I wade through the water, carefully observing each step I take. Small fish scurry out of my way as my feet glide through the water. I carefully time each movement so that the waves don’t knock me over. The rough rocks and scattered coral could easily break my skin and I don’t need to add an injury to my list of burdens.
When I finally make it onto the shore, I notice that a few women have come to the beach to inspect the new arrival. I wring out my soaked gown, trying to release some of the added weight as they walk toward me.
“Veya?” one of them calls, making me look up.
I recognize her face, but she doesn’t resemble the girl I once knew. The red gown that she wore when she was taken from the island has since faded to a dull pink. The fabric has grown thin and is covered in rips and tears. The bottom of her dress is tied in a knot, right above her knees. Her braided hair is tied back with a small, ropelike fiber and is frizzed from the roots to the ends.
Her body has fully developed. Her waist is small and her hips are wide. The small amount of fat that has accumulated on her body rests in her thighs, buttock, and breasts. Her arms and legs are toned causing her muscles to be easily defined.
“Anniya?” I ask, after studying her for a moment.
“You remember,” she responds with a small smile. Anniya was the last girl I saw leave the island. Her time to return is quickly approaching.
“Yes,” I say, returning my attention to my heavy gown. “Even though the men try to make us forget those on this island, it’s hard to ignore when it will soon be your fate.” My now damp gown feels more manageable as I make my way up the shore.
“How was your ride?” Anniya asks, trying to make conversation.
“Fine. How do I get some of those?” I ask, gesturing to her covered feet.
“Oh,” she says, looking at her handmade shoes. “I can teach you. That’s how you will learn everything. Each woman tries to pass down as much knowledge as possible before leaving the Wahine Pono. It gives us all a better chance at success.” She smiles at me as she guides me inland. I slowly follow behind, watching my step. My feet are rough, but not enough to not be cut on the rocks and sharp sticks on the ground.
We reach a clearing where the ground isn’t covered in debris and I can finally look over my new home. Three small shacks are tucked between the trees. They are made of sticks, vines, and palms leaves. Though a strong storm would cause some damage, they seem fairly secure.
A makeshift table and chairs are in the center of the clearing beside a fire pit filled with hot coals. “How many women are here?” I ask, not seeing many others.
“There are five of us currently. You make six,” she explains as we each take a seat. “They are all performing their daily tasks. We work together to survive until we attempt to cross the sea to go back home.” She pauses, looking at the ground as if embarrassed.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Did Bai or Ragna make it back?” she asks, not meeting my eyes.
“It’s been many years since a woman came onto the shores of Komo Mai,” I respond, not knowing what else to say.
“Who was the last one?”
“Zen. She was paired with Borke,” I state.
She takes in a deep breath and exhales slowly through her nostrils. “That means three of us didn’t make it back. We swim almost every day, training to make it back. I don’t know what went wrong.” Anniya sighs as she rests her head in her hands. “I wish I could talk to Zen and ask her how she did it.”
“You want to go back?” I ask, appalled.
“What choice do I have?” she scoffs. “I know you just got here, but life on Wahine Pono isn’t easy. We work hard just to survive. Over the years, we have learned how to take care of ourselves. Like I said, the older women pass down whatever knowledge they can before they leave, but with our limited numbers and resources, life here is nothing compared to life back at Komo Mai.”
“Even if you do reach the shores of our home, you will immediately be given to a man like a prized hog and be forced to breed with him,” I state, still angry with my current situation.
“And the other option is death. I’ll take having a family and a husband who provides for me over that.”
“I don’t ever want to go back there,” I say through gritted teeth. “I refuse to be an object that has to prove its worth by risking my life.”
She reaches a hand out and places it on my shoulder. “I know you are angry and scared and confused. We all were. But eventually, we must all go back.”
“No,” I say. “We don’t”
***
It took me many days and a lot of persuasion to convince the others we needed to leave. We aren’t allowed to live on Wahine Pono permanently and we won’t be happy back on Komo Mai. The woman that supposedly visited the island all those years ago ruined any chance we had at being free on our home island. I won’t go back to be a slave and now that I’ve convinced the others, they don’t want that either.
There are no other islands in sight. We have looked in every direction from every point on this island and yet, only Komo Mai can be seen even on the clearest of days. That doesn’t matter though. There has to be another island we can go to, an island with more resources where we can be free. We have a better chance at survival and happiness together, away from the laws of Komo Mai.
Since my arrival, Charon has only returned to this island once to abandon Eva. However, he stayed off shore, just like he did with me. He will be back again soon for Anniya. It took me a while to convince her, but she is willing to try and escape the island with all of us. If there is another option rather than returning to Komo Mai, we want to take it. Although our ancestors were willing to participate in this barbaric tradition, we are not.
After almost a year of preparation, we are ready to try and leave. Our raft is made of planks and sticks and tied together with fibrous ropes. We used our gowns and the scraps of those who have attempted to cross the ocean to make a sail. The raft is sturdy and holds enough rations for a few weeks if needed. Our coconut flasks hold fresh water from the spring. Palm leaves have been tightly strung together holding dried fruit, nuts, berries, hardened bread, and the few pieces of fresh fruit and cooked fish we gathered yesterday.
