a very special person, Jericho. Your mother was part of an experiment.”

  She frowned harder. “Experiment?”

  He nodded. “Tell me, Jericho, do you have any special…abilities? Things you do that no one else can?”

  Jericho bit her lip and inched another step out of Ruth's reach. “I feel things.” She wasn't supposed to talk about it. Ruth had always told her it was evil, that she was being used by demons. “Things…like…”

  “Watch yourself, girl.” Ruth warned.

  Jericho could feel the eyes of the others, all waiting for her to screw up, for her to speak, to say the wrong thing. The woman stepped closer, sliding an arm around Jericho's shoulders, making her stiffen and hiss as the heat of her seeped through the dress and the weight of her arm pressed against wounds that were still raw. Jericho felt a flash of concern and the woman pulled her arm away just enough that it didn't cause her pain.

  In a very low voice, she said, “I won't let her hurt you. It's okay.”

  Jericho swallowed. “I can feel what other people feel. Emotions, physical pain.”

  The oldest man smiled. “Very good.”

  “We want you to come with us.” The woman's hand slid down Jericho's arm.

  “Come with you?” Jericho asked. “Away from Judah?” She glanced aside at Ruth and licked her lips. Maybe this was it, her fairytale moment. Like that girl in that story she'd read over the wall, only these people weren't some prince come to sweep her off her feet.

  “Away from Judah,” the woman confirmed. “There is a place where we can help you, teach you.”

  “For good?” Jericho asked, daring to hope for the first time that maybe she'd found a way out of her own personal hell.

  “If you leave here, you won't be welcome back.” Ruth said, her voice menacing.

  Jericho already knew she would leave with them. She'd known it almost immediately. There was nothing keeping her in Judah. She nodded. “I'll go. I have no need of ever coming back here.” She turned, scanning the room until she found Dex, his heart racing and his eyes already filling with tears. She went to him, hugging him tightly. “Keep your head down and don't provoke her,” she said into his ear.

  She let go of him and turned away as quickly as she could, biting her tongue to keep herself calm. Ruth was staring at her, her rage filling the air as the four outlanders circled around Jericho and they headed out the door and up the stairs.

  It was close to evening, the air still and stifling. Three land skimmers were waiting for them, their sleek black dulled by dust. The woman led Jericho to the middle vehicle, opening the door.

  “Jericho!” Dex was yelling her name and she turned as he came running from near the back door, her leather satchel in his hands. “Jericho!” He came to a breathless halt and thrust the bag at her.

  “Thanks.” She kissed is cheek. “Watch your back.”

  He sort of smiled and nodded, backing away as the land skimmer's engines started.

  Jericho swallowed a sudden sense of dread as she peered into the darkened vehicle. She'd never been in anything so fancy. Not that she could remember anyway. She climbed in, moving across the seat and setting her satchel at her feet. It wasn't quite as hot in the car. The woman got in beside her and closed the door.

  Jericho almost didn't feel it as the skimmer moved, and she held onto the seat for the first few minutes, before turning her eyes to the dark window, watching the town slip away as they moved out into the desert.

  “My Jordan is Nadine Dokchev. I'm going to help you through this.”

  Jericho looked at her. Now that they were out of the range of Ruth's fear and anger, Jericho could read a little more from her. She was younger than Jericho had first presumed, late twenties at the outside. Like Jericho, her skin was darker than the people of Judah and Jericho wasn't sure that her hair was a natural shade. There was a vague sense of satisfaction, a pleased sense of accomplishment coming from her.

  “What exactly is this?” Jericho asked, watching her carefully. Her blue eyes skipped over Jericho, then down to the case on the seat between them. She pulled some sort of tablet from the case, the screen coming to life with the touch of her fingers.

  “This is the start of your new life.” Nadine said. “We're going to go into Liamont City where we will get a full medical exam so we can determine our course of action for your development.”

  “My development.” Jericho repeated the words, not sure what was meant by them.

