Broken Princess

by Skye MacKinnon

  Luckily, today is shower day. Maybe the Angel really is smiling on me for once. Hopefully, the wounds on my back are healed enough not to burst open in the shower. I don’t want to stain yet another set of clothing. Blood is hard to get out of fabric, especially with the tools we have at our disposal. I probably generate the most laundry out of everyone, with the exception of the babies. There are two at the moment, Daliah and Revelation, and there's another one on the way.

  They’re all the Prophet’s. The Angel hasn’t allowed me a baby yet, so Andros has needed to go to other women to spread his seed. Once we’re ready to ascend, one woman and one man will be chosen to stay behind, raise the children until they’re old enough to ascend themselves. They will help grow the community further, maybe become the new Prophets. Andros is planning long term, and he doesn’t want us to be the last disciples of the Angel.

  No, we’re only the first generation. He’s been spending his time writing down all the Angel’s messages, creating his own scriptures. He says that the version we’re currently using is only a small part of what the Angel has been telling him. Some things are too sacred for him to share with us, as we wouldn’t understand them until we’re ready to ascend. Others are aimed at people not living in the community, nonbelievers who haven’t heard the message yet. One day, Andros says, everyone will know about the Angel. Once we’ve ascended, people will be shown what the Angel is promising.

  A knock on the door makes me flinch.

  “Come in!” I shout weakly, but nobody comes. Intrigued, I cross the room and open the door. A small bundle is sitting on the doorstep, draped in sackcloth.

  I take it inside and unwrap it. A note falls to the floor and I pick it up. It’s Andros’s neat, flourished handwriting.

  Wear this today. Be clean for later.

  My hands begin to shake and I drop the paper to the floor. The cloth isn’t the wrapping. It’s what I’m supposed to wear. I unfold it and stare at the sack, three holes cut into it for my head and arms.

  There’s blood red writing on the front, the same as on my chest.

  S I N N E R

  My eyes sting at the humiliation. Wasn’t yesterday enough punishment? Nobody else has ever had to run across the compound naked before. And now I have to wear a sack? It will leave my arms and legs exposed; something we aren’t usually allowed. We need to keep our bodies covered. But this…

  I sink to the floor, throwing the sack away from me. What am I going to do? I can’t resist, I can’t defy the Prophet. He’s the Angel’s voice here on Earth. Sometimes though, I wonder if some of what Andros does isn’t actually what the Angel commands. If it’s just to satisfy his own desires.

  Blasphemy.

  I erase the thought from my mind.

  If I don’t wear it, he will punish me. His wrath will be terrible. He might even turn it into a public punishment, something he only does in extreme cases. I’ve only been publicly punished once, when I was given the bracelet burned into my ankle.

  Others have been punished far more often. I think of Daffodil, rebellious Daffodil who joined the community because her parents did. In the end, she had…

  No, don’t think of her. Daffodil is gone. No use thinking of the dead.

  I stare at the sack. It’s not very long, and even though I’m not tall, it will only just cover my upper thighs. If I lean forward, I’ll be exposed.

  I wipe away my tears and walk to my small cupboard. I don’t have many clothes, and they’re all of the same style. Before we moved to the community, I used to wear colourful things, but now everything is white and beige.

  Even my underwear is all white. I choose the thickest pair of cotton panties and a bra that’s far too big for me. I pair them with knee high white socks. The rule is not to wear shoes, but there’s nothing in there about not wearing socks outside. They’ll get dirty but right now, I don’t care.

  The sack cloth is scratchy on my skin, especially where Andros cut holes in it. I’ll likely have a rash tonight.

  I decide to skip breakfast and head straight to the office. Hopefully, there won’t be many people outside and Heather will be the only one to make fun of me.

  For once, I’m lucky. Now that the new men have been initiated, everyone is back to doing their normal duties, taking them away from the main square I have to cross.

  I hurry to the office building, sighing in relief once the door behind me is closed.

