by Devon Ashley
“You jerk!”
“Have a nice dinner!” Under his breath, he adds, “Freakin’ pixie,” but I still hear it.
“My. Name. Is. ROSALIE!”
“I. Don’t. CARE!” he shouts back, his voice fading more and more the farther he travels away from my hole.
“Arrgghh!” I shout. I’m so tired of these jerk faeries treating me like I’m in the wrong here! “I’m not a criminal! I haven’t done anything to deserve this!”
If Jack’s still close enough to hear, he doesn’t respond. I’m left to sulk and cry in silence, but at least I’ve got some fat and protein to put into my body again.
Alright, I may have been quick to judge afterall. Though Jack was really angry the first two days and threw my rations down the hole, the last two days he didn’t. Just like yesterday, when I awake from my nap today – er, passing out from exhaustion – I feel my food in a nice pile and my water bucket sitting properly with enough to actually cleanse my skin. My rations haven’t gotten any bigger, but at least Jack’s feeding me daily. It’s nice not having to scavenge the floor for what meager morsels I can find. And I’m still coming across shards of glass that nick my fingers and pierce my knees and feet, so it’s nice to avoid that too.
Apparently, Jack only guards me during the day; he’s free to go where he pleases at night. When he’s here I never see him, but I can hear him though. He fancies the harmonica, and I too, have come to enjoy listening to him play, though I dare not say so. The hypnotizing melodies calm my nerves and soothe my mind. I even recognize some of his tunes. I don’t know why that surprises me, given the history of our species. Several centuries ago we were mostly segregated, but we still intermingled with one another. I imagine we shared simple things with one another, like music. Some of his music reminds me of home, of Poppy and me and some of our fellow pixies, and how we used to sing them when we were young.
The top of my hole is constantly bathed in a warm glow while he’s here. Out of sight but almost within reach. How I wish that light could sink a little farther down. I don’t know if it’s from starvation, dehydration or what, but these past few days I’ve been seeing things. Even though it’s pitch black, I awake in a fright, sure there’s something moving around the hole with me. My poor heart can’t take any more scares right now; it’s already so weak.
I’m surprised Jack’s done nothing to coerce me into thinking I belong here, like Finley demanded. He doesn’t starve me, deprive me of water, yell at me, hit me or even threaten me. Nothing. I haven’t even seen him since that first day. Not that I’m complaining or anything, but I worry what Finley will do if he ever finds out my body is slowly healing itself.
“What are you doing up here?” Finley yells from up top, snapping me awake as his voice rumbles down my hole. “Why aren’t you down there? Do I need to find a faerie-sitter for you too?”
“What? I’m taking a break,” Jack replies, not a hint of guilt in his voice. “I’m not going to beat on her twenty-four seven. Eventually she passes out, you know?”
Finley huffs. My body cringes as he descends, and right up behind him…two spriggans!
Oh, this isn’t good.
My heart sputters to life, beating erratically until it figures out a rhythm it can keep up with. I desperately try to stiffen my arms to hide the uncontrollable trembles that are painfully obvious right now. I can’t let him see I’m scared! As much as I would like to force myself to stand up and meet him, I just can’t do it. I’ve eaten as well as I can expect for the past couple of days, but it’s not enough to reverse the damage already inflicted upon my body. I get dizzy merely standing in place.
“Sixty-eight. My not-so-favorite pixie. How’s our progress going?”
I think the question is for Jack, who’s pressed against the back wall behind the two monstrous beasts. There’s just not enough room in this sorry excuse for a hole.
“Jack!” he snaps.
Jack pushes his way between the spriggans. “Oh. Uh, just ask her and see.”
Lovely. I know I’m on my own, but he could have at least said he’d beaten me senseless multiple times and made me cry. Anything but uh. At least there’s no physical evidence he’s been feeding me. If my ribs are any indication, I’m sure my body appears more emaciated than ever.