  “From there, we will design a series of classes and experiences for you.”

  Jericho turned to look out the window, but there wasn't much to see. They had passed into the desert and the suns had both set beyond the distant horizon. She had a vague memory of another night time drive across this desert. She knew it wasn't her own memory. She'd never been outside the walled town. But if she closed her eyes she could almost taste the desperation and fear, and she knew she was running away from something. Or someone.

  Jericho pushed it away, convinced it was her mind playing with things she'd heard and seen, remembering things from the stories she'd found over the wall, the rooms filled with books filling her head with nonsense. “So, this experiment you say my mother was part of…” Jericho looked at Nadine, trying to feel past the cool exterior she was projecting.

  “You'll get all the details later. For now, I can tell you that it was part of a genetics experiment. The scientists involved were trying to isolate and improve certain genetic anomalies.”

  Jericho sat back against the cool leather of the seat, but it hurt pressed against the welts so she sat forward again. “Like what?”

  Nadine set the tablet down on her lap and looked at her. “Like your empathy, for example. That's what it's called when you can feel what other people feel. It's a part of all human beings, on some level. It's how we relate to one another, why we can feel bad when someone else gets hurt. In some people, it's more pronounced.”

  “Why? I mean…why would anyone want to make it so that I can feel someone else's pain?”

  “Because, Jericho, what you have can be so much more. Wait until we are done teaching you how to access it and use it.”

  “Use it for what?”

  Nadine smiled and patted her knee. “The opportunities ahead of you are endless. Let's take it slow at first, okay? It's a long ride, go ahead and get comfortable.” She lifted the tablet and clearly dismissed Jericho's presence.

  She wasn't sure how she felt about what had just happened, about the fact that they wanted her because of what she could do, something she'd been taught to fear and hide. It wasn't salvation, she knew instinctively. She hadn't stepped out of hell and into a story with a happy ending.

  All she knew was that anywhere had to be better than in Mother Ruth's hands.

  The End.

  About the Author: Natalie J Case

  An avid reader from a very early age, Natalie grew up in worlds that only exist in books. Her influences run the gamut of genres, from childhood mysteries like Nancy Drew and The Bobsey Twins to epic fantasy and hardcore sci-fi.

  Jericho Jordan is an
introduction to a character and story that will likely come to fruition sometime in 2018. Currently, she is working on the second series in the Shades and Shadows series, a set of paranormal thrillers. The first in that series, Through Shade and Shadow was released in 2017.

  Books by Natalie J Case:

  Forever

  Through Shade and Shadow

  Links:

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authornataliejcase/

  Twitter: http://twitter.com/nataliejcase

  Website: https://nataliejcase.com

  It All Comes Down

  by J.W. Goodwin

  On goes the uniform as another day rises. A dull roar of people can be heard from beyond the door causing pressure to build inside Danika's chest. The swish of the apron was a sign that her work attire was ready to be dirtied again. Her hand paused at the door handle. Once she opened the door there was no stopping the rush of people, the thought hastened her heartbeat. She rubbed her shoulder, painful from the morning's run in with a local thief. “Just do your job and go home, one day at a time girl,” she thought. One day at a time, no matter how hard it is.

  Danika's life was no fairytale. There was no prince, no talking animals, no happily ever after. If there ever was, she missed the boat on that one. All she ever had was heartbreak and stress yet all around her there was proof that the ending does exist. Each couple she'd see holding hands made her awareness of the bitterness of her lonesome life more apparent. She could blame many things but there was one she came back to time and again. Why did her author forget to add a prince for her?

  A continuous beeping of the scanner was a lullaby, while grabbing the next food stuff and passing it on a conveyor belt was a useless exercise. There had to be more to life than mindless work, more than Danika's current existence. Spending days tossing packaged meals and fruits was not her first choice but bills needed to be paid. Bills she wouldn't have had had there been an opening in her field of study, one she was forced to choose by a high school 'counselor'. What a crock of donkey -