Regenesis

Erica - Just desserts

The six girls sat at their desks diligently writing in their reflection books, heads bowed over their work, pencils scratching away as they poured out their souls onto the lined pages of the exercise books in front of them. Off to one side, also sat Erica, her face still distorted by the punishment pacifier, her hair longer than her compatriots, but otherwise indistinguishable from them. She seemed to have settled into the routine which had been forced on her, with little resistance. She knew that Matron was firmly in charge, and that she had got above herself that morning. Under the watchful gaze of Nanny Peters, she had quickly realised that the only way she might return to the life of just a few hours ago, would be to toe the line and become the compliant and obedient little girl she had been some months before, when she herself was a nursery girl, just like those sat around her. As her pencil flew across the page, she had to remind herself of the standards of handwriting expected in nursery, and the countless times she had been forced to restart her assignments. Prone to rushing and letting her head run away with itself, she took time to slow down, organise her thoughts and concentrate on the cursive script the nannies insisted on. She hated to admit it but there were aspects of her life in nursery which she missed. Of course, being selected to be a trainee nanny was an unexpected honour, and one she embraced with, admittedly, a little too much gusto, but sitting here, in the calm and silence of the familiar room, she recalled the routine, the certainty of life here. There were no outside distractions. She recalled her first shock upon arrival, the removal of anything to remind her of her previous life, her phone, her makeup, her clothes and friends. All that had gone. But what had confronted her more than the material possessions was the removal of choice and decision. At first this was a monumental shock to the system, and one which she briefly attempted to fight. Within a few days, however, she had been beaten down and the stark realisation that choice was no longer a feature of her life overshadowed her every action. Like every other girl before her, she soon fell into the relentless routine of life in nursery with its petty rules and regulations, the infantilism of how she was treated and the bare fact that she was no longer in control. Once she had reached that stage of acceptance, life began to take on a whole new meaning. She had watched as her fellow nursery girls earned small nuggets of kindness from their governesses: a perfectly performed curtsy would elicit a kind word, or a knowing smile and the reflected joy on the face of the girl spoke volumes for the positive change in attitude within that girl's spirit. The skirt of a girl's dress being lifted on command so that a nanny could check a girl's nappy might bring a word of praise or even a caring touch on the bare skin. Erica fell back into this mode with unexpected ease and with that, she rediscovered the well of sincerity from which she always used to draw her innermost thoughts to pour out in her reflection book. Unwilling to contain her emotions, the quality of her handwriting suffered slightly as her hand skitted across the page, filling the lines with her feelings of regret for her actions this morning, and then, for other actions she felt needed confessing since she had made her last entry in this very room some months ago. She was still scribbling rapidly, engrossed in the task at hand, when she realised all the other girls had quietly stopped writing and were sitting, backs straight, hands folded in their laps, with their books uniformly closed and the pencil aligned with the right hand edge. The first she knew was when Nanny Peters was crouching next to her, looking into her teary eyes, and mouthing her name, before gently taking her pencil and shutting her book. Erica looked around the room, knowing that all eyes were on her, and her cheeks took on an immediate hue of crimson.

"Stand, girls" quietly, but firmly stated once Nanny Peters had resumed her place at the front of the classroom. Each girl rose quietly from her stool, making every effort not to scrape the legs on the hard floor, and stood next to her desk, arms at fingertips. Erica quickly followed suit, waiting to be told what to do next. Nanny Peters walked around the girls and opened the door, leaving it ajar behind her, knowing that none of the girls would be silly enough to even whisper while she was gone. Erica could hear voices outside, but could not discern what was being said. Her jaw was now beginning to ache and she desperately wanted to massage it, but knew that such a move would almost certainly be noticed.