“Well?” he asks in a taunting manner. I stare lifelessly at him for several seconds. When I don’t respond, he snaps his fingers before my eyes, convinced I’m in a trance.
Physically, I’m too tired to even blink a response. My defiance, however, is stronger than ever and doesn’t know when to just shut up and play dead. “If you have a question, ask. But I’m only going to respond to my name from now on, which is Rosalie.”
Finley huffs in exasperation and turns to give Jack a fierce glare. When he spins his body, his foot uproots and takes a new position…right on the spot where I defecated yesterday. The sole on his shoe squeaks, but it’s not until the laughter rising from my chest becomes loud that he looks to his feet. He probably thought it was just water at first, but the brownish color will change his mind.
I bury my head in my knees, so I don’t get to see his reaction, but I do hear him gasp. I was never given anything to go in so they had to know to watch their step, but there was no way this wouldn’t turn out to be my fault.
Finley is beyond ticked. He yells, “Break her wings!”
I gasp, but before I can even lift my head in reaction, two sets of hands are invading my body, maneuvering me into a position on my knees I have no chance of escaping.
Finley cracks his knuckles. “Let’s go for the full sixty-eight breaks this time. We’ll see how long you’re laughing then.”
I hang my head low, refusing to let him see my face, because fear has me clinching my neck and facial muscles as tightly as I can. The first snap comes from the tip of my upper right wing. I cry out, but it’s not as bad as I expect.
“One,” Finley says dryly.
The second comes from the opposite spot, and my teeth cut into my bottom lip. Again, it hurts, but not as bad as breaking the base of my wings.
“Two.”
The third goes a little a deeper and tears well up behind my eyes, stinging harshly. By the fourth, I can’t contain them and tears flood my face. What water I put into my body these past two days is coming back out. My chest heaves and I finally scream on the fifth break, when they close in on the spots already damaged. By nine I’m squirming as hard as I can but with two monstrous beasts atop me, it’s hopeless. By twelve I’m begging, “Please. Please stop.” I’m ashamed these words pass my lips, even more when it makes Finley laugh wickedly loud.
I feel like a massive bee hive has attacked my back, stinging madly, deep enough to pierce my spine in every spot possible. A fiery rage inflames my vertebrae, licking the nerves that carry out to my body, spreading the burn even farther. The strength of my structural support collapses and my body goes limp in their arms; but still, they continue to break bits and pieces of my delicate wings.
The last thing I hear is Finley singing, “Twelve.”
I’m running through a forest of luscious greens and browns, cheerfully giggling as my pursuer tries catching me. I hear her call my name, waiting for me to give away my location, but she’ll never hear the pads of my feet over the joyous sounds of nature overflowing the trees. I jump through the air, grasping vines that swing me farther than my little legs can run.
“Rosalie,” Poppy calls out in song. I’m still way ahead, zipping and turning random directions off the beaten paths. Here the moss grows wild on the ground, making it more slippery and difficult to grip the soles of my mud-covered feet; but still I run, giddy and laughing as Poppy gives chase. The wind lifts me off my feet and carries me several feet before I make impact again, and then I continue on my way. My loose hair whips freely and my reddish streaks shimmer each time I cross a stray sunbeam.
I come across a babbling brook, with water splashing playfully amongst the rocks, sprinkling me as I jum
p from one rock to another to cross it.
Weird – the water isn’t cool and refreshing like I expect. Paying no mind, I burst through the wall of vines hanging in my way. It slows my playful run, snagging and pulling on my arms and legs. My skin begins to singe where they touch and I panic. The more I struggle to free myself, the more the vines snap and tighten their grip, burning and twisting my skin.
I scream and tears burst through my eyes. Poppy appears at the brook behind me, but she won’t cross over to help me. She just stands there with her hands cupping her mouth, shaking her head back and forth, mumbling what I think is my name over and over again. I beg her to help me, the aggressive vines pulling me farther into their grasps. The tendrils wrap around my wings and burn the intricate web of veins the magic runs through, the pain too much to bear. I whimper as they close completely around me, suffocating me with darkness.