  “What on Earth are you wearing?” Heather greets me, her mouth falling open. Her eyes run over my dirty socks, my bare legs and end up hovering over the six red letters on my chest.

  I don’t reply and sit down at my desk beside her. There’s a new stack of fresh paper waiting for me, as well as a copy of the scriptures.

  While I begin my task, copying page after page by hand, Heather continues to stare at me, her expression filled with glee. She knows exactly that this is her doing, and she seems to enjoy it. I’m never going to leave my papers lie openly on the table again. She won’t get another chance to ruin my work.

  I concentrate on the text in the first chapter, the story of how the Angel first spoke to Andros. My husband was meditating, like he did every day, when a blinding light filled both the room and his mind, transporting him into a white, bare room with walls that glowed. There, the Angel was waiting for him and told him that he was the very first Prophet, the man chosen to spread the Angel’s message. At first, Andros was unconvinced, but the Angel showed him both the extent of his power and a glimpse of Paradise and the Prophet started to believe.

  The day after this first vision, he began to tell others about his experience and soon amassed a group of followers. I was one of them, and I soon became more than just one of Andros’s flock. First I turned into his lover, then soon after, his wife.

  He was very different back then.

  “Stop daydreaming and work.” Heather’s harsh voice pulls me back to my task and I continue my writing. I’m slower than yesterday though, and by the time the midday bell rings, I’ve only got about a quarter of the book done. My skin is itching all over from the scratchy cloth I’m wearing, but it’s yet another few hours until shower time.

  The sky outside is grey, but sadly it’s not raining. If it was, we’d assemble in the hall where I could sneak in last and kneel at the back where not as many people would see me. Instead, I’ll have to stand in a circle outside, in full view of the entire community. A blush rises up my cheeks.

  I’ll have to get through this.

  “Angel be with me,” I whisper quietly enough for Heather not to hear. She’s almost out of the door already, shooting me a suspicious glance as if she knows that I’m debating whether to go to the prayer.

  No, the punishment for that would be too severe. I need to attend.

  I take a deep breath and recite the Angel’s words in my head.

  Discipline leads to redemption.

  Suffering brings peace.

  Focussing on the mantra, I step outside, keeping my eyes fixed on the ground. With every step I get closer to the statue, the temptation to run away increases. Not just to my house. No, away from the compound, away from Andros.

  Obedience inspires happiness.

  Maybe this humiliation will bring happiness, too. Maybe it’ll make me a better person. Maybe it’s all just a test by the Angel to see who his most loyal believers are.

  I breathe in deep. Yes, I am loyal. I believe in the Angel with all my heart. I may not like Andros, but I love the Angel. For him, it’s all worth it.

  That thought gives me new strength and I manage to take the final steps, taking my place in the circle. I don’t know who I’m standing next to, but I don’t dare look up and see all their stares.

  “Laya!” Andros’s booming voice shatters through the confidence I just gathered and breaks me into a million frightened pieces. Run, the voice in my head screams, but I can’t. I have to stay. The pain in my ankle flares up and reminds me that running away isn’t an option.

  “Come
here!”

  Before I can even think, my feet follow his command, carrying me to the centre of the circle. I stop when I’m in front of him, his bare feet all I can see of him. I don’t want to look up, but he takes that decision away from me by putting a finger underneath my chin and lifting my head.

  “Look me in the eyes,” he orders.

  I don’t comply, fixing my gaze on his mouth instead. His lips are beautifully curved, the colour so red it almost looks like he’s wearing lipstick. I used to love his lips, especially when he kissed me.

  The times of gentle, sensuous kisses are over. Have been, for a long time.

  Andros doesn’t insist on me meeting his eyes and grabs my shoulders instead, turning me around until I look at the assembled crowd. Now they can all see me. The words on my tunic. The proof of my sin.

  There are no whispers, they are too obedient for that, but I can almost feel their thoughts as they’re wondering what I’ve done to be treated in this way.

