Chief Meadows was dressed in his typical attire of black slacks, ash colored shirt, and pinstripe black vest. He was on the stage towering over his people. His features and movements conjured images of a hungry vulture spreading imposing wings to swoop and devour defenseless prey.
The firstlings held different forms of entertainment on the elevated stage. Including the spectacle of beating and killing drudges. The gruesome public displays were a violent warning. It was a devastating folly to break Chief Meadows’s rules. Such behavior was an act of defiance I endeavored to never perform.
There was a woman sitting with her hands tied behind a chair. Her plain blue work shirt signified she was a sustenance drudge. Her face was red, puffy, and twisted in agony. A black bruise was forming under her right eye. There appeared to be a laceration above the swell of her cheek and it was glistening with fresh blood. The injuries were mere indications of the fate undoubtedly awaiting her.
Chief Meadows addressed the crowd in an ear-splitting screech, “I will ask again. Will you coward away and let me kill her? Or will you come forth and spare your growing child’s life within her?!”
Wrecked with frantic emotion the woman begged, “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare do it!”
Chief Meadows waited and searched the crowd.
When nobody came forward, he roared, “So be it!”
His footsteps echoed with furious strides as his shiny black boots clanged against the floor of the stage. Each bang of his livid pace managed to startle me with uneasy fright. He untied the woman and crudely moved her to a standing position. He forced her trembling hands to the highest part of the chair. She was standing with her back facing him. As soon as she was upright you could see the small rise of her stomach. She was with child. The sight filled me with feelings never experienced before. The intense empathy shattered my spirit.
He finished positioning her so he could whip her in a public form of chastising. In an effort to avoid witnessing the horrific scene, I examined the people. I searched for the facial expressions of the drudge whose insides were dying. I searched for the creator of the child; the other person involved in the dreadful situation.
Chief Meadows lifted his whip. He slashed into the pregnant woman’s body. The terrible, sickening noise pulled my hesitant gaze back to the stage. The woman gritted her teeth in pain and instant tears emerged from her eyes. She forced a strong countenance for the sake of the man she loved. She hoped he would not come forth and was intent on stifling any exclamations of suffering.
I examined the crowd, refusing to watch the slashing whip. Many of the firstlings had glee in their eyes and blood thirsty smiles. They were taking pleasure in the ruthlessness. According to Old Jake, relenting to desires of the flesh without restraint, increased the wicked behavior many firstlings exhibited.
Another deafening slash of the whip sounded throughout the hostile air. With this strike she could not contain her pain and let out a muffled release. In a gut-wrenching moment, I spotted the pregnant drudge’s mate. The forbidden lover amongst the faces in the gathered mass. He thrashed from side to side and rubbed his hands with anxiety. His cheeks were wet with silent weeping.
There was another lash at the woman’s bleeding wounds. It silenced the people with a crack as loud as thunder. The male culprit could no longer remain motionless. He was a worker drudge, evidenced by his black shirt. Chief Meadows lifted the whip to strike the woman once more. The helpless man ran onto the stage and jumped in front of the repeated abuse.
He caught the beating with his arm and tearfully begged, “Please, spare her. Please, sir. Please.”
He was big in stature, strong, and masculine. But had been reduced to a puddle of despair.
Chief Meadows taunted, “Alas, the guilty culprit has come forth. You weren’t enjoying the torment of this woman anymore? Was beholding it more tortuous because she carries your child?”
Chief Meadows stabbed the handle of the whip into the man’s chest and sneered, “I hope so.”
Pleased with his snide remark, he released an ear-splitting cackle.
His cruel lips hissed, “Sadly, you did not love this wretched woman enough to leave her alone. This has caused you both to violate my rules. Correct?”
The elite tens and firstlings snickered at what they viewed as an amusing remark from Chief Meadows. It was not entertaining to the drudges who were present, including me.
Chief Meadows snapped an order to his nearest elite ten, “Take him to the prison. We will publicly execute him with the setting sun.”
