Dangerous Words for Dangerous Times

Two

"Feelings for others take time to grow. They only happen once in this barren land for a person. Only once. No special feelings for your family, no special feelings for your neighbours, or for government officials. Just that one person that keeps out the hopelessness from growing. Only then do feelings from stories from old start to grow from deep within our numb old bodies. Like when I enter the dome, and I start to thaw - but only very slowly at first, layer by layer that I didn't even notice at first." That's what Fiyonah's father told her when she was real little. He always told it like a bed time story. "Then, when you've shed your suit and you're all warm and clammy, you two will be getting married to have some wee little ones. You don't feel like you'll have any room left in your heart, but when the first one comes, and you hold her for the first time, knowin' she came from you and your love, and she will be even greater, because she's the next generation. Then you know, as well, that you are ready to be with her every step of the way as she grows up."

You see, he was right. As the new generation, their feelings were different. They "feel" a lot more than the last. They aren't cold stones sitting in a barren land.

But I am.

At least, that's what she told herself.

"Fiy, whatcha bring in?" Jerald, her smallest brother, was always inquisitive. He was always talking and asking questions. Apparently, this is another sign of the feelings from the new generation.

"Fiyonah, what took you so long? Again!" Twila, her mother's protege, enjoyed pestering her almost as much as her mother. Of course, mother doesn't enjoy it. Twila does. More evidence.

"Fiyonah!" Her mothers voice said her name like a gun shot. She turned sharply at the sound of her name. Mother was not pleased.

"Yes, mother?" She dropped the monster she had caught onto the slaughter counter to be prepared, deciding not to show her fear. Animals in the wild can always sense it. As a woman that knows very little about feelings and emotions, Fiyonah decided to see how mother identifies it.

"Most women your age are married by now. If your father were still alive, he would've never let this go on so far!"

"But mother, he's not dead!" She tried to correct her, but got slapped for her efforts.

"Be quiet you ungrateful swine!" Straightening her appearance and trying to become composed, she went on. "Now, as I was saying, now that it is just me and Josiah, I have no idea how we are going to raise substantial funds for your dowry, and then have enough left for Twila. I still have not forgiven you for turning down Finlay's offer."

"But mother?-"

"I said don't interrupt me!" She exclaimed, slapping Fiyonah again.

Fiyonah took a moment to compose herself as well, then turned back