  “My wife made a grievous mistake yesterday,” Andros announces, his voice too loud in my ears. “Tell them what you did, Laya.”

  I don’t know what to say. It was Heather who drenched the pages, not me. I didn’t do anything. But I can’t tell him that. He’ll just punish me even more.

  Andros takes my hesitation as defiance and slaps me from behind, his fingernails grazing my cheek because of the awkward angle. I flinch but his grip on me is too strong to move.

  “My Princess defiled the Angel’s words!” he shouts, anger brimming in his voice, making me shudder in fear. “She poured water on the words that I myself wrote. I wouldn’t have needed to share the Angel’s message, I could have kept his wisdom and guidance for myself. But did I? No! I shared it, I wrote it down so you all could read it and follow the Angel. But Laya, my wife, my Princess, she damaged the words!”

  Spittle hits my neck as he roars the last words.

  How did I ever love this man?

  “Are you sorry for what you’ve done?”

  I didn’t do anything, so how can I be sorry for it?

  Still, there’s no other way. “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Louder! Tell them all.”

  I lift my voice. “I’m sorry.”

  “Will you do it again?”

  I shake my head. “No, Prophet.”

  His grip on my shoulders tightens. What more is he going to do? Isn’t this enough?

  “Will you accept your punishment?”

  His voice is a snarl now with an edge of barely disguised excitement. He’s looking forward to punishing me further. I was wrong, making me run naked and dressing me in a sack wasn’t the punishment. It was only the foreplay to something much, much worse.

  His fingers are digging into my shoulders and he begins to shake me.

  “Do you accept your punishment?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing for whatever he’s about to do.

  “Yes.” It’s barely a whisper, but it’s enough for him.

  He turns me around and presses me against the large pedestal the statue of the Angel is resting on.

  “Look at the Angel,” he instructs. “Look at the Angel and ask for forgiveness.”

  He lifts the sackcloth and rips down my panties, exposing me to the crowd. I whimper as I hear his zipper. This isn’t just going to be a public beating. I grip the pole tightly, my shaking legs barely supporting me. I feel him against my entrance and I press my legs together, but all that earns me is a hard slap on my cheeks.

  “Spread your legs.”

  He hits me again to emphasize, and I do as he asks. There’s no other way. He steps in between my legs and grips my hips, roughly shoving me against him.

  Then he takes me, in front of everyone, grunting like an animal as he pounds into me. I keep my eyes fixed on the Angel like he instructed, blinking through the tears.

  Angel, please help me. Please, if you’re listening, help me. Let me ascend now and be at your side. Don’t make me wait and stay on this world with him.

  4

  I don’t bother getting up when someone enters my room. I’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past few hours, refusing to move my aching body. Andros’s public punishment yesterday afternoon had been only the beginning. After some of the women had helped me shower, he’d returned in the evening to leave new marks on my skin.

  I can feel the blood seep into the sheets beneath me, but I don’t care. Those stains can be removed. The ones on my soul are permanent.

  Why is the Angel letting this happen? Is he not watching over us like Andros says? Are there other followers he’s occupied with instead? Are we not worthy of his attention?

  A plate is carelessly dumped next to me and a moment later, I’m alone again. The smell of freshly baked bread makes me turn my head. A perfectly formed roll sits on the plate, a thick layer of butter gluing the two halves together.

  Nobody has ever brought me breakfast before. Missing meal times means going hungry. Not today, it seems.

  My stomach painfully reminds me how hungry I am, and I sit up, groaning in pain. Some of the wounds must be deep.

  The roll looks delicious, much better than our usual boring food. Meals are just for sustenance, not enjoyment, that’s one of the Angel’s messages. We’re only here on Earth temporarily, and while we need to keep care of our bodies, we don’t need to indulge.

  I breathe in the scent, wanting to prolong the experience as much as possible, before taking the first bite. It tastes just as wonderful as it smells. I take another bite – and hit something hard. I lower the roll and open the two halves. There’s a piece of paper in there, folded up several times.

