Once Upon A Dystopia: An Anthology of Twisted Fairy Tales and Fractured Folklore

by Heather Carson

  I assisted Greta out of the hole and shared her weight back to civilization where we arrived with little time to spare to begin preparation for Ceremonies. Greta needed medical attention, as quietly as possible, so we found our way to Master Heston’s home via the back rows of picture-perfect manicured yards.

  His home sat alone in the far north end of town, just before the trees began, and well past where we were allowed to roam. I rapped faintly at the back door. Heston appeared moments later with an impeccably rumpled bed head and I smiled in spite of myself, peering around him to catch a glance at what would be my residence in a mere few hours. My eyes scanned the room and landed on a knife peeking out from under a book on one of the many book cases. Perplexed, but pressed for time, I quickly explained our debacle. He assured me that he would get her to medical and brushed a light kiss on my cheek. I started on the long walk back in the morning light to prepare for the day, all the while pondering why a teacher would have or need a knife. Weapons of any kind were reserved for The Guard.

  ***

  The night's events and the lack of sleep did not at all squelch the nervous energy zipping through me as the preparations happened. We were bathed, shaved, and dipped in beautiful smelling lotions. Each of the twenty 2147-girls were adorned with jewels and dresses of white. The hair we were never to cut above our buttocks was identically braided into two tight pleats that sprawled down our backs. Our husbands would be the only persons allowed to see us with our hair down. Baby’s breath was woven into the pleats and light color dabbed on our cheeks. When we were deemed appropriate per Madam Hunt, we were lined up numerically. I was first.

  As we were paraded down the center aisle the available men took their leering appraisals although Heston told me all matches were made and assignments coordinated beforehand. I tried to keep my head raised and sought out Heston. He would be near the stage as he was our teacher and would lead us up the steps. The Ceremonies served not only to get our assigned role but as our nuptials. By the time I descended the stage, I would be simply Mrs. Heston Grim. I hoped Hanna would remain. As I waited to ascend, with Heston holding steadfast to my arm, I realized I had not seen Greta.

  “Where is Greta?” I whispered through clenched teeth.

  “She broke her ankle. Hanna, don’t panic, but Greta was deemed an Undesirable. She is to be assigned as a house servant for The Great Master,” he hushed back.

  With that body shaking news, we ascended the stairs and made our way across the stage. Rage boiled inside of me. Heston repeated the process until each of the eighteen other girls were standing awaiting their assignments.

  The Great Master welcomed the men and made his speech about the importance of the Ceremony. He was a rotund thing, the poster child for gluttony, with lustful eyes ogling the girls. The bile rose in my throat threatening to spill out. My only saving grace was knowing I was going to Heston. My thoughts rounded back to Greta as my number was called and I was asked to step forward. She was going to be alright. She was not going to be his wife, just a house servant.

  “2047-1 is quite remarkable. She is the first child to be born within the walls of Atlas and has an IQ of 189, which makes her profoundly gifted. Any children would indeed inherit intelligence. She is fully capable and fertile. She has been deemed A Perfect. Gentlemen, she has been spoken for by Master Heston Grim. Master Heston, do you wish to step forward and claim your bride?” the Great Master questioned.

  Heston made his way to me without breaking eye contact. The pronouncement was made and sealed with a kiss; we were a married couple. I felt sick, not because of Heston, but because the whole atmosphere was suggestive of lambs being led to slaughter. Most of these girls were not going to be as lucky as I was.

  The Ceremonies continued through the remaining eighteen. Nine girls were deemed Undesirable and assigned to work as house servants for the higher-ranking officials or sent to the gardens. They were sent immediately to their assignments, but The Perfects, and now wives, were invited to feast in celebration of our nuptials. There was food and the finest wine which several of the men were pouring liberally for their betrothed. They groped their wives and laughed drunkenly at each other. We, of course, were not allowed to leave until after the first dance, keeping steadfast with the archaic rules.

  Led to the dance floor, all the couples swayed as expected. Heston was incredibly gentle in comparison with his counterparts. It was not at all unenjoyable being nestled against him. He bent so his cheek rested lightly against mine being no easy task as he was a stretched six-foot-two versus my five-foot-seven. I felt safe. When the music stopped, Heston excused us.

  We strolled at a good pace; I was anxious to be behind the walls of our home to inquire more about Greta. Heston unlocked the front door and led me inside. I let out an audible sigh and he chuckled.

  “That bad?” he asked.

  “No, it’s not that. I am just worried about Greta.”

  Being the sweet man I had come to know, Heston tried to assure me that she would be fine in the care of The Great Master. I nodded and allowed my eyes to wander the massive shelves of books covering the dining area as I sat at the table, books I would undoubtedly read. Heston bent and kissed my shoulder as I was freeing the head numbing braids from my hair. I knew my obligations, of course, but Heston insisted that we wait until I felt ready. What I did feel was exhausted and although nothing more than sleep was going to happen tonight, I was still looking forward to being in the same bed as him.

