Chapter 8
Having realized that the dogs won't bite me, I'm not scared for myself. I'm frightened for the rest of the girls. Helga knows this about me and is enjoying my deeply concerned and pained face. As I've said before, she's no dummy and is very well aware of who I am inside.
The snarling dogs bark with frenzied abandon. Saliva drips from their sharp teeth.
Drip, drip, drip.
They're hungry. They're anxious for their food. They're only willing to wait a a very short moment.
Wild canine eyes challenge us with piercing daggers. We have to just stand there while they wait impatiently for Jory to give them the go ahead to tear us apart. He won't, of course, but this whole scenario is still terrifying. Jory looks so uncomfortable that I almost feel sorry for him. He hates having to do this once a month.
Now comes the really horrible part. Scaring us half to death isn't the worse believe it or not. Reluctantly, Jory prepares to open the brown paper bag he is carrying. A live animal inside jostles the paper but like all the others that came before it, it's well bounded. What will it be this time? A bird? A raccoon? A beaver? What can it be? The poor animal has no idea what it's in for.
Cluck, cluck, cluck.
A chicken. Jory had undone the rope constraints and the tape over the beak of the snowy white chicken. It bounces onto the ground while Jory gives it a few moments of life.
"Get it!" he yells.
The dogs leap at the chicken with fierceness. In a few seconds, there's nothing left of it. Nothing at all. Only a few drops of blood sully the ground. The poor animal had disappeared as if it never existed.
But the ravenous tearing apart of it is permanently seared in our minds. The growling echoes. The rabid fight between the dogs for it. The sweltering violence of it all.
If we had had anything in our stomachs, we probably would've vomited every single particle of food.
After Jory leaves with the dogs, High Holy Grinder shows up. He's the next in command after Highest Holy Bledsoe. Pleased with the naked terror still on our faces, he smiles as he eyes the drops of the chicken's blood on the ground.
"I hear you've been good this week," he tells us.
"High Holy Grinder, they haven't been good," interjects Helga. "They've--"
"Silence! If I wanted to hear from you, I would've asked you."
"Yes, High Holy Grinder," she mumbles, dejected.
"If their Masters say they've been good, then they have!"
"Yes, High Holy Grinder."
"Destiny-brides, I want to tell you that you're good behavior doesn't go without notice. We're aware of how you've been doing the Great Master's work without complaint."
This is the same speech he gives us every week, unless we do something wrong and then he gives us the other speech--the one that calls us immoral creatures who don't appreciate the Great Master's plan for us.
"You've been holy this week. The Great Master will reward you when you pass on to be at his side. Meanwhile, you'll also be rewarded on earth."
The reward he's talking about is the free hour we get every week to do what we please. We actually can't do anything we want, but we're at least free from chores. This as free as we get in Paradise Village and I'm anxious for him to shut up, so we can get on with it.
"Take the time to do as you wish, but I do hope that you take a few seconds and pray for the well being of your Masters."
Right! I'm going to take my precious time to pray for that smelly creep!
"Your Masters don't get a break like you do. They have to always be thinking of the best for our community and of what the Great Master wants of them."
I force myself not to gag.
"Show the Great Master that you can be unselfish. He'll reward you in the next world."
High Holy Grinder finally leaves. I rush inside the slave quarters and grab my boomerang from under my mattress. The rest of the girls are pulling out their dolls from underneath their beds. This is the only time we're allowed with our toys.
When we first get to Paradise Village, we're permitted to ask our destiny- husbands for one toy. For the first few weeks we're allowed to keep the toy with us at all times. Most girls ask for dolls. I can't say I blame them. The need for something cuddly to hold onto is huge. I, however, had asked for a boomerang.
My mother and I had played with one that we had found at the Goodwill. Those were good memories, and I guess that having picked a boomerang instead of a doll was a way of remembering her. The Elders had been taken aback with my request. They thought I should ask for a Barbie, small dishes, or something of the sort. They had almost refused to give me the boomerang, but the Mister had intervened. For some reason, it amused him that I had asked for one.
"I had one when I was a kid," he told me, winking an eye.
So I had gotten my boomerang, demonstrating to me how much influence the Mister has on the Elders. I don't think any other Master could've made the Elders give me the boomerang. Later on, the toy became a real godsend with me being able to take out my frustrations with it.
Outside, I start throwing my boomerang in the back yard of the slave quarters. It's a quiet space with no foot traffic. Green and lush, it would be a beautiful area except for how it imprisons me.
I toss the toy with greater force each time, my frustrations are so sharp. It always comes back to me, ready to do as I bid. I sigh. This toy is the only thing I can control in my life.
I keep practicing with my boomerang until the sun starts setting. The Elders haven't rung the church bell, so I don't have to get in the slave quarters yet.
The Elders are giving us extra time to demonstrate how good they are to us. But I know the truth. This is one of their manipulations. There's nothing good about them and their intentions.
I decide not to waste any of this free time thinking about the cruelty of our jailers. Staring at the starry sky, I wonder if my mother is watching the same ones and wondering about me as I'm wondering about her.
The day I was abducted comes at me like an exploding bomb. My mama and I had been helping out at the homeless shelter by handing out food. When I had gone out with her to get some fresh air, someone had come at her from the back and bumped her head with a discipline club. As I had run to her, another man had grabbed me from behind, and put his hand over my mouth. A third man had given me an injection.
When I woke up, I was in Paradise Village. Several of us girls were bound and gagged and in the sanctum. The Masters walked around us, surveying us.
"I want this one," one of the Masters had said, pointing at me.
"No, you don't," roared the Mister. "This one's mine!"
"I picked her first."
"Gentlemen, stop fighting," Highest Holy Bledsoe stated. "There's plenty for everybody."
At the end, It was the Mister who had gotten me. The smelly man just had too much power! He had renamed me Monica even though I insisted my name was Frida.
"Will I ever be Frida again?" I ask the stars. "Will I ever see my mama again?"
The church bells ring, interrupting the delicious quiet of the night. It's time to go inside. I sigh in frustration.
Once I open the door, Helga is already waiting for me with sparkling eyes and a wide grin. She's up to something. I brace myself.
"Guess what?" she snickers.
I don't feel like playing childish games with her. "What?"
"Your sacred surgery has been set!"
Paradise Abductions Page 8