“Are you sure this is strong enough to get us past the reef?” Anniya asks nervously.
“No,” I admit. “I have never built a boat before, especially not one that can hold seven people, but we have to try. Charon could come back any day for you.”
“Alright. Let’s give it a go,” she says, climbing aboard.
Eva and I push the boat farther into the water, until it completely floats. Anniya helps us onto the raft. It wobbles and rocks from our weight, but stabilizes quickly. I lower our makeshift sail and the wind catches it, thrusting us forward. We all stay silent, keeping our balance as the waves try to push us back.
We make it all the way to the edge of the reef. Calm water, unaffected by the tide is within reach. The last wave is taller and stronger than the others. We brace ourselves for the impact against the front of the boat, but it doesn’t help. We tip too far upward and flip the raft.
“Grab the gear!” I yell when I break the surface. We all begin scrambling in the water, looking for anything that came off the boat.
After we collect as much as we can, we slowly make our way back to the shore. The tipped raft follows us on the waves as if mocking our failure. We are all exhausted by the time we reach the beach and lay on the warmed sand.
“I knew we shouldn’t have tried!” Anniya cries. “Charon will be here any day for me. I have no choice but to take my chances in the sea.”
“Don’t do that!” Eva begs. “We can fix this. The boat will float back and then…”
“And then what?” Anniya interrupts. “We already know it won’t work!”
“What if we tell Charon that you left? He will just assume you died at sea. You can just stay here,” I say.
“No. When he finds out you lied
, he will kill us all. Our families will be shamed and our village will suffer from the loss.”
“Forget about them!” I yell. “They abandoned us!”
“And that means we should abandon them?”
“Why not? All they want to do is breed more of us anyway! What if you have a daughter? Will you send her over here?” I ask.
“I-,” Anniya begins, not knowing how to respond.
“You’ll have to, or you will be put to death,” I say, answering my own question. “Is that what you want? To continue living your life in fear? To make your offspring live this way? Aren’t you tired of being treated like a lesser being?
“Look at all we have accomplished in our short time on this island. We don’t need to prove our worth to anyone but ourselves! And I have proved that I don’t need them. I can live the life I want.” I feel breathless after my rant and notice all the women are looking at me. “We are strong and capable. We don’t need a man’s protection nor the laws made for a man’s satisfaction. We can make a better life for ourselves, together.”
“Now who is with me?” I ask.
“I want to be,” Anniya admits. “But I’m not sure what other options I have at this point. You all have time. I don’t.”
I think for a moment, considering our options. We need something bigger, something stronger if we are ever going to get off Wahine Pono. We need a boat like Charon’s. No. We need Charon’s boat.
***
Eva spotted Charon a few miles off and alerted the rest of us. It’s only been a week since our failed attempt to leave the island, so we didn’t get as much time as I was hoping to prepare. We dismantled our boat and used our limited supplies to make weapons. Charon is strong, but with Eva, it’s seven against one. Surprise and numbers are on our side.
We all grab the weapon we feel most comfortable with and hide among the trees. Charon knows this island, but he has never lived here. He knows how to hunt, but does he know what it feels like to be the prey? Will he realize our plan before we get to him and overpower us? When he can’t find us, will he leave and come back with others, forcing us back into submission? We can’t allow that to happen.
Eva stays on the shore so Charon won’t become suspicious. She will lead him into our small village and we will have to act fast. He cannot make it back to the boat. He must never leave this island.
I hear the crunching of twigs as someone approaches the clearing. Suddenly Eva breaks through the trees and runs into one of the shacks as if taking cover. I immediately lift my makeshift bow and place one of the two arrows I have on the taut string. I place my hand holding the end of the arrow on my cheek and try to keep my breath steady.
Within moments Charon has entered the camp with a machete in his hand. The weapon is raised up by his face, ready to strike down anyone in his way. I take in a deep breath and release it with the arrow. It strikes his neck as blood pools onto his sternum. His face is filled with panic, surprise, and anger as he falls to the ground, searching for the source of the arrow. A smile creeps over my face as the others come out of hiding, ready to attack.
Audrey M. Stevens is an Indiana resident who married her high school sweetheart after graduating from IUPUI. Now a stay-at-home mom to a beautiful daughter and rambunctious pup, she continues to write in the hopes of publishing more books. Find all her current works at:
https://www.amazon.com/Audrey-M.-Stevens/e/B087777W7P
GLASS
By Kathryn Jacques
Mirrors are outlawed. Vanity is sinful. It breeds arrogance and the mirrors breed vanity so therefore, there hasn’t been a mirror in the United Republic of Delmar in almost thirty years.
The alarm on my nightstand goes off, but I am already awake, lying on my back on the lumpy mattress and staring at the cracked, stained ceiling of the apartment. I smack the silence button on the alarm with one hand, sitting up to stare out the window. It’s been coated in a film to make sure it’s not reflective, but I can still see the facades of the other brick and stone buildings outside my bedroom window, the tops of a few sparse trees growing along the curb and the city street beyond that, clogged with cars and buses and bright yellow taxis. People bustle along the congested sidewalks, going about their morning routines, all but oblivious to those around them.
