The routine is okay.
Waking up to sky and air is okay. Waking up to the cage and the shackles is what it is. You can’t let the cage get to you. The shackles rub, but healing is quick and easy, so what’s to mind?
The cage is loads better now that the sheepskins are in. Even when they’re damp they’re warm. The tarpaulin over the north end made a big improvement too. There’s shelter from the worst of the wind and rain. And a bit of shade if it’s hot and sunny. Joke! You’ve got to keep your sense of humour too.
So the routine is to wake-up as the sky lightens before dawn. You don’t have to move a muscle, don’t even have to open your eyes to know it’s getting light, and you can just lie there and take it all in.
The best bit of the day.
There aren’t many birds around, a few, not many. It would be good to know their names, but you know their different calls. There are no seagulls, which is something to think about, and there are no vapour trails either. The wind is usually quiet in the pre-dawn calm, and somehow the air feels warmer already as it gets light.
You can open your eyes now and there’s a few minutes to savour the sunrise, which today is a thin pink line stretching along the top of a narrow ribbon of cloud draped over the smudged green hills. And you’ve still got a minute, maybe even two, to get your head together before she appears.
You’ve got to have a plan though, and the best idea is to have it all worked out the night before so you can slip straight into the plan without a thought. Mostly the plan is to do what you’re told, but not everyday, and not today.
You wait until she appears and throws you the keys. You catch the keys, unlock your ankles, rub them to emphasise the pain she is inflicting, unlock your left manacle, unlock your right, stand, unlock the cage door, toss the keys back to her, open the cage door, step out keeping your head down, never look her in the eyes (unless that’s part of some other plan), rub your back and maybe groan a bit, walk to the vegetable bed, piss.
Sometimes she tries to mess with your head of course, by changing the routine. Sometimes she wants chores before exercises, but most days it's press-ups first. You’ll know which whilst still zipping up.
‘Fifty.’
She says it quietly. She knows you’re listening.
You take your time as usual. That’s always part of the plan.
Make her wait.
Rub your right arm. The metal wristband cuts into it when the shackle is on. You heal it and get a faint buzz. Then, you roll your head, your shoulders, your head again, and stand there, just stand there for another second or two, pushing her to her limit, before you drop to the ground.
One Not minding
Two is the trick.
Three The only
Four trick.
Five But there are
Six loads of
Seven tactics.
Eight Loads.
Nine On the look-out
Ten all the time.
Eleven All the time.
Twelve And it’s
Thirteen easy.
Fourteen Cos there ain’t
Fifteen nothing else
Sixteen to do.
Seventeen Look out for what?
Eighteen Something.
Nineteen Anything.
Twenty En
Twenty-one E
Twenty-two Thing.
Twenty-three A mistake.
Twenty-four A chance.
Twenty-five An oversight.
Twenty-six The
Twenty-seven tiniest
Twenty-eight error
Twenty-nine by the
Thirty White
Thirty-one Witch
Thirty-two from
Thirty-three Hell.
Thirty-four Cos she makes
Thirty-five mistakes.
Thirty-six Oh yes.
Thirty-seven And if that
Thirty-eight comes to
Thirty-nine nothing
Forty you wait
Forty-one for the next one
Forty-two and the next one
Forty-three and the next one.
Forty-four Until
Forty-five you
Forty-six succeed.
Forty-seven Until
Forty-eight you’re
Forty-nine free.
You get up. She will have been counting, but never letting up is another tactic.
She doesn’t say anything but steps towards you and backhands you across the face.
Fifty ‘Fifty.’
YOU ARE READING
Half Bad
Teen FictionYou can't read, can't write, but you heal fast, even for a witch. You get sick if you stay indoors after dark. You hate White Witches but love Annalise, who is one. You've been kept in a cage since you were fourteen. All you've got to do is escape a...
