Useless

CHAPTER 6

I lie sleeplessly in bed, my mind lost in deep thought. I plan the day ahead: what work needs to be done and how I am to go about it. Just the thought of the boredom and exhaustion makes my eyes droop, and I finally begin to drift off.

* * *

It's dark, it's cold, it's night. The air thick of smog and other pollutants; there's not a star in sight, little oxygen to breathe. My lungs demand more air, rasping and spluttering as I sprint -from who knows what- knowing I cannot stop. Some how I know my life is depending on this moment and possibly the lives of others. I'm running and running as blood traces the endless streets. No matter where I turn everything's the same: same empty houses, same stuffy atmosphere, same scarlet red rivers rising up to my ankles. Again they are the ankles of a bigger, older me- a thicker, stronger me.

I have.. something- something worth protecting- and although I don't know what it is I know I'd give my life for it; I know now this is the reason I'm running. I try to stop- will myself to- but I just keep going.

Finally, my surroundings are changing; the continuous houses shift into solid wall, the sky to a roof of the same white shade. The only thing the same is the flowing bloody stream and my will to protect -what ever it may be.

'Where am I?'

'Where am I going?'

I see the direction the stream is running; I'm running against it. 'Why am I running TO it? Running TO its origin?'

Countless corridors around every corner, each one like the last. The white of the walls echoed throughout the halls, the crimson fjord continuously flowing.

I sense the blood source near.

The end.

I see the end of the corridor.

Darkness...

The darkness is the inside of my eyelids as I wake in a cool sweat. I shiver, rubbing the goose bumps out of my forearms. It's early: well before dawn. But still -even before the sun- I rise; up out of bed and into my day.

* * *

Sweat runs down my face and I drop to the floor, puffing. Madame is working me particularly hard today, which makes me wonder how much she heard of mine and Odette's conversation. She's so conniving! How can I possibly be sure of what she knows and what she doesn't?

The halls are eerily quiet; all is silenced excluding the harmonious hum of piano chords. The music flows along the walls, the occasional stray note interrupting the peaceful melody. The tune is enticing -none the less- and I find myself following the walls until they open up into a vast expansion of black marble flooring and rows of arched stain glass windows. Thin pillars protrude from the wall between each window, reaching for the panelling of the hemispherical ceiling -which is twice as high as the other rooms of the manor. Evening light shines through the coloured glass, and glares off the glossy finish of black tiles and candelabras alike.

In the far right corner I find the source of the musical atmosphere: a concert grand piano that shimmers the same black lustre as the stone on which it stands. I move deeper into the room attempting to quietly peer around the instrument and see who it is playing the piece.

There, Odette is seated; a grand pianist at such a young age. Such skill, in such small hands; such speedy precision, of such delicate fingertips. But as I approach I realise: she's not alone.

Hidden behind the slanted lid is the stature of a woman, -not just any woman either- her mother. The song comes to an end and Madame Malfaisant applauds "You'll soon have it perfect dear," Odette beams in pride and with her mother's next words.. "but you're not there yet," her pride fades just as fast as it appeared.

"You should practice more, child."

"Yes mother."

"Good girl," she smooths her hand over her daughter's hair as if she were stroking a cat, "now, play again."

With a nod, Odette begins again as I stand there in silent awe. Madame Malfaisant -now moving out into my view- spots me and glares. "You!" Her booming voice makes Odette and I alike flinch; all is silent -piano included- but that's broken by her continued rage. "What do you think you're doing?!" Her almond shaped eyes are wide; wild black pupils outlined in a pale grey ring. They look right through me, see into my soul. She closes the distance between us in just a few long strides, and towering over me she looks down on me, "I asked you a question!" My eyes search the room frantically, as if I could pluck answers from the air. I realise that my gaze has settled on Odette; her gaze directed at the ground, she's avoiding looking at me.

"Answer, boy!"
I'm unresponsive, barely recognise that Madame is screaming in my face.
She notices I'm staring and follows my line of sight just as Odette and I lock gaze, "Do not even look at my daughter!"
I look to my feet and the woman shoves me- I stumble but don't fall, "You are undeserving of her presence!" I can't help but cower as she continues to scold; I've learnt all my life to fear an angered woman.

She raises her palm high above her and I close my eyes: wincing away and bracing myself for the impact of her hand across my cheek. Time slows down as I hear the whoosh of Madame's swing, "Mother please!"

With Odette's cry, my surroundings are still -from what I hear- and opening my eyes, Madame's palm is frozen mid strike and her face contorted with rage.
She peers over her shoulder, straightening up as she turns to face her child, "What was that dear?" Her voice is unnervingly calm, the kind of voice that you just know isn't appropriate for the situation, "Why do you plead child?" 

All that courage, Odette had mustered up for her out burst, seems to have dissipated twice as fast as it had accumulated. Stuttering, she struggles to find an excuse that will save her from my my previous fate, "I- I- You- He... he isn't worth the effort mother."
She looks to me, scowling although her eyes beseech me to recognise her lie, "Boys never learn their place anyways."