I awake by the brook, my limbs mangled as if the vines just tossed me away once through with their torture. Pieces of me still sting, but most of the pain has reduced to numbness. Poppy sits beside me, her hands covered with the mud she’s spreading over my wounds, cooling the inflammation that burns my skin.
“Drink the water, Rosalie,” she says softly. “You need it.”
I want to do what she asks, knowing she’s right, but my limbs refuse to budge, buried deep in the mud she’s covering me with. I moan in protest, and by some miracle of Mother Nature, the water jumps magically from the brook and lands gently in my mouth. This time, the brook’s miracle elixir is cool and soothing as it paints the linings of my mouth and throat. I sigh in sweet release and let Poppy soothe me to sleep with each gentle stroke.
When I awake the next time, Poppy greets me with a smile. “There. Now that’s better, isn’t it?”
I smile and stretch my limbs, feeling only the numbness where I knew I once hurt. “Thank you, Poppy. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She shrugs. “Burn to death in fiery pain, I guess.”
I do a double-take in her direction; it was an odd thing for Poppy to say, but I let it slide. I rise awkwardly to my feet, reaching for the nearest tree to support my balance. Standing is making me dizzy, which immediately makes me nauseous. “Let’s go home, Poppy. I don’t feel so well.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, looking at me in confusion. “We are home.”
“What? No we’re not. Come on, I don’t want to play anymore. I just want to fly home.”
“Fly home? You can’t fly silly. You haven’t got any wings.”
Instinctively, I try fluttering my wings, readying my eyes for the biggest eye roll ever. But nothing flutters. Just as I reach around to check the base of my wings, I catch my own reflection in the brook.
I gasp in utter horror. My wings are gone!
I really hate waking up on this floor. There’s an obvious difference between sleeping and passing out. With sleeping, I’m able to move around enough to keep my body from staying in one position too long. With passing out, I’m stuck in that position the entire time and it doesn’t feel good when I awake. I ache all the way to the core of my bones. Surprisingly, my wings, which I expect to be giving off the most excruciating pain ever, are numb of all things. The cartilage that protects the edge of my wings, the veins, and even my spine are oddly pain free. There’s a little tingling going on, but mostly, my entire wing structure is hardly bothering me.
Can shock do this? Am I so far gone my body doesn’t acknowledge pain anymore?
I gently apply some pressure to the three areas, and sure enough, I feel very little. With sixty-eight breaks, I should be crying and screaming right now.
That’s when I realize there’s something different. It takes me a minute to arrange the thoughts in my head into something cohesive.
I just examined my wings…with my eyes!
There’s light…from a lantern on the floor….just sitting there…by itself. I look to the top and see no one, hear nothing. But what surprises me even more than the presence of light and a full bucket of water, is a large cup filled with food.
I lean over and grab the thin wooden container. My eyes bulge when I see that it’s filled to the rim with all sorts of seeds and nuts: wildflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, peanuts, apple seeds, and my all-time favorite, sunflower seeds. This is the most food I’ve received in one sitting since I got here and by far the most variety, so I’m immediately suspicious given my current circumstances. I handle a few pieces but nothing feels weird. Nor do they smell like they’ve been sprayed or coated with anything.
I’m at a loss, unsure of what to make of this. My stomach, however, urges me to eat them regardless of a possible negative outcome. Fearfully, I lift a trembling hand and pop a sunflower seed into my mouth. Hey, I figure if I’m going to die of poison, then I’m going to at least savor my favorite flavor before I do. The seed is everything I expect – crunchy and nutty tasting – and nothing I don’t. I figure they’re safe to eat.
Part of me – the hungry, growling stomach part – wants me to devour the meal in a single bite. The other part of me wants to savor what could very well be the last meal of my life (because I’m still suspicious of this generous, abundant meal). I decide to placate both parts, first by shoveling a few handfuls into my mouth, then savoring the rest of the cup slowly. I’m still working my way through the bottom half when I spot Jack coming down.