  ***

  Three months passed before I saw Greta again. Most of the married girls were already showing signs of pregnancy and I had just now felt comfortable sharing my body with my husband. I felt happy, as happy as I could in the circumstances. As Greta had once said, maybe we could learn to love our partners. I think I did, although the knife still bothered me. I had not seen it since becoming Mrs. Grim.

  Late at night, I heard a light knocking from the back door. Heston answered it and quietly carried Greta into our house. She was rail-thin, dirty, and looked as if she had been beaten every day for the last three months. The shame and guilt gnawed at my belly. Here I was being happy and my best friend was suffering. I immediately drew her a bath as she wept about how sorry she was for coming here.

  “Hush now. This is not the same kind of home the others have. Believe it or not, I have a say here,” I told her.

  She told me unspeakable things as I washed her hair. She was beaten, her body violated, and was near starvation, as I could tell from her protruding spine. The exuberance that normally emanated from Greta was drained from her like the filthy tub water down the drain. The tales were true. The Great Master kept a collection of girls and when he tired of them, they were cast out with nothing. Not only that, most of The Undesirables never even made it to their assignments. No one knows where they went. Greta’s story got progressively worse as she told of overheard conversations that there was not enough food for everyone inside of Atlas and that is why more and more are being tossed into The Beyond. Being within the walls of The Great Master for three excruciating months, Greta had been privy to all types of classified conversation as she went about her daily chores.

  The terrors compounded with each sentence. I could hear the floor protesting as Heston worried the wood outside the bathroom. Men had gone missing in the night, whole family units vanished. We were told that they had simply left Atlas in pursuit of some unknown dream, but the truth, as Greta told it, was that people were being executed so as not to overpopulate the compound.

  When we had finished getting months of grime removed from Greta’s now feeble body, we settled in around the dining table where there were no windows. Heston’s face wrecked with disbelief, mine with disgust. It did not make any sense, if we were overpopulating to the point of food scarcity then why would we also be encouraged to procreate.

  Heston appeared to have the answer. I had heard his story before, but in light of the new information, it seemed that perhaps there was more to it. The rumors tha
t his wife had passed during childbirth were lies. She was cast out for something Heston was not yet ready to disclose. He had attempted to follow her, convinced they would fare better together, as he told it. His first wife had not been deemed A Perfect, she was an Acceptable, a practice that had since been eradicated. Theorizing, he told us that during his teaching training he read a book penned by The Great Master that spoke of a population in which only Perfects procreated, at the time Heston had given it no more than passing suspicion.

  We decided collectively that Greta must remain hidden, it was grounds for being cast out if she was discovered. I fixed a bed in the basement for her. It was crude yet clean and comfortable. Heston and I retired to our room upstairs.

  To see a man weep is an otherworldly experience. My poor gentle husband was sobbing. I was his comforter that night and for many to come. We stayed up well into the early morning hours rehashing, speculating, and formulating plans. He confessed that he had a weapon held over from his time outside the walls fashioned from bone and that he had smuggled it back into the compound. At one point, we had a map spread out over our bed showing the details of the sewer system.

  “And, this over here by the South wall…” he said indicating on the map the location.

  “Is a tunnel under the wall,” I finished.

  We both looked at each other shocked. I explained how we had discovered it the night before Ceremonies on pure accident.

  “How did you know it was there?” I questioned.

  “Because I am the one who put it there, Hanna.” He described how he dug the tunnel as a means back into Atlas after his year in The Beyond and they had to allow him to return because he had insider knowledge that could reflect badly on the Elders, maybe even cause a revolt.

  “What are we going to do? We can’t send Greta back to be cast out, and we can’t keep her here forever. Oh, God Heston what if they mean to execute her? We don’t get enough rations to feed her properly either.” And suddenly, I was the one weeping.

  Early the next day, strategies were set into motion. Greta would use the tunnel to exit the compound during the day and return after dark. Heston gave her specific instructions to stay near The Great Wall because the tribes out there were fearful of coming too close to the wall. She was to keep the coveted knife in the tunnel and carry it outside the wall.

  A month came and went with our arrangement in place. The color returned to Greta’s cheeks and her ribs became less visible. Evenings passed in the protected dining room with laughter. Even Heston could not resist joining us. He entertained us with his precious coin collection passed down from his grandfather from The Great Before. Greta was fascinated by them, turning them over and over in her hands.

  This time of uneasy happiness, made more poignant by knowledge it could not last, continued until one blistering late summer night. The heat never did break and even the windows protested with humidity, streaking the panes of glass as if proclaiming sadness. We waited through the night with no signs of Greta. When the sun broke over The Great Wall at dawn we discovered why. A commotion was taking place in the square. Everyone was being steadily drawn to the noise of a woman’s scream. I recognized it immediately. It was Greta.

  Heston and I rushed toward the square. The guards held Greta firmly by each arm as she thrashed violently. The Great Master was also present and making a proclamation.

