Mud says more
bombs are coming. She tells me about the vivid dreams she has, but they are not
dreams, they are more like memories. But they are not exactly memories
either. She says that she goes
into another body and experiences what they feel; she says that she goes into
our mother’s body. She had these visions before each disaster that the
community put us through. Like when slowly they stopped supplying us with food
and cloth, and other materials. Or like when the heat stroke came. That time she
had visions of the sun, and she had visions of where we live, the dirtplace,
dry and parched; only a few tussocks of grass. Almost exactly what it looked
like after the stroke. Then, came the first bombings, they were light and did
not touch our houses, but they were enough to destroy our gardens that we
depended on, even when the
community did give us a little bit of food. Now, we have the little bit of
things that we saved. We have a little bit of cloth, a few odds and ends, and a
little bit of food. Sometimes we
can dig out a few hard biscuits, an apple or two, if we can find one growing on
the half dead tree and bread if we are lucky enough to find the ingredients.
Ms. Flora will sometimes make us some if we are good.
In
my world, there are two places surrounded in heavy forcefeilds called the
blindsheets. One world is called the community, this is where exactly 100
people live, and it has always been this way. There are 33 women and 33 men.
Each pair has one child, making 33 children. Then, there is one more person,
his name is Pathwriter. When you are born, he writes your path. He declares
your name, who you will marry, your job, who your friends are, where you live
and the rules you have to fallow. And if you disagree or disobey, they you are
sent to the dirtplace, that is where my blind sister Mud and I live. Usually
you live with your real parents but sometimes, you get paired up with another
family. Either way, you will never know. And even if you do notice that you and
your parents look different, if you said anything you would be sent to the
dirtplace. Word must never get out about being different. The community is the
kind of place where you cant know about imperfection.
When
Mud and I were born, and in the community twins are not allowed unless written
in your path. If it were written in your path, then one child would go to
another family. However, my mother was not lucky like this. When she had us,
She was told to go home and kill me. I don’t know why they would want to kill
me. Mud was the special one; I was just there too. But my mother was not able
to kill either of us- so she refused. Instead, Mud and I were sent to live in
the dirtplace. As for my mother, I can only assume that she was killed after
bearing another baby.
Usually,
when you go to the dirtplace what you’ve seen is erased. But it was hard for path
writer’s scientists to erase what Mud has seen because she is blind. So mud is
the only one with a real memory in the dirtplace that can see into the past and
the future. The community did not realize how big of a mistake they had made. They
thought two newborn babies in the community would surely die. But that did not
happen, not with Ms. Flora nearby. Ms. flora adopted us and for nine years we lived
with her until, crank built us a house of our own that we have lived in for two
years. This is the house that we lived in when mud began to see more and more.
Not looking like normal people do, but seeing.
“Dirt!” mud calls. “Is Ms. Flora’s tea
boiling?’
“Yeah huh” I yell back while running to
the kitchen to fill the kettle with water from the old well. I hear mud sigh.
Accidently, I spill the water on the counter and wish that we had the rags to
clean it up.
After a rather annoying
wait, the water finally boils and I fill a clay cup and shove a tea bag in. I
try to walk careful but tea still spills all over my raw fingers making both my
cheeks and hands burn with a fiery sting.
“Finally,
we can go” Mud mutters curtly “Ms. flora must know everything that happens”
“But what if you’re wrong about the
bombs.” The words seem childish and timid. I hope I sound more confident than I
feel.
Mud whips around and faces me. “ Dirt, have I ever been
wrong. I told you, Crank and I have been talking. He interpreted the sign that
was very similar to the one we got last time bombs came. He said that again
bombs shall come.”
Despite
the words that Mud meant well, the talk jabbed my heart like stones. I wish I
could be closer to Crank but I don’t know how. To both him and Mud I am still a
little child. I feel as if my voice is never heard among the wise words that
they say. Plus, there is no denying the remarkable relationship between the old
man and Mud; they can speak without even talking.
We
both start walking towards Ms. floras house and Mud makes it clear that there
will be no talking with a sharp glance at my sulking face.
When we open the door Ms. flora is at
the small and uneven wooden table waiting for us. When we come in she drops the
knitting on the ground and runs towards us. After she gives both Mud and I huge
hugs she takes the tea and deftly places it on the wobbly table.
