Chapter 2
The family-wives make sure I clean up correctly before I go to the destiny-bride shack--what I call the slave quarters. There are three wives, and they live in separate bedrooms in the huge house. We're supposed to be bonding since I'm about to enter the family, but I'd rather finish fast and get out of the home that I'll be forced to share with the smelly creep in just a short time from now.
After they tell me I did a great job, all except Stacy who barks that my homemaking skills are deplorable, I set out to the place I live. What Stacy told me doesn't bother me since I hate having to make a home for the Mister and myself. She's mean and nasty to me. I guess it's because she feels I'm replacing her with the Mister. She's the youngest and the last bride he's taken. Much of his attention falls on her.
Jealousy.
It's one of the ugliest emotions.
I don't understand why she wants his attentions. I would rather him not know I'm alive. Just the thought of him placing his lips on me--uuuuuuuck!!!!!! Fortunately, the rules are that the men can't touch us romantically until after marriage. With all the dog crap I've placed in his beverages, this is a relief of epic proportions.
I shut out all the vicious words Stacy has tried to sting me with--"What does he see in you? You're nothing. You're ugly. You need plastic surgery. You've got the personality of a wet rag. You never talk. Why does he need another wife--especially one like you?"
I respond back very simply. "Why should I care what you think of me?" I say nonchalantly as I turn my back on her.
This usually infuriates her more but shuts her up. Once she had started cursing at me, and she was put in isolation for a few days for disrespecting the home. Isolation is a dark room in a remote corner of Paradise Village. I wouldn't wish that horrible place on anybody. I've been there once when I had blurted that I didn't want to get married. After being in the room with very little light for a few days, I decided never again. I'd use my head more than my mouth. Stacy had been there a few times since she has trouble controlling her words.
Even with the way she acts towards me, I can't muster the energy to despise her. Believe it or not I don't hate her. I don't even dislike her.
I just feel sorry for her.
I feel sorry for any girl here who believes the total garbage we're constantly fed. I feel sorry for the girls who don't know they are being brainwashed. If Stacy feels that the Mister is some sort of a prize, then I must pity her more than dislike her. That's for sure.
As I walk briskly through the center of Paradise Village, the Elders don't like to see us move leisurely, I don't notice the beauty of the place. While leafy trees adorn the pathways and vibrant flowers grow from the sides of the dirt roads, all I see is ugliness everywhere. I don't even turn to look at the food warehouse or the clothes ordering shop as I move past them. A long time ago, I stopped paying attention to the semi-dense jungle of the thick trees, vines, and bushes that surround Paradise Village.
When I arrive in the vicinity of the slave quarters--a huge, crumbling shack with rows and rows of bunks where the unmarried girls sleep in, I head towards it. Rushing past an outhouse, a clothesline, and water basins where we do laundry, scrubbing clothes until our hands are raw and bleeding, I swing the tattered door open. We have no electricity, no running water, and no conveniences of any kind. It can be easy to think that the men are heroes when they take us out of this place to marry us and put us in decent homes. I, however, would much rather stay here in this awful hole than live in luxury with them.
"How was your dinner?" asks Helga as I enter the shack, her eyes stern and dissecting me. Her bunk is by the door so that she can check up on us. The oil lamp flickers next to her as she keeps eyeing me with suspicious eyes.
"Fine," I say, meeting her hard gaze.
Helga is a servant-girl, and she'll never marry. When she was a child, a dog bit her face. No amount of plastic surgery could help her, but she proved her usefulness to the Elders by demonstrating her iron hand towards the rest of the girls. They put her in charge of us and every year, her heart turns more and more into stone. Her only pleasure in life seems to be torturing us any way she can. She's the oldest female at Paradise Village at thirty-three years of age, and she doesn't let us forget why she's still alive.
"Monica, you'd better tell me the truth about dinner," she hisses. She especially hates me because I don't cower down to her like the rest of the girls do.
"I am."
"You're destiny-husband better not give me any complaints about you," she snaps.
"He won't."
"Get to your bunk and start your prayers," she commands.
I step past the other praying girls to my apace. For the moment, no one is on the top bunk and I'm blissfully by myself in my corner. I kneel down and supposedly start my prayers to the Head Master. We attend church for an hour every day to hear about the Great Master and what he wants from us.