By this point, the forbidden lovers were clinging to one another in desperation. Blood was seeping through the woman’s shirt in stomach turning slices and gashes. It was the brutal evidence of a severe and harsh lashing. The woman scolded the man in tearful sobs. She passionately hit her fists against his defeated chest.
She entreated, “Why did you come forth?! Why!!?”
With a tremulous voice he responded, “Because I could not stand it one more second.”
The two drudges fiercely clung to one another until their hands were viciously ripped apart. With tear stained faces they beheld each other for the last time.
The man chokingly proclaimed, “I love you, Sonya.”
Almost unintelligible and through sobbing tears she responded, “I love you too.”
Destruction was the result of their ill-fated and secret bliss. Sonya would receive pardon until she bore the child. Eventually, both of the condemned lovers would be executed.
In a fit of irritation and rage Chief Meadows screeched, “This is why we do not break my laws!”
His brown eyes were seething like tiny black holes of doom. He glared at the drudges in the crowd, daring us to disagree. I had never seen such maliciousness on his face before and it rattled me to the core.
He compelled his angry tension to dissipate. Below his full mustache the corners of his mouth turned into an amused and crooked expression. His thick brown hair, peppered with gray...rustled in the brisk morning breeze.
Chief Meadows exclaimed, “Drudges, morning meal is over in twenty minutes and then you will promptly report to your elite tens.”
He spun and marched off the stage in powerful strides, as if nothing of importance transpired. The adult firstlings were free to spend their time as they pleased. The school aged firstlings would be expected to attend school. But not drudges...we were expected to report for labor by eight o’clock sharp. Otherwise we risked being the next public beating.
Chief Meadows arranged for a loud bell to ring throughout Starosa thrice a day. In the morning it indicated we had five minutes until Report Time, which was eight o’clock in the morning. The bell rang again twelve hours later, signaling drudges to retire to their houses for the eveningtide meal. A third bell rang at ten o’clock. It meant all drudges should be in their rooms and on their cots asleep. I almost never heard it because I routinely followed this expectation.
I somberly entered my drudge house and discarded my brown coat in the laundry room. Coats were not allowed to be worn during regular labor hours. I hastily moved in order to relish the morning meal. There was no way I would endure a day of work, if I did not eat and drink. After fasting the previous twenty-four hours, I desperately needed the nourishment.
As I prepared to eat my meager meal, dejected weariness weighed upon me. I had many uncertainties and I could not wait to visit Old Jake. He was the only person who could bring cheer to my troubles. I scarcely felt like the same girl I was a few days prior.
My deliberation shifted to the horrible scene I witnessed. There were instances of secretly wedded drudges. If the lovers were caught, they were put to death immediately. If the woman was pregnant, it was a necessity to allow the baby's life. The child would replace one of its executed creators. Once born, the unattached infant would be committed to the nursery until he or she was old enough to work. Oblivious to its origin, the child would be assigned a drudge line. Subsequently, this new drudge would labor and endur
e remembrance duties upon reaching its tenth year of life.
The Chief commanded this strict, unrelenting rule to prevent drudges from creating unwanted offspring in Starosa. The firstlings would never be outnumbered by drudges. There could only be a controlled number of drudges at a time. If one of us died, Chief Meadows compelled two drudges from different lines together. The regulated amount was ultimately restored.
I recalled the anguish on the poor pregnant woman’s face as she clutched her lover’s arms. I swore to Starosa, I would never risk the misfortune. The trouble at stake for such a ridiculous notion as love caused me to shudder. I never understood why anyone would endanger their lives for so foolish of a reason.
I shook the terrible scenes from my mind and concentrated on my meal. Each drudge house contained an eatery with two long tables and benches for seating. I was sitting at the end of one of the tables. Two cleaning drudges were next to me, but we were not talking. I savored the warm, buttery hot cake we were allotted every morning. The distributed glass of water barely quenched the dryness in my throat. I mentally prepared for the day of new uncertainties and rising fear. The only assurance was my conviction to never fall in love with another drudge. A soft, calming voice plucked me from my thoughts.
