My mother always reminded me about the night I was born. That cold winter night ravaged by a sudden and violent snowstorm. As I grew older, she proclaimed that that night must have implanted something inside me the moment I left her womb and sucked in my first crisply
cold breath. She never explained what exactly could have been left from that horrible storm that killed many.
Though, years after her death, I may have just accidentally stumbled upon what she meant.
The skin of my neck felt sticky as I moved my head; the chunks of my hair that fell from their braids clinged to the area. The heavy iron scent of the blood filled my nostrils while the burn of bile began to creep up my throat. I slowly forced myself to breathe through my nose so
as to not easily give into my disgust.
The men’s wide, horrified, eyes reminded me of the hares I would encounter back home just as the sun would begin to set and dusk came into full swing. This group of glorified thugs who once stood on their hind legs, ready to rip me apart, now stand in a horrified silence as they
watch their leader drown in his own blood, an indistinguishable wound the size of my mouth the cause of his demise. I unwillingly began to drool as the putrid flavors swirled in my mouth. The salty, revolting, taste of the man’s skin had already ingrained itself in the recesses of my mind, it’s lingering flavor only rivaled by the overwhelming smell of coagulating blood that has now soaked through the collar of my blouse, gluing it to the skin of my collarbones.
I allow for a few, achingly long and horribly silent moments to pass before I spit once more on to the floor. I heaved a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart as well as my constricting stomach. Don't think about what you've just done, I tell myself again and again. My eyes linger on the bloody mixture I expelled from my mouth, images of bloody white feathers and limp orange legs of chickens flashed in my mind. I looked at the nearest man, one that had been spewing lewd threats and curses at me who now is subtly shivering as our eyes meet.
“What will you do now?” My voice is hoarse as I force out the simple question.
He doesn’t reply. None of them do.
I silently gaze at the four men. I catch a glimpse of myself in the only window near me. An arched one. Images of my chicken coop with the tin roof and little arched window flash in my mind.
How is that me?
How did I become this?
The woman staring back at me…she’s not...she can't be me. The clouds gather in the sky just outside the warehouse, hanging low and pregnant with imminent rain.
Jude is coming.
I slowly tear my gaze from the reflection and look at a different man, his face reminding me of a wet rat. “Why does my question go unanswered?” The rat-like man took a step back from me, but his eyes remained locked with mine.
”What kind of monster are you?” The rat practically spat at me, his voice shrill. “No woman could do what you just did!”
I rolled my shoulders, stretching out the taut muscles, “I’m a monster?” The wind began to howl, the glass panel of the window shook with the sudden power of an incoming storm. A crack of lightning illuminated the room, and I briefly wondered what my shadow revealed to
these men as they began to shrink back from me even more.
“Monstrous,” I whispered to myself.
My gaze burned into the rat as he shakily looked to the three other men standing around him, “Daniel, handle her,” the rat shouted at the largest one of them.
“Daniel…Daniel, think carefully about what you do next,” I calmly said as I looked at the bald man. The dead man’s blood on my neck now dry enough to crack at the tension of such a small movement. My lips felt as if all the moisture had been sucked out of them, but I refrained from touching them for fear of tasting anymore of the wretched blood. “Jude is coming,” I
began, my words seeming to ignite a new fear in the thugs, “I'll be generous and let you live if you kneel,” I simply said.
Slowly, one by one, the four men lowered themselves so that they were kneeling in front of me; with only the now cold body of their leader separating us. Rain already began to pound violently against the walls of the building, sudden claps of thunder reverberated through the
room.
“What will happen to us?” Daniel, with his raspy and deep voice asked with a surprisingly quaint tone for such a large man.
I looked toward the window once more, the formerly vibrant red blood on my skin has dried to a muddy brown. Don't think. As I stared, I regarded the man’s question, “I haven’t decided yet.” Past my reflection, a break in the storm began to pass over us; at the very same
moment that the rain ceased the all too familiar scent of stale tobacco and something reminiscent of a potpourri wafted past me. Through the reflection, I watched as the large double doors to the building these men dragged me to slowly opened.
“There you are, Princess,” Jude’s velvety smooth voice echoed through the room. I slowly turned my head to look at him properly; I watched as his dark eyes flickered down at the dead man before looking back at me, his eyebrow twitched slightly. Slowly, his piercing gaze turned to the men kneeling. His silence paired with the simmering anger that shone in his eyes raised the hair on the back of my neck. Behind him, Elliott slinked into the room, his steps alarmingly soft considering his towering height.
The men began to squirm, though they stilled when I looked at them. Bile began to rise to the base of my throat once more, burning the delicate tissue. Elliott now stood at my right, a glint of light reflected off the revolver he pulled out. Jude slowly stalked closer, the heels of his fancy dress shoes clicked against the concrete floor, “Elliott.” The gun clicked as Elliott pulled the hammer back.
The rat met my gaze, his eyes wide and bloodshot, “You said you’d let us live!”
"I lied.”