“Oh! You girls! You’ve gotten so big
since I have last seen you!” she claps “that is why I knitted brand new
sweater!” Then in an excited walk she ran to the parlor and daintily picked up
two sweaters that looked like they took hours to make. When she held then out,
I could see hearts carefully embroidered in the center of each.
“Thank you! Thank you!” I squeaked and a
smile light up my face. Mud bowed her head politely, I can tell that she is not
pleased Ms. Flora used precious materials on a sweater when they can be used on
better things like bandages and bags to store food. But she will face consequences
when it begins to hit below zero levels.
“I’d
love to sit and chat.” Mud says dryly “But there are other things, and frankly
more important matters to talk about.”
“Oh.”
A look of complete terror devoured Ms. floras face, as if she knew what Mud was
about to say, “well then sit down… please.”
Once
everyone was settled, Mud begins to speak. “There is to be bombings, this time,
harder than last, with a prophecy that shall speak true. We must plan an escape
if you wish to live.” Her voice is strong and powerful; like wind howling at
night, something you would be afraid of as a child or if you were as clueless
as I am.
And with that, for the first time ever,
Ms. Flora is silent. She was without a word.
The next early morning, I was eating
dry bread Ms. flora had made us as a visiting gift with the rest of the ingrains
she had when I heard the door close unexpectedly. There is no such thing as
robbers here- the only people who lived in the dirtplace now are Ms. flora,
Crank, Mud and I, although I have heard tales of such people who lived here
before.
Like
a dog on alert, I ran into the parlor just in time to see Mud’s distinctive
yellow hair through the window.
“Mud!” I yell opening the door at the
same time.
She quickly turns around and stares at
me, she tries to hide it with a look but her eyes reveal that she is flustered.
She stares at the ground “I need to talk to Crank.” She says surreptitiously.
“Can I come?” I exclaim while running in circles
around Mud like a little puppy. I almost trip. “Oh please, oh please, oh
please!”
“Dirt, bombs are very serious. We can’t
have some energized tyke running in circles chatting the whole afternoon.”
My eyes start to water and the harder I
try to hold the tears back the more they force themselves. I wished desperately
to help Mud. I did not want to be the energized tyke anymore. And the more I
tried to act wise the more idiotic I seamed. Mud and I are the same age, yet
she always is wiser than I.
“Ms. flora thinks I make a congenial tea
companion.” I whimper trying to sound proud and confident.
Mud snorts. “Ms. flora thinks everyone’s
time is pleasant.” Then Mud’s face changes and she thinks for a second “fine
you can come. Crank is always telling me to be a better sister. Just promise
you will keep Quiet.”
We decided to walk behind all of the
houses, closest to the blindsheet. Mud doesn’t explain her reasoning for such
an odd choice but she keeps rather quiet. I try to avoid walking here because every
time I do my eyes hurt from looking so closely at it.
“Mud.”
I whisper “I… I think it is gone.”
“Don’t
be silly. It is invisible of course when you look at it you only see darkn…”
but she never got to finish because I touched my finger right into the
darkness.
First, I feel impact; lots of impact-
like the world just blew up ten times in front of me. I fly back into something
metal and my head slams against it. A cry of pain erupts me. Then, I hear Muds
sharp scream, like a bolt of lightning piercing the air. I hear Ms. flora panicking
and cranks soothing voice washing over everything. But what I hear next still
terrifies me. I hear other people’s screams. They seam foreign, all in unison.
There must have been as much as 100 people to make that much noise.
“It started.” He whispers in my ear.
Then everything goes black.
When I wake up an aroma of cookies and
tea fills the small room with a makeshift bed. Before I even process the information
I can tell that I’m in Ms. floras house. But then a sharp metallic scent of
blood fills my nose. I escape into the safety of sleep again.
The next time I open my eyes, what I see surprises me.
Instead of Ms. flora or Mud I see crank. Crank. He looks down at me with
worried eyes.
“Dirt?
Your awake…” he mumbles “oh dirt! Your awake!” he sounds much more enthusiastic
this time. Tears of joy well in his eyes.
A sense of overflowing joy fills me. But
then I remember what I did with a sharp pain in my head, and my joy vanishes
again. “I’m sorry! It was stupid- what I did. Now I know, and I promise I will
never do it again.”