Brenna greeted me warmly, “Hey there, Green Eyes.”
Brenna and I were in the nursery together. In the nursery our sweat and tears went into learning our future responsibilities as cleaning drudges. We were both in our seventeenth year of life. Her hair was what we called speckled blonde in Starosa. It was blonde, but brown strands flowed within it as well. She had a sprinkling of lightly colored freckles on her cheeks. They were tiny kisses from the sun.
We were the only two cleaning drudges with green eyes; most people in Starosa had grayish brown. Brown eye color was a distinguishing feature of the community. This trait missed Brenna and I when we were created. Members of our drudge line gave us both the nickname, “Green Eyes.”
I muttered, “Hey Brenna, how are you?”
She replied, “I am positive I am doing better than you. You look the part of a drudge who recently returned from Remembrance Duty. I am happy to see you were not delivered as a frozen block of ice. It was frigid last night.”
Her green eyes twinkled and the corners of her mouth turned into a joking expression.
I mumbled, “Yes, I am too.”
My lackluster response caused her light-hearted nature to change. Her features twisted with concern.
I fleetingly reflected on Zander’s forbidden fire and cringed. If the crime was discovered, it would derive dire consequences.
Brenna motioned toward the exit and asserted, “We better report to our elite ten. The bell just rang.”
She rolled her eyes and added, “Although, you know our elite ten will not arrive until many minutes after Report Time. She does have a need to be fashionably late.”
The comment managed to bring a smile to my face and I agreed, “Yes, she does. In every sense of the word.”
We chuckled at our elite ten and her crazy sense of fashion. I tidied my minuscule mess of crumbs and prepared to report for duty. Our elite ten would assign us responsibilities for either a day or an entire week of labor, depending on where we were in the rotation. The cleaning drudges’ elite ten was always late. Drudges from other lines were well into their labor, by the time we were assigned duties. Our elite ten was Cornelia Fadflair. She was a spectacle even among the firstlings.
The female firstlings wore luxurious, extravagant, and varying attire. Most often black slacks with different colored frilly blouses or gorgeous gleaming gowns and dresses. Cornelia Fadflair spent a great deal of time on her appearance, from the tip of her head to the ends of her toes. She consistently assembled her hair to perfection. Her face was permanently flawless and her clothes were the most expensive apparel found in Starosa. She wore permanently sparkling shoes and if it was Summertide her exposed toes sparkled too!
What accompanied her extravagant style was her peculiar voice. It emulated a squeaky mouse creature trapped in its hole. Her speech was high pitched and frantic. Despite her inability to be punctual, her quirkiness was amusing every day. We never speculated why she was late to Report Time. One glance at her appearance screamed hours of preparation.
As we trekked to our main floor there was an obvious, somber mood in the air. Drudges were shaken from the morning's tragic scene. It was considerably more upsetting to me because it was the first Reminder Beating, I ever viewed. Old Jake never allowed me to be part of the crowd on such occasions, only the infrequent happy ones. A troubling query entered my thought pattern. How much had Old Jake hidden from me over the years? I could not wait to visit him after work. I was filled with pressing questions and desired direct honest answers.
Old Jake persistently made sure I felt safe, blessed, and happy to be a drudge in Starosa. Without him by my side, I endured an unsettling Remembrance Duty. The result caused previous ideals and feelings of satisfaction to splinter. Deprived of his watchful protection, I was introduced to the notion of freedom. Old Jake relentlessly kept public forms of punishment from my view. Without him holding me back, I observed hideous savagery. Hearing about reminder beatings and beholding them, were entirely different matters. The scene was terribly disturbing. My stomach was in a constant state of nauseousness. As we entered our main floor, everyone was silent except for the movement of burdened feet.
Brenna spoke to me in a hushed tone, “Did you hear about what happened this morning?”
I was shielded from observing similar, horrible scenes in the past. I would have to hear what transpired from someone else. Brenna achieved certain pleasure in playing the informant to my ignorance. Old Jake refused to indulge prying into such occasions.
