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Among all the Dead Things
Light pierced the darkened abyss surrounding me. I tried to climb from my drugged prison as it danced patterns across my cheeks. It traced the skin atop my eyelids and I twitched, attempting to regain consciousness. Her voice, coupled with the light, made lying there intolerable. She spoke low at first, too gentle to stir me, and upon realizing placed a cool hand against my cheek. My limbs were stiff from fatigue, but I fought against it and forced myself awake. My eyes fluttered; I found her face. She was grinning widely, just as all the others before her had done. They were oblivious to the hoax, buried within a drugged tomb. Although I’d never seen her before, she seemed caring, if not motherly. But I’d mistaken women for mothers before, a dire oversight on my part. Some of them were sisters, friends, or lovers. So I learned to wait, like a trained animal in lieu of its master’s command. I didn’t move until the grin left their faces; until words fled between the cracks of their teeth. Every morning I waited to be discovered for the fraud that I was.
“Happy Birthday, my love.”
I smiled instinctively. Play the part, I reminded myself. It was easier when you didn’t protest, when you didn’t scream, or cry, or wander confusedly. Madness was their only explanation for such behavior, and death awaited those foolish enough to exhibit them. Once, when I awoke in Lamden, before I’d been informed of my occupation in society, I did this. I clawed at them, fearful of the strange destination I’d been taken to, left speechless by the contrast of my mocha skin against their orange hues. While soothing me with calm hands, they tucked wild curls behind my ears and whispered in the ancient tongues of the Levers. That night I was electrocuted with machines in the sanitarium, pleading incoherently for nurses from the orphanage. No one came. The next morning, I was greeted by new faces while nestled under silken sheets. Each day was reminiscent of the last. I lie within the fold of one life, found the shards of another the next morning, and was left with the task of weaving them back together. The Levers were responsible for delegating my occupation, but I thought of it as my curse.
The woman hovering over me helped me to rise. I watched her eyes closely as they shone in the light from the open shutters. She looked heavily drugged.
“We need to get you dressed. We’ll have company before you know it.”
I followed her suggestion obediently. Birthdays were rare, and I was usually summoned for companionship. Widowers, men who wore their troubles while hunched over bitter liquor and warm firesides, needed someone. But the nature of this situation confused me--why’d they need me for such a joyous occasion? Absentmindedly, I stood watching the woman busy herself about the room and assumed that that she’d lost someone. The Levers would surely seize an opportunity to experiment, were that the case. Angry at my thoughts, I chided myself for being so morbid. The girl could be alive and residing elsewhere. The Levers only replaced individuals for a day, anyway.
I decided to focus on the task at hand while she held a white gown up to my torso in the mirror. Speaking for the first time, I tested my hoarse voice. “Why red?” The flowers stuck out to me with their brilliant hue.
She stopped bustling about the room, clothes and pearls strewn about her arms, and stared at me quizzically. “Well,” she breathed, setting things down. “You should know, honey. Since red flowers don’t grow here, I had them sewn into your gown. I know how much you love them.” Her smile was large, teeth whiter than milk. “Try it on while I sort through your jewelry.”
The mirror was large enough to see my slender, coffee torso, but I only stared at my face. My bruises from the evening prior had disappeared, undoubtedly healed by the Levers. I recalled their blackish hue, monstrous against my cheeks, and the feel of his blade against my neck the night before. My heart beat in a jagged cadence from the onslaught of that memory. We weren’t always given to the kind.
“Are you alright Cessie?” The woman watched a shudder rock through me.
It was the first time she'd used any name, hinting at the role I was to perform. I turned to her, this woman who I now safely assumed was Cessie's mother, and smiled.
“I’m fine, just nervous is all. I can’t wait to see everyone!” I feigned enthusiasm, allowing my brown eyes to water just a bit for added effect. Not that she could see it.
She smiled grandly, rushed to my side and embraced me tightly. “I’m so glad you came back to us. Your father’s ecstatic! He’s gone to get wood and meat for the feast.”
Ah, so Cessie was traveling. My stomach settled a bit, calmer to know that she hadn’t lost her daughter. She’d just been gone for a while. It made sense that her loneliness would attract the attention of the Levers. I pinched my eyes closed, exhaled quietly, and prepared myself for the charade.
“Who’s coming?”
“Everyone we know, love! And don’t forget, the musicians are arriving from Dane; they’ll be disappointed if you don’t play. I had a special flute crafted for the occasion.” She added slyly, pinching my cheek.
I stiffened. Flute? My body is my own. My body is my own. I’d never seen a flute before, and in order to play, I had to obtain the appropriate knowledge. This meant summoning a Lever Official immediately. Playing inadequately would alert her family, and village, to the falsity of it all. The charade would fail. Game over. I crossed my arms and rubbed them fiercely to calm myself.