He waited patiently until I was done
then said “dirt, curiosity is not such a bad thing. The truth is, that to
understand, you have to learn and to learn, you have to make mistakes.” He
paused and tapped the side of the bed as if thinking “ and sometimes mistakes
are just what you need to create a masterpiece.”
“But
what about me?” I wailed again “I made a mistake a terrible, horrid, wanton
mistake. And now, I feel like I should be gone forever, and I am NOT a
masterpiece. I feel desolate and contrite and”
Crank
stopped me. “And you showed the community what they needed to see. When you set
off the blind sheet, they could see us. For a second they felt Mud’s feelings.
Mud is blind, however she can still see. For a second, the people in the
community felt what it means to lose someone you love. They needed someone to
help them. They don’t know what is happening or what to do. They are in
complete chaos.” He paused and tapped his finger to the side of the bed. “Dirt,
they need us.”
“But
we can’t get in there. Ever seen the blindsheet? Its thick and when you touch
it you fly back.” I point up to the huge gash on my head. Frustration burns
like wild fire.
“That’s
why I came here to you.” The old man looks deep into my eyes. “You are not
childish or foolish. You are inspirational.”
I
look away. “Dig, yes you must dig under the blind sheet. It is thick but our
shovels are sturdy enough. We will manage.” I look straight into his eyes; I
want him to understand the importance of my next words. “You must be quick.
Bombs are coming.”
The
first few times I wake up my head hurts too much to bear, I can’t look around
but I can hear voices. Voices of Ms. Flora, of Mud and Crank. They are foggy
and inaudible and I wish I could get up and hear the words. It is like if you
have a rash but cant scratch it. And when the excruisiating pain is too much
for me, I drift back into a safe haven of sleep.
When I wake up again I am in an odd place. No, an odd body. My hair
is a light brown- almost gray. My eyes a rough blue that has faded. Around me,
everything is pure white and clean. To the left of me there are thirty-three
identical houses. I try to move but can’t. Then, I realize I’m in a dream. No,
a flashback. I must be in someone else’s body. Looking through their eyes.
Feeling what they feel. Or at least trying to. The only emotion this person is
having is a dull contemptment. It is almost boredom. Then, I realize it is a
longing, somewhere, for something, there is a longing.
When
I’m about to give up, when I realize that there is nothing here, I feel a terror.
Something beyond feeling, a terror so deep, so heavy. Then I see a face. It
looks evil and immediately I know who it is. He must have been the one to send
the bombs. Pathwriter is like a mayor, he believes that structure is happiness,
but at this point I wonder if they really are his beliefs or what he was told
to believe by the pathwriter before him. He has a tall straggly body and a
ferret like face.
I
look at the body I’m in. the blue eyes are like ice, but softer. They are like
snow, but warmer. They remind me so much of mud, they remind me so much of
myself. Then her hair, like a mix of my dark brown hair and mud’s golden hair.
I look at the women again, the similarities… this women must be my mother!
I
feel the terror again, but it is not mine, no it is my mother’s. Mother sees
blood, pools and pools of blood. She feels loss; it is something she has never
felt before. And at the end of it all, my mother and the rest of the people in
the community see path writer’s face, the cause of it all.
But
it is not over yet, suddenly I see myself when I touch the blindsheet. Everyone
in the community sees me fly backwards into a shovel. Blood pours all over my
hair and streams onto my face like a river. Once the image is over, a new image
comes up. My mother sees the bombs getting loaded into planes. And finally, my
mother and everyone else see the planes flying over the dirtplace. They see the
bombs ready to drop.
Once,
when I woke up I saw Mud sitting at the edge of the bed.
“Genius!” she exclaimed, “you’re a genius!”
A
smile light up my face. And a sudden interest comes to my mind. “How is it
going?” I ask, my voice low and scratchy.
“We
are almost there! The tunnel is so big that almost three people could fit!”
I
smile enthusiastically then drift back into sleep.
When
I wake up again a gnawing hunger tears at my stomach. I reach for the now cold
tea at the brim of my temporary bed when I smell flames and smoke. I sit straight up ignoring the pain and
stiffness in me and look out the window.
Outside
there are rapidly spreading flames and the air is thick with fog. An outline of
a plane is in the sky. Immediately I remember the last time we were bombed.
