The weeks turned to months and the time dragged on. I was always looking for an escape, a second the door was unlocked, a moment no one was looking at me. But the house was small, and I too useful. There was always a something that needed to be done, a button to be stitched, a dress to them, food to cook.
Every day, I was conscious of thinking about my home, my friends, my family less. I wasn't that I didn't love them still or that my ideals were slipping, but now this life seemed so normal, and the other, just a dream. A very happy dream but still not real, a figment of my imagination.
And while it was probably the Stockholm syndrome talking, I start to feel a disconcerting friendship with my captures. And to hurt them, get them into trouble, even though I knew they were bad, seemed wrong.
Every time I thought this I cleaned something or baked bread. It's incredibly therapeutic Bread is one of the few things you can pummel and easily justify it. As a result of this I tended to make a lot of bread, spelt, wholemeal, seeded, rolls, Chelsea Buns anything with a yeast based dough I could work within an inch of its life. It was as I was on the lunch loaf, kneading the sticky dough, the T.D.B.O walked in,
"And how is little Miss Perfectly-happy-to-loose-my-free-will today?"
"Calling me little and Miss is demeaning," I retorted, instantly regretting my snappy response but really, they called us the repressed ones? I heard Mary called worse nicknames, princess, baby doll, at least we stand up for ourselves. We would never let anyone call us something so sexiest! That would be wrong, as how can future generations learn what is offensive if all around nicknames such as that are flung around! It boggled the mind, it really did.
I smiled sweetly at him, and added extra vigour to my kneading, reciting my thoughts which was a quote from the current Prime Minister's speech on equality. I had gone with Julia, who I think went to heckle the other parties but didn't when I told her it would look aggressive. I had to restrain a laugh at that memory. That day had been....fun, something that my life lacked.
I was always hidden from view behind perfect me, and when I let myself out, I always had the most wonderful time. I sometimes want to always be myself, always be the sarcastic girl I am on the inside, but I know that would be wrong, it would be selfish. I choose to retain myself, put on my facade for many reason, I told Owin as much, and at that moment I realised that it was worth it. Because I helped so many other grow up.like I did, with the NHS, free schools, in safety. I made the sacrifice so many did for my society because I believed, no, I knew that it was perfect, or at least as good as it was going to get.
At that moment I knew I had to double my efforts, to escape. I hadn't made that sacrifice so I could hid in the woods with a bunch of delinquents, hadn't plastered on smiles, hadn't turned off my feelings so I could be kidnapped and never see my town again.
I kept smiling at T.D.B.O and adopted a interested face, like I cared about what he was saying, (some long winded attack on the naming system). If I was too escape I need to keep perfect me in control, they needed to think that all I was, was a brain washed, little girl who could cook and clean and had very few brain cells. I would continue to only rant, to only really speak when my society was offended or attacked, I would continue to spout government propaganda and most importantly of all, I would keep smiling sweetly. Because who ever suspected to the sweet girl with bright smile?
I answered T.D.B.Os question about the naming system calmly, not yelling (like he was by the end of the rant) but in a soothing melodious voice I used on the most troubled of patients,
"Mr or Miss or any other title places emphasis on a person's gender or martial, by referring to someone by their job title, you convey respect without this gender oriented archaic language."
He looked at me, for once not looking angry or shocked or even hurt as he normally did. His face conveyed a disappointed acceptance, as though he finally realised that my views weren't insane. That my society wasn't so evil.
He opened his mouth to speak, and frowned, his sea blue eyes reflecting an inner turmoil. He licked his lips and appeared to gather up his courage, "I'll help you escape," my normally perfectly controlled expression crumbled as my shock caused my mouth to gape open and my eyes to widen.
He spoke again, "You believe in what you say, I know that, and you won't change your mind, ever. So, I'll help you" Here he swallowed and licked his lips, his normally impressive face showing a hint of nervousness,
"As long as Mary can come too"
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The dress at the top is her new dress, and the white dress in my last update her uniform.
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Angel of Mercy
FantasyI was eight when I first saw a man executed. Nine when I saw the tenth. Ten when I stopped counting. Before each of these men died I dressed their wounds, bought their food, gave them a smile when they expected a frown. I was their hope, the thing t...