Reaching for my mask, the one I have been required to wear every waking moment since my fourth birthday over thirteen years ago. I secure the straps behind my head, adjust the eyeholes so I can see and allow the hole for my mouth to be exposed. I then make sure the base of the plain white mask rests below my chin so every part of my face from hairline to jawline is covered.
It’s been taught that women are more susceptible to the sins of vanity and arrogance. Before the changes thirty years ago, pretty women lavished themselves with gifts and money and fame simply for being gorgeous. They then used that money and fame to surgically alter themselves to continue raising the bar higher and higher toward an unrealistic standard of beauty everyone else was expected to follow. Those deemed ugly were ostracized and publicly ridiculed, sometimes to the point of suicide, all because they didn’t fit the ever-changing standards. So now all women must wear masks. A punishment for the choices of those before us.
Aside from bathing or sleeping, the mask is not to be removed. Ever. Doing so is punishable by public whipping outside the city capital building, and then sentenced to a year locked in a metal mask that cannot be removed at all. Those who report violations of the masking laws are rewarded, and with three quarters of the province living in poverty, people are happy to report to the authorities. It feels like a prison each morning when I put it on, but the threats of the punishment are terrifying enough for me to comply.
No one has seen my face since my fourth birthday. Not even my stepmother, Lorette, who married my father when I was nine. I have not seen her face either, nor the faces of my two stepsisters. We’ve lived together for years, and yet I could not tell you one aspect of their features except for dark hair and dark eyes; a dramatic contrast to my pale hair and blue eyes.
What they look like, and if I’ll ever know, are irrelevant anyway. Today is likely my last day in my childhood home and the last day I will see any of them. The idea stabs into my heart again, slowly chipping away as it has been for several weeks now.
Once the mask is secure, I dress myself and wander down the hall, quiet so as not to wake my sisters who are still asleep in their own room. In the tiny kitchen my stepmother serves breakfast; scrambled eggs, fresh baked bread and hot tea. I have little appetite to eat and instead push the food around on my plate.
“You should try to eat something,” she says, laying aside a plate for herself and adjusting her own mask.
“I’m too nervous,” I say, staring at the food as the little I’ve eaten congeals in my stomach.
In the opening of the mask around her mouth, I see her lips form into a tight line and I know what’s coming next. “It’s an honor to have been chosen. Some girls don’t even make the first cut.”
I’ve tried to remind myself of this for weeks, ever since we received the letter announcing I made the final selection for this year’s Offering. Thousands of girls apply, only twenty-four were chosen this year after the application process and interviews. This afternoon is the official Offering Ceremony, where the twenty-three other girls and I will be put on display and the wealthy elite in our province will bid on us for marriage to themselves or their sons. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime to escape the poverty I will otherwise be forced to live in, like the thousands of teenage girls who weren’t chosen, if they even applied at all.
But I don’t feel lucky. I feel disgusted and terrified and overwhelmed. If it were solely up to me, I wouldn’t have applied at all, but I have my younger sisters to think about. They’re only twelve. Once my father died, we were left with nothing but the tiny apartment in the city, barely enough funds to pay the taxes for the year and nothing left over for food or clothing or anything at all. Lorette has done her be
st, but opportunities are slim, especially ones that pay well enough for a single mother to support her family. She could have just turned me out to the streets, but she didn’t. She’s made sacrifices for my survival, now I must do the same. When the chance to apply for the Offering came up, I reluctantly did so. If I’m chosen today, my stepmother, as my legal guardian, will be paid quite well in exchange for allowing me to marry whomever selects me. She won’t need to worry about the next meal anymore or the constantly increasing taxes inside the city lines that make getting ahead shift farther and farther out of reach.
Neither will I to be honest. Which is why I tell myself again this is an honor, and I should be thankful. Most girls are grateful to be chosen.
“Do you need help getting ready?” Lorette asks, but I shake my head, pushing up from the table to head for the bathroom.
Removing the mask to bathe, I spend a few extra minutes letting the lukewarm water of the shower run over my head. If I am chosen today, this will be the last shower I take here. My last breakfast. My last time sleeping in the bed I’ve slept in every night since I was born. A tear winds its way down my cheek.
The water runs cool, chilling me before I shut it off and step out. Drying my hair, I twist the blond curls into their usual chignon at the nape of my neck because women aren’t supposed to leave the house with their hair loose or unruly. Then I resecure my mask. It’s only a little longer before the chauffeur arrives to take me away.
***
It’s late afternoon by the time I arrive at the Governor’s mansion where the Offering Ceremony will take place. The chauffeur of the white limo sent for me remained silent the entire three-hour drive, only speaking once when helping me with the bag now clutched tightly in my right hand; all the things important to me in this world packed into one small suitcase.
Once Upon A Dystopia: An Anthology of Twisted Fairy Tales and Fractured Folklore Page 2