Brenna regularly divulged any interesting prattle. She frequently informed me of communications she overheard or stirring acts she witnessed. Our conversation time was limited and she acquired the skill of talking fast.
I answered in a barely audible whisper, “I did not hear about it. I was there.”
Brenna responded too loudly, “What?!”
She said much quieter, “Oh, right. Old Jake was not with you today.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
Zander entered my thoughts. A question gnawed at my subconscious...why was I put on duty with him?
“So, which one of us cleaning drudges did you end up with?”
I refused to look at her as I answered, “No cleaning drudge. I was put with a creator drudge.”
Brenna almost tripped and choked on her words.
She quietly exclaimed, “Are you serious?! But…it doesn’t make any sense! Who was it? I assume one of their old ones?”
I wrestled within myself. Should I tell her it was a male drudge, a couple of years older than me? There was no doubt she had noticed Zander. He was a handsome and capable drudge in Starosa. She would also remember him from our time in the nursery. Hesitantly, I imparted the unfortunate news to Brenna. Color left my face and my heart nestled into my stomach region. I replied with immense apprehension.
“It was with the creator drudge...Zander.”
An audible gasp of surprise faintly escaped Brenna. Our conversation changed to distraught silence while we awaited Cornelia Fadflair’s grand appearance.
Brenna persisted to gape in disbelief. She realized what it indicated. She deduced why a strapping and handsome drudge, from a different line was positioned as my companion for Remembrance Duty. Although I was refusing to admit it out loud, I came to the same conclusion. It unquestionably signified one thing. It meant for some unknown reason, I was given a death sentence from Chief Meadows.
Chapter 5
I spent the entire day scrubbing the floors of every restaurant and store in Main Circle. It was the only time drudges were allowed inside the firstlings’ places of fine dining and shopping. They were there for indulgence and we were there to labor and sweat.
Cleaning the firstlings’ restaurants could
be pure torture, especially in the morning hours. A favorite of the firstlings was a delicacy called bacon. According to the old ones, this is what it was termed in the Previous Sphere as well. The bacon’s savory smell was floating through the air and making my appetite grumble for its taste. It came from a four-legged animal called pig.
I was in my fifteenth year of life when the pig creatures were discovered. Chief Meadows organized an exploration for anything useful outside the safety of the electric fence. The search party returned with three pig creatures. After breeding the pigs, they prepared meat never tasted or smelled before. The relished aroma assailed the nostrils in the most pleasing and mouth-watering way. The servant drudges were instructed to add a droplet of syrup sap to the meat as it cooked. The smell of the fragrant victual was intoxicating.
Disappointment surfaced. I would never enjoy the luxury of bacon. I would never taste savory sauces, fresh smelling bread, or the other exceptional foods overpowering my senses. Fine eating was reserved for firstlings and they ate exceptionally well. Drudges were given enough nourishment to survive. We never ate the dishes served in the firstlings’ restaurants and homes.
I swept the floors and kept piles from the trash for as long as possible. I waited for the perfect moment, when no firstlings were in the vicinity. Confident no malicious eye was upon me, I scrounged the dirt piles for tiny morsels of food. The food was found in the form of carelessly fallen crumbs from firstlings’ plates and greedy mouths. It was the only time I ever allowed myself to do something so incredibly shameful as a drudge. But no internal struggle was to be had. My lack of sustenance from Remembrance Duty left me more famished than normal and it was too tempting to resist.
At the end of my day of labor I was exhausted. Remembrance Duty and the subsequent twelve hours of work, weighed heavily on my body. I sluggishly paced to the drudge houses. I had been wearing the same clothes for two days and was in desperate need of a change. My shirt had turned a shade of brown and I smelled like the animals kept in Animal Quarters. The animals were wedged between the creator drudge house and the nursery. The area dispersed an intense and overpowering smell. My nostrils were often assaulted.
The Forbidden Plan Page 3