  “2147-8 has been accused and found guilty of abandonment of her duties and is hereby ordered to be cast-out,” he boomed triumphantly.

  Heston held me firmly to his side. He knew I was writhing in anger, and given half a chance I would scratch that filthy pig’s eyes out. I would be cast-out right alongside her. With a sinking resignation, I reluctantly allowed myself to be lugged home. The front door had no more than closed when I started spewing profanities, something that I had never done before. Heston held me.

  “Shh, darling. I have a plan. Tonight, we will leave,” he told me.

  “But, how Heston, how can we leave? We will be in danger every day and surely starve. I can’t leave all the others behind either,” I protested.

  As it turned out Heston did have a plan, and one that would benefit the whole community.

  That night, after the sky was as dark as a blackbird’s tail, we headed to the south wall and through the tunnel to The Beyond. We would camp near the border until daylight and then continue our journey.

  When morning arrived, I stretched out the kinks from sleeping, tucked away in Heston’s protective embrace, and picked the twigs from my loose unruly locks. It looked so much different than I had pictured. I had an image in my head of wastelands filled with angry assassins, but what I saw was lush vegetation and sprawling woods. Heston warned me to be on guard, some of the people we would encounter had been made desperate by circumstance and were very dangerous.

  We were just starting out when I saw, on the ground and placed with intention, what looked like copper twinkling in the sunlight. I leaned down and picked up the object in question and a smile bloomed on my lips.

  “That clever girl, look Heston, Greta has left us a trail to find her. Your coins from the collection, look there is another one,” I exclaimed.

  The trail of coins led us deep into the woods. It was then that we encountered our first person of The Beyond. We approached carefully and quietly. When the woman turned, I recognized the light blue eyes under the grime of the wilderness.

  “Rianne?”

  It was indeed Rianne, the pot-stirring gossip. We quickly explained our intentions and showed her that we were not armed, or so I thought. The months spent fighting for survival had matured her. Loneliness had swallowed her innocence, the lost child’s eagerness to be amongst the familiar had her yearning to join our voyage. It was made understood that our first priority was finding Greta and I hoped we were not too late. Rianne told us she had seen the guards pushing her deeper and deeper into the woods.

  Some of the people we encountered were not at all like Rianne, they had turned feral, animal-like and pledged allegiance to The Queen of the Lost. But we were able to outmaneuver them easily as our bodies were still fed and our pace was quick. Our group continued to grow as we trudged along. Fueled by fear of becoming the next meal and visualizing an opportunity at a better existence, the lost joined ranks without convincing. In hushed tones it was implied that we might overthrow The Queen and her tyrannical rule.

  We found many lost faces in our travels. Most had bits of useful information, such as The Queen had captured Greta. By the time we arrived at what appeared to be a fortress and undoubtedly The Queen’s lair, we were two hundred strong and some even had crude weaponry forged by hand from the forest’s abundance.

  We had to be crafty if we were to save Greta’s life and tackle phase two of Heston’s plan. We could not just storm the castle. Strategically, we assessed the weaknesses in the perimeter and determined that burrowing beneath the barrier was the best option. It was laborious work, but this time we had help. The narrowness of the tunnel did mean, however, that the army we had engaged would have to stay outside. They were to act as the fall back if or when the guards discovered our presence.

  Heston placed his knife into my boot as we exited the tunnel and searched for Greta. Sticking to the shadows, we came upon large rows of cages. The rudimentary cells were littered with bones appearing to be human and there, tucked in the far back, we found Greta. I quickly grabbed a finger bone and picked the lock to her cage. Then freed her rope-burned limbs from the hemp restraints and ungagged her. She was whispering repeatedly, “The Queen.” It was a warning.

  I turned toward Heston who was now face to face with a beautiful and terrifying woman. He motioned for me to stay back with a slight wave of his hand.

  “Blair?” he asked, his voice laced with sorrow and disbelief.

  “Yes, Heston, it is me. You should not have come. Did you not get the message when I left you with a knife in your arm? I see you have brought my replacement. Maybe she will buy into your foo
lish obsolete notions of love and family and bear those children you want so badly. How very thoughtful. She will make a lovely meal for my kingdom,” she cooed.

  “Not even a fleck of dust will be thrown her way, do you understand me?” Heston barked back.

  “Who is going to stop me? Surely, not you. You couldn’t even keep me in your bed, let alone protect me and you certainly cannot protect this child bride. My guards are disarming your merry band of misfits as we speak.”

  “How can you be so sure Blair? I am not the same man you left wandering the woods years ago.” Heston’s eyes hardened.

  She heard enough. The Queen lunged at him with her knife drawn, wailing like the rabid banshee she had become. Just as the tip of her blade touched Holden’s cheek, I intervened.

  “Blair, is it?” I asked.

  Intrigued, she inclined her head to me.

  “I think you misread my intentions in coming here,” I continued.

  “And just why did you come here, with our husband in hand, if not to free your little friend?” she asked stepping closer to me.