Angel of Mercy

Chapter 10

Dedicated to @weirdkid101 Check out her books, they are amazing!! :)

Home.

Warmth welled up in my chest at the sight of my home, at the site of so many happy memories.The front garden with a border of purple pansies that I remembered choosing. The white curtains, a little grimy looking now, that I remembered helping make. The blue spot on the pale yellow door that I painted when I was very young and not so good at colour coordinating.

I allowed tears to well up in my eyes as I knocked on the door, and a weary smile to emerge when I was swept up in my father's arms, kissed on the cheek by my brother. Questions were fired at me by my father, returned by ones of my own about how they'd been with out me. My brother went off to notify the authorities about my safe return doing as strange happy dance up the hall.

Mary stood awkwardly at the door, forgotten by me as I continued my interrogation; the food they eat and the marks my brother achieved in school, noting as I did that the house was less then pristine.

Within minutes a police officer turned up, and took me in to the sitting room for questioning. I answered all the question honestly and in as much detail as I could, talking in-depth about my experience. I turned on my perfect facade,detaching myself from my emotion with an ease born from years of practise.

Then Mary was asked in.

She trembled as the rather austere looking woman called her name and clutched at my sleeve. I couldn't refuse her silent plea and walked in with her smiling reassuringly. Her lank, dirty, blonde hair framed her face in long curls, enhancing the look of vulnerability and giving her the air if a frightened rabbit. Eyes full of terror she slowly walked in to my cheery sitting room, her dirty unkempt look at odds with the bright blue walls and family photos.

The Police officer asked her a myriad of useless questions mostly pertaining to the plans of the reble group (she had no idea) or who she had seen, what names she knew (She refused to answer, clearly terrified that we would lock her up for withholding information). Other questions were answered by Mary in monosyalbles.

I kept smiling and occasionally offered refreshment, trying to relieve some of the tension that built in the room, squeezing Mary's hand when she looked closest to tears. I was tempted to try and help get answer out of her, but I couldn't bring myself to. It seemed to much like kicking a puppy.

After what seemed like hours the Police officer told Mary where to get new documents, confirming her identity and gave her a number to call if she remembered any useful details. I offered her a final cup of tea, which was politely refused and she left.

I smiled brightly at Mary and said in a cheery voice (the kind normally used for three year olds),

"Let's go up to your room and get you a bath and something to wear before supper."

Mary blushed and looked down at the wooden floor, mumbling something about "not wanting to be a burden" Well, you should of thought of that before asking to come with me, was my mental reply. Obviously I didn't say that out loud, instead I propelled her up the stairs and into the guest bed room and chatted to her as I changed the sheets on the bed. Then I have her the ' grand tour' and explained all the rules;

"Address everyone by there job title unless they tell you to call them there name.

All clothing should end no more then one inch above the ankle and should be either green, blue, black, grey, purple or on specail occasions with permission white.

Hair should be neat and up in a pony tail, plait or bun, unless to short to do so and must not be dyed.

You must be pleasant at all times to everyone, irrespective of age, gender or personal beliefs.

You must assist anyone who asks for help, unless they are a fugitive from the law, in which case you must report them to a police officer when safe to do so."

Mary looked at me flabbergasted, as these rules were odd or weird, instead of perfectly sensible. I mean there was nothing in those rules that was ridiculous, every rule had a perfectly reasonable explanation. That's why everyone followed them.

I suddenly remembered the state I was in. Mud splattered dress, greasy hair. I wanted to go have a bath before supper, but needed to sort out Mary first. I smiled happily at her and gave her a nice floaty dress of mine. She took it reluctantly and went into the ensuite. I instantly ran to the bathroom and luxuriated in a long bath, relishing the feeling of cleanliness.

I realised then that I felt complete. Safe. A feeling I hadn't felt in so long and now treasured. I was protected now, by the rules of my society, by my friends and by my family. I was contented here as I could be nowhere else, under no different regime. I almost wished I could bottle this feeling up and send it back to the rebels so they would know that they were fighting a lost cause, that they would never start a revolution.

Because we were happy, and that was more important then freedom.

Her dress is at the top, I really love it:)
You got a closer look at her society today, what do you think, is happiness more important then freedom. I think so.
Vote. Comment. Revise