First, fire.
Then, planes.
Next, bombs.
Finally, death.
They will kill us all.
I
run to Ms. Flora’s cabinets and grab all that remains. I shove it in a bag in
no particular order, just trying to make it all fit. I also add the jug of
water by the window. As I leave I grab the blanket from my temporary bed and
also shove that in the bag. Summoning all of my courage, I run to find Mud, Ms.
Flora and Crank and put them into safety.
I
slam the back door shut and scream “BOMBS!” repeatedly. As I got closer the
shapes of my friends began to appear.
As I got closer, I realized that where I touched
the blind sheet there was a shatter. Inside the never-ending black forcefield, I
could see faces- faces of those on the other side. There was a look of
excruciating pain on their faces, however not seldom contrite.
For a moment I felt pity, but that quickly vanished. "They did this to us. They set off the bombs!" "They want to kill Mud." Anger at the people of the community and a need to protect my blind sister washes over me. They must have realized how powerful Mud was against them. I drop to the ground, tears and dirt streaming together creating a face thick with mud. "And they will pay for it!" Motivation for the abominable truth is evident in my voice.
Crank looks into the sky. "Bombs..." He whispers. "Mud, Dirt, Ms. Flora! Inside the tunnel! Now!" He hollers, with a voice shaking with forceful power.
Mud and Ms. Flora both run to the tunnel but I don't move from where I am. I no longer care about being the hero. I set off so something irrevocable. I deserve to die. However, apparently, crank doesn't agree. His cold scratched hand is already on my shoulder, dragging me to the safety of the tunnel. "Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!" I chant with the sounds of fire and bombs in the back round, like so something out of an action film.
"Never would I let you die." He yells over the fire whole picking up my light hunger stricken body and carrying me towards the tunnel.
I try to kick at him but my legs are weak and I soon grow tired. My starving stomach and blood-crusted crown are trying to kill me, I swear. I hear an explosion behind us and the ripping of fire going out of control. I look behind us into the heart of the dirtplace but black smoke clouds my eyes and sting my throat, and I wail out in a babyish cry. Tears well again in my eyes. I just want to go home. I want to go back to the soft blankets and tea. I just want everything to be all right. But then, I remember the people of the community. While we were living happy lives as a family, the great beast of depression was eating them.
As we get closer, I start to see the outline of the tunnel opening through the now darker smoke.
Crank puts me down. I grab for his hand but the old man resists. "Come on!" I scream over the sound of fames.
"I cant, I wont fit, you don’t need me anyways. And it is better I did than you. You are a hero Dirt. And optimist, you are needed most." As he speaks, bombs sound from behind. "It is not Mud they wanted to kill. It was you, you are more powerful, Mud may have visions, but you have motivation." Smoke covers his body until all you can see is his scarred, dirt stained face.
"No!" I yell, "don’t go!"
But my words were too late. He walked into the fire. The red glow is illuminating his skin to make him look like an angel. Pure, just like a hero.
I start crawling into the long dusty tunnel. The roof of mud looks as if it may collapse at any given moment, but it proves strong. Before the flames get too close I grab one of the shovels from outside and pull it in with me. We are going to need this, I think. I hear the sounds of bombs and flames behind me. I picture Crank as he walks into the fire so that there will be room for me in the tunnel.
About a minute later I get to a small room at the end of the tunnel where Mud and Ms. Flora sit weeping. Mud looks up at me with understanding eyes. I run to her and hug her for the rest of what is Now night.
For a moment I felt pity, but that quickly vanished. "They did this to us. They set off the bombs!" "They want to kill Mud." Anger at the people of the community and a need to protect my blind sister washes over me. They must have realized how powerful Mud was against them. I drop to the ground, tears and dirt streaming together creating a face thick with mud. "And they will pay for it!" Motivation for the abominable truth is evident in my voice.
Crank looks into the sky. "Bombs..." He whispers. "Mud, Dirt, Ms. Flora! Inside the tunnel! Now!" He hollers, with a voice shaking with forceful power.
Mud and Ms. Flora both run to the tunnel but I don't move from where I am. I no longer care about being the hero. I set off so something irrevocable. I deserve to die. However, apparently, crank doesn't agree. His cold scratched hand is already on my shoulder, dragging me to the safety of the tunnel. "Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!" I chant with the sounds of fire and bombs in the back round, like so something out of an action film.
