Cadenza

Melissa stood at the top of the mahogany staircase and lightly drummed her fingertips against the veneer. Italian opera floated from the parlor, almost masking the sounds coming from outside. Through the high notes of violins, she could hear screaming, beyond the trilling of flutes, the sound of glass shattering. She stared vacantly at the door below her, waiting patiently for what she knew was coming. It had been declared earlier that afternoon that women had been stripped of all rights. The police had begun rounding up all the unmarried females and fettering them off to unknown destinations to fulfill unknown purposes. In the wake of the news, Melissa had prepared herself ceremoniously for the inevitable. She had put an old record she hadn't listened to recently but was quite fond of on, meticulously groomed herself, and quietly resigned to her new fate.

She seemed numb to her situation. Spirited since childhood, she was known to be a fighter, full of passion and fire. Her drive led her from humble beginnings to mayor of a small city. But as she stood there, obediently waiting to be ripped from her manor, the flame in her eyes seemed reduced to a smoky haze. Inside her mind was a turmoil of thoughts and memories. Flashes of her past ebbed into fears for her future. It was unclear what was to happen to the "ownerless women" but she had ideas. Horrible scenes of rape and violence toyed with her nerves, threatening to break through her tranquil façade. The prospect of being sold as a slave made her nauseous with anxiety. There was no thought more repugnant, more skin crawlingly vile then that of being impregnated by a stranger. She had always been a strong woman, but there, standing in a long gown at the top of the stairs, she was paralyzed with fear.

The cadenza of the song rang out as the wood of her front door burst into splinters. As police rushed in, she suddenly found her feet. Spurred by adrenaline, she dashed to the bedroom, tripping over her dress. She violently kicked off her heels and dove onto the bed, scrambling to retrieve her handgun from the bedside table. She could hear the shouts from downstairs and fumbled to put bullets in the gun. Her hands were shaking violently and she found herself continuously dropped bullets in her haste. She barely got the gun cocked when she heard the thumping of boots running up the stairs. She braced her hands on the bed, gun aimed at the door. The pounding of her heart filled her ears. She took a few breaths and opened her eyes. A raging fire burst from her irises and timed seemed to slow. She was determined to end this here. Her final moments would be spent in the house she bought, with the gun she trained to use, being Melissa, not slowly rotting away in some basement. She would never be someone's slave. The song ended with gunshots.