I knew it was too good to be true.
I half expect him to tell me he’s glamoured my meal and I’ve been savoring a cup of dried excrement, but I doubt Jack could ever be that cruel – only Finley seems the type so far. For a moment he stands there awkwardly, like he doesn’t know what to do, and his body language leaves me puzzled. I cock my head and squint my eyes, waiting for him to do something other than stare.
“You’re awake.” I think he says it more for himself than expect an actual answer from me. Wordlessly, he pulls a soup canteen from the satchel slung across his body from his shoulder to his waist, and holds it out before him. “I didn’t think you’d wake before I left tonight, so I left you the seeds just in case. But I really think you should drink this before the nuts. It’ll be easier on your system.”
He passes me the canteen and my hand reaches out to automatically accept.
“Are you okay?” he asks. His tone surprises me. It almost seems heartfelt.
Despite my suspicion and utter disdain for the faerie species at the moment, I keep my reply civil. “I’ll live. It wasn’t the first time they’ve broken my wings. I doubt it’ll be the last.”
He winces and rocks back and forth on his heels, his head falling as it shakes. It’s impossible to make eye contact with his loose waves sweeping the air before his eyes, and I can’t help but wonder what his game is. He clears his throat, grabs a roll out of his satchel and passes it between his hands. My stomach obviously gets the message and growls in protest. Lovely. Tease me more please, I think, rolling my eyes. Surprisingly, Jack extends the bread and offers it to me.
“Here. You need this more than I do.”
I mindlessly accept again, watching his facial expressions for a hint of betrayal, but I see nothing. Either he’s very good at deception or he’s actually sincere…which confuses me. Jack went from absolute hatred to completely aloof to shy and compassionate. Something smells and it’s not the corner of the cave where I relieve myself. Not being able to stand it anymore, I ask in an accusatory tone, “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“You seem…really thin and malnourished.” His eyes fixate on my bare torso, so I assume he’s focusing in on my ribs. I see for the first time what they look like in the light and what I see breaks my heart. There’s no muscle left between the skin and bones, and just like I felt when I examined myself, the areas between the ribs dip. Self-conscious, I set the bread and canteen down and wrap my arms around my waist.
“Well, that’s what happens when your only source of food and water gets dumped on you inside a pitch black hole. Or squished on the floo
r like Finley likes to do.” I didn’t care that I was coming off rude and sarcastic. He’d been an absolute jerk to me for a couple of days and then pretended I didn’t exist for the rest.
“I guess I deserve that.”
My eyes pinch harder, as if doing so will allow me to see magic flowing off him and prove I was hallucinating this conversation or something. “Again. Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?”
He digs the toe of his shoe into the ground, which is probably tearing the soft material apart. “What they did to you…with your wings…that ain’t right. No one deserves that, no matter what you did. You’re not a flight risk. Not with that metal on your back weighing you down.”
“Jack, is it?” He nods. “Your faerie buddies stole me from my Hollow. Shot a dart right into my neck. I woke up in this hole with broken wings and a number inked on my skin.” I pause to show him the sixty-eight on my wrist. “I was abandoned and starved for four days, dumped into a pit and forced into slavery at the brink of death. Then, ‘cause I had the audacity to run and fight for my freedom, I was tossed into this pit under the care of a jerk that likes to throw what little rations I get at me. What part of any of that seems right to you?”
“What did you do?”
I scowl. “What do you mean, what did I do?” As if this is all my fault or something!
“I mean, what did you do to get thrown into this prison?”
Flabbergasted, I spit, “I didn’t do anything! I was taken!”
“Yeah, all right. I get that. But you all broke the law in some way or another, so what did you do to get yourself imprisoned?”
I’m not sure how long I stare at him, trying to wrap my head around what he just said. I have a feeling my expression is conveying my thoughts because he’s quick to ask, “What?”