"Never would I let you die." He yells over the fire whole picking up my light hunger stricken body and carrying me towards the tunnel.
I try to kick at him but my legs are weak and I soon grow tired. My starving stomach and blood-crusted crown are trying to kill me, I swear. I hear an explosion behind us and the ripping of fire going out of control. I look behind us into the heart of the dirtplace but black smoke clouds my eyes and sting my throat, and I wail out in a babyish cry. Tears well again in my eyes. I just want to go home. I want to go back to the soft blankets and tea. I just want everything to be all right. But then, I remember the people of the community. While we were living happy lives as a family, the great beast of depression was eating them.
As we get closer, I start to see the outline of the tunnel opening through the now darker smoke.
Crank puts me down. I grab for his hand but the old man resists. "Come on!" I scream over the sound of fames.
"I cant, I wont fit, you don’t need me anyways. And it is better I did than you. You are a hero Dirt. And optimist, you are needed most." As he speaks, bombs sound from behind. "It is not Mud they wanted to kill. It was you, you are more powerful, Mud may have visions, but you have motivation." Smoke covers his body until all you can see is his scarred, dirt stained face.
"No!" I yell, "don’t go!"
But my words were too late. He walked into the fire. The red glow is illuminating his skin to make him look like an angel. Pure, just like a hero.
I start crawling into the long dusty tunnel. The roof of mud looks as if it may collapse at any given moment, but it proves strong. Before the flames get too close I grab one of the shovels from outside and pull it in with me. We are going to need this, I think. I hear the sounds of bombs and flames behind me. I picture Crank as he walks into the fire so that there will be room for me in the tunnel.
About a minute later I get to a small room at the end of the tunnel where Mud and Ms. Flora sit weeping. Mud looks up at me with understanding eyes. I run to her and hug her for the rest of what is Now night.
When
I wake up, a sound of dripping water comes from the far end of the cave. Ms.
Flora and Mud both sleep silently beside me. My stomach growls like a wolf
defending territory, and I reach for the food pack. When my hand touches empty
air, I feel a small feeling of defeat and wish all the bad things in life would
just go away. I must have left it in in the tunnel, I realize. Weakly, I begin
to fetch it.
My
stomach feels sick at the idea of going into the tunnel and seeing what was my
home for almost eleven years now in charcoal and ash. Then, I slowly begin to
crawl forward forcing myself to only look at the ground. After only a few
minutes of a mixture of short rests, crying and slowly making progress down the
small and damp tunnel, my knees are both bright red and scratched from stones
and have at least two coats of dirt each. However, I did get the pack filled to
the brim with water and whatever else I could raid from Ms. Flora’s cabinets. I
pull out a small piece of bread and start chewing.
And
when curiosity completely overcomes me, I lift my eyes to the Dirtplace. I
expect a few pieces of debris and some half burned houses, maybe there is still
a plant or two, but what I see, is way worse. What used to be something parched
that barely passed as grass was now covered in ash, everything, and nothing at
all still stands. I remember the warm, gardening with Ms. Flora, playing under
the sun with Mud. I remember the cold seasons, knitting with Ms. Flora, looking
out the window into the dreary cold weather. But still thinking the snow was
beautiful even though it only lasted a little while. The feeling in my stomach
returns again. I wish I could escape, I wish I could pass out again. But then,
I do something else. I grab my rusty shovel from the side of the tunnel, lets
begin I tell myself.
Once
back inside the small cave, I see Ms. Flora and Mud beginning to wake up.
“Good
morning, Dirt.” Mud half yawns. Tears stain her dirty face and her eyes are a
miserable puffy red. “Do you have any food? I’m half starved!”
I
show her the food pack and take out a loaf of bread and a jar of water for us
to share for breakfast. “Mud,” I begin “I had a dream. Mother came to me. She
showed me the people f the community; she showed me their chaos and their
struggle. We have to help them.”
“But
helping them is not as easy as it may feel. And honestly, I was hoping you
would know how. I don’t even know who the bad guy is here anymore.” Mud’s voice
sounded dreary and tired and the bags under her eyes revealed that she had not
slept well the previous night. She started chewing wearily on the end of her
bread.