  I frown, confused. Connor is the man usually cooking for us, and I’ve never really talked to him. He doesn’t say much and all our conversations have revolved around food. Why would he send me a message in this way?

  I unfold the paper and my eyes widen.

  You’ll be safe soon. Hold on.

  I read the message several times before crumpling the paper in my fist. Is this another test?

  Safe. Soon.

  But I am safe. I’m in the Angel’s community. There’s no better place to live.

  Hold on.

  For what? Till when? What’s going to happen? My thoughts are racing, but I know there aren’t any answers to be found. I don’t know enough. I can’t come to conclusions with this tiny amount of information.

  This must be a test. Does Andros want me to give this note to him to show that I don’t keep secrets from the community? Or should I confess to the Angel?

  My head hurts from all the consequences this note could have. I unfold it and read it again. And again.

  For some reason, it gives me hope, even if it is just a test.

  I fold the paper carefully this time, making it as small as I can, and then stuff it in between the floor boards beneath my mattress. I have an old photograph of my parents in there too. We’re not supposed to have anything reminding us of our old lives, but I couldn’t throw this picture away. I resist looking at it now; the gentle smile of my mother and the contemplative glance of my father are burned into my mind already.

  My father is dead, he died of a heart attack shortly after I’d joined Andros and the community. My mother sent word, but Andros didn’t want me to go to the funeral. Too emotional, he said. Instead, we sat and prayed to the Angel, hoping that he would allow my father into his realm of peace and eternal light.

  I’m not sure where my mother is, or if she’s still alive. There are no other close relatives who would get in touch with me should something happen to her.

  She’s not one of the Angel’s flock, though. She didn’t want to join us, no matter how much I begged her. I’ll likely never see her again, whether in this life or the next.

  The community is my family now.

  I don’t get up when the midday bell rings. It will be the first time I miss prayer since I was ill with the flu a few months ago and couldn’t leave my bed for days.

&
nbsp; My back aches with every movement, so I’m lying on my stomach, arms outstretched, my head bent to one side. It’s the most comfortable position, despite the strain on my neck muscles.

  Blood is still seeping from my wounds, but I’ve taken off my shirt so that my clothes don’t get stained any further. A cool breeze caresses my back, making me grateful that I left the window open. I turn my head to look out into the sunshine. It’s sunny but cold, as it is so often in the Scottish summer. Unless it’s raining, of course. Here in the Highlands the weather can change in an instant.

  The sun is too high in the sky right now to shine into my house, but I still enjoy its light. It reminds me of the Angel’s glow that Andros describes in his scriptures. Like sunlight reflected by morning dew, it says in his book. Despite his dark side, Andros is a poet at heart, an artist. He used to paint when I got to know him, but he stopped when he founded this community. There is no time for idle pastimes like that. It doesn’t help in getting us closer to ascension.

  I close my eyes, ready to dream of the light of the Angel, when something hits the ground next to me and I shriek, turning and wrapping my sheets around me like a shield.

  I look around, panicked, but there is nobody there. What just happened?

  Oh.

  There’s a small brown parcel on the floor below the window; someone must have thrown it in. Hesitantly, I take and unwrap it. It’s an apple, red and juicy, with one word scratched into the peel:

  Soon.

  I grip it tightly, tempted to throw the apple away from me. Is that a threat? A promise? Something else?

  But then my stomach growls and I take a bite, erasing the confusing message from the apple. It’s sweet and tangy at the same time and a trickle of juice runs down my chin as I eat hungrily. This is turning into a day full of food that I wouldn’t usually get.

  I eat the entire apple, including the seeds, to make sure that nobody will find any trace of it. This wasn’t one of our homegrown, small apples, this was one that was bought somewhere. Who could have brought this to our community? The only person who has contact with the outside world is Andros. So it is a test.