I know TOTAL GARBAGE when I hear it.
Instead of repeating the prayer they taught us, I abruptly shove it to the side. My mouth would go completely dry if I ever said it. I could never believe in it.
Dear Great Master of everything,
Thank you for the privileges you have given us. We are the chosen ones. You chose us to help do your work on earth. You chose us to be of great use to our destiny husbands, our communities, and our church. I understand that when my Master on earth disciplines me it's for my own good. Please continue being good to us as we follow your plan. I'll do the best I can to obey my destiny-husband as he obeys you.
The words are like poison in my mouth so instead, I start doing my multiplication tables in my head like my beautiful mother had shown me so long ago. I start with the eights.
Eight times one is eight. Eight times two is sixteen…
Sometimes I go over the spelling of words and create sentences in my head. Of course if the Elders knew that I can still remember how to spell and count, they'd have a meltdown. None of us girls are supposed to be literate or mathematically inclined. They say it's too much for our little heads.
As I said before, I know total garbage when I hear it.
Before they snatched me from a homeless shelter when I was five years old, my beautiful mother used to read me stories every day. She would take me to the shelters to do volunteer work. It would shock the Elders to know how much I remember of my old life before their evil came in the picture.
I remember it just being my mother and me since my father had died the same year I was born. I remember us having very little money but my mother's deep love for me making up for it. Who needed things when you were loved so unconditionally? I remember waking up thrilled to go to school and learning. My mother also taught me at home which was why I knew the time tables at five years old and so many big words in English and Spanish. She always told me with pride in her voice that I was a voracious learner and thinker.
"You've got a brain the size of Texas," she'd gush proudly.
When I came here, the Elders tried to replace my memories, tried to confuse my past. They said that my mother didn't want me anymore, but that they would take care of me and bring me to the light of the Great Master. With other scared girls, I found myself in a most frightening situation. The Elders starved us and deprived us of sleep while constantly telling us about the Great Master's plan for us. The other girls' minds were soon molded. I was tagged as the rebellious one until they put me in isolation, and I had to think my way out. If I continued spewing insults at them, what would happen to me? I became a tomb with my real thoughts and started trying to form a plan to escape.
But escaping was an impossibility.
"Monica!" Helga's harsh voice wakes me from my mind.
I open my eyes and turn to her from my kneeling down position. "Yes?"
"Are you really praying or is your mind somewhere else?" she snaps suspiciously.
One thing about Helga-
-she may be cruel and vicious but she's no dummy. She unfortunately knows who I am deep inside.
"Of course I'm praying," I state, playing the game with her. Both of us know the truth.
"Liar."
I eye her with an exhausted look on my face. "Can you read my mind?"
"No, but--"
"Then how can you accuse me?"
"I don't see devotion on your face."
"What does devotion look like?" I ask, making my face as innocent as possible.
"Well . . . It . . . Well . . ."
I enjoy flustering her, but I'm sure I'll end up paying for it. Yet, I can't keep up with the pretense of being brainwashed 24/7. Sometimes I have to mess with the power hungry abusers like they mess with me.
"Monica!" She snarls angrily when she can't get her words in order to answer my question. "Come out with me, NOW!"
By that time, the other dozens of girls had stopped their prayers and were looking at me fearfully. The silent gasp shows on their frightened faces. The only reason they don't verbalize it is because then Helga would punish them along with me. I can't say I blame them for keeping absolute quiet.
I slowly stumble off the floor, irritating her more. "Hurry up!" she yells.
As we walk past the girls, their horrified, round eyes stay on me. I open the door of the slave quarters to a light, cool wind. The good thing is that she can't condemn me to the isolation room since only the Elders are permitted to do that, and they are the only ones who have keys. Also, she can't do anything to mar my external that will leave scars. Yet, there are a number of very vicious punishments she is capable of. I wait as she circles around me with a smirk on her lips.
"What kind of punishment do you deserve?" she asks, guffawing.
I stare back at her. Her eyes gleam ominously as the oil lamp lights her distorted face. Her cruelty is about to explode.
Paradise Abductions Page 2