I
put my hand on her back. “Don’t worry, I will find a way to make it all right.”
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
I
pick up a shovel and start digging. I hope that the mud on top of me won’t cave
in as I dig. Just to be sure is wont I dig at an angle. If it were to cave in
on us, it would not be such an honorable death.
About
an hour and a half of hard work later, a small stream of light fills the
usually dark tunnel. I crawl through the rest of the opening and an unusually
bright light, almost artificial, meets my eyes. I wince, sneeze and shut my
eyes close, almost all at once. Then, gradually, open my eyes again and force
myself to walk out of the comforting darkness of the tunnel and into the
forcing light and artificial aroma of the community. Like in the dream, there
are many people shouting and the sharp scent of fear litters the air like dust.
I
feel something tickling the backs of my legs so I quickly turn around, but see
no one, it must have been my own shivers. But what I do see is the blind sheet.
In the spot where the blind sheet would usually be clear, there was a wall of
blood, thick and red. I feel an uneasy urge to touch it, just to see what would
happen. But then I realize that it was still the blind sheet, but my blood must
have just touched it when I flew back before the fire. A little bit of it must
have spilled and it spread out, creating the allusion that there is more blood
there than there really is. With a sudden sick feeling in my stomach, I turn
around to face the community.
Girls
and women fitted in white dresses sit in corners huddles together. Boys dressed
in white pants and shirts bang on the doors of a huge house in front of me.
Many girls begin to join in. Then, I look to the men, because they seem the
most frightened. And when I look back to the women I see that they do not look
frightened. The look on their face shows that they know what to do. About
thirty men, stand in front of abut 30 identical white buildings on the left
side of the community, these must be the houses. And on the right, about thirty
more identical white buildings stand. More boys and girls run on white-leveled
pavement in front of the buildings. I look closer; on one of the buildings it
says “food Exchange”. These buildings must be the community stores and
workplaces.
Suddenly,
I look down at myself. I have a tan dress that is frayed at my knees and a gray
sweater that goes to my waistline and is barely hanging on. I feel a little
guilty when I realize that the new sweater Ms. Flora made me must now be burnt
and in pieces. Then, I look down at my toes. Dirt fills under nine of them and
the last toenail had fallen off. I wish for the pretty shoes the community
children have to cover up my dirty feet and bleeding ankle. My tan dress is
worn and stained from tea and cookies. I never realized how ugly it was until I
saw the beautiful white dresses embroidered with lace that the girls of the
community have. Plus, my dark brown hair is tied up in a messy bun, unlike the
shiny flowing hair of the other girls. I must be sticking out like a sore
thumb. I’m about to hide behind one of the houses when a woman spots me. She
has grey/blue eyes and a mix of golden and brown hair. Her face seems so familiar.
It’s Mother!
But
I am not ready to talk to mother alone yet so I quickly go into the tunnel to
get Mud. A few seconds later, mud comes rushing out, her face flushed in panic.
“What! What is it? Is everybody okay?”
“Everyone
is fine!” I whisper. “It is just that … I found mother! Well, actually she
found me.
“But
mother is dead! They killed her for punishment of having twins! How else would
she have been able to reach us in dreams?”
“The
only way this could all be true is if mother is as powerful as you are. Maybe
that is why the community kept her.” I grab Mud’s hand and pull her in the
direction of the community. Outside my mother waits.
“We
need to talk!” She whispers fiercely. “But not here. Both of you follow me.” I
follow her into a gap behind one of the houses.
“But
wont they hear us in here?” I say with a worried tone.
“The
people, they will stay. The people, they are too busy being worried. The people
just want to run from their feelings. I, want to help. I, see that you could
help. I know that the pathwriter can be defeated.” There was a very strange way
to how she talked. Mother addressed someone in a low tone, and then throughout
the sentence gradually got higher. She did this three times, then changed the
person she was addressing. Again with the threes…
“What
is your plan?” I ask “the people of the community need someone to guide them.
That cannot be me. They would never trust me, I look so different from them.”
“I
will go to the path writer’s house. I, will show him that everyone should be
able to have freedom in his or her self. I, will make it right. You,” she was
addressing both Mud and I now. “will come with me. You, will show him and prove
to him my point. You, will be the flight at my wings.”
That
evening, before we go to mother’s house, Mud and I ask mother if Ms. Flora can
come too. We tell her that after losing Crank we could not bear to go without
Ms. Flora too. Mother gives us an approving nod with eyes that understand and
allows us to go get Ms. Flora.
When
we all arrive to mother’s house, Mud, Ms. flora and I all take turns using the
bathing tub and then Mother gets all of us appropriate clothes. I get a white
dress that I realize must be her daughter’s and gives a similar white dress to
Mud. She also gives us white sweaters that button up with white buttons. Then,
she gets a wooden brush painted white and brushes through both of our hair
until it is as silky as the hair I saw the other girls had. And finally, Both
Mud and I get plain white stockings and we both get a white pairs of shoes that
are too small for my feet.
I
look in the mirror. My face is clean and pale and my long dark hair is shiny.
The white dress is too big around my waist and the sweater is itchy. My eyes
look too soft. And my tights rub against my legs. And my shoes scratch at my
ankles in the most uncomfortable way. But worst of all, I don’t look like
myself! I miss my hair in a messy bun and my gray ugly- yet comfortable
sweaters. I miss my feet bare and the feeling of dirt under my toes- not
cement. And most of all, I miss my old grey dress with the dirt stains. It
reminds me of home and I don’t have to worry about getting it dirty like I do
for this dress. I just wish I could go back to my old clothes again.
The
next morning, Ms. Flora makes us pancakes like we always had before the food
shortages in the dirtplace. Mother puts up a fit when she sees that we are not
following pahwriter’s schedule, but we promptly remind her that pathwriter’s
ways are over and gone. And when we are about to go, mother says that we must
change our names.
“Oh!
No! No! No! No! Please don’t!” we both wail.
“Dirt
and mud are not good names for children as special as you! Dirt and Mud will
listen to me. Dirt and Mud will realize that I have the authority here.”
“But
Ms. Flora says that out names are beautiful! You need mud and dirt to grow
life. Otherwise, everything would die.” Mud’s words were soft and pleading. She
sounded more like a sister now than a mother.
“Dirt,
you will be Juliana. Mud, you will be Cathleen. You will both respond to these
names.”
I
felt as if part of me had been ripped out and I can’t help but
wonder if anyone in the community will ever change. Mother said that she was
different, but is she really?
Inside
pathwriters house there is a long hallway with Chrystal walls, and at the end,
there is a small man with a weasel like face and a long skinny body. On his
face is a smirk and his eyes are like two little black dots- similar to a rat’s
eyes. He wears a full-length suit with a Dracula like fit and he sits at his
desk as if awaiting his next victim. He looks at mother, then Mud, and then me
and hi grin widens.
“L’viana,
you cannot overpower me. L’viana, structure is happiness. L’viana, you don’t
know what love is, you are a fool.” His words mocked but his face showed
differently. Almost as if he did not know the meaning of the words he was
saying.
“He
wants to be helpful. He wants to be useful.” Mud whispered into my ear. Mud can
see directly into your soul, so if she has confidence, so do I.
“Pathwriter,
things need to change.” I say, “Are you really fit for this job? You are
hurting your people, is that really your intention?” I stop, trying to search
for Crank’s wisdom. “It is not bad to make mistakes. Not everything is going to
be perfect. To understand you have to learn, and to learn, you have to make
mistakes.” Searching for Mud’s dryly-stated truth I added “Do you want to keep
yourself in a safety bubble? Because putting yourself in a safety bubble only
makes you become more endangered.”
Mud
puts her hand on my shoulder. I stop to see that Pathwriter has begun to cry.
Searching for Ms. Flora’s kindness I say “Even those who strive to be perfect
know in the back of their mind, that it is impossible. The hard part is really
realizing this and staying true to who you are.”
Turning
his head he says “L’viana, you should be the next Pathwriter.”
Mother
looks right at him “No more pathwriters.” She says “Everyone has a path but it
is not for us to write. Also, I don’t think I have properly introduced you.
This is Mud and this is Dirt. I think their names are quite beautiful. Without
Mud or Dirt, nothing would grow.
THE END
By: Juliette Ziegler
I just realized something weird happened with the size of the font when i moved it from microsoft word to blogger. Sorry!
I just realized something weird happened with the size of the font when i moved it from microsoft word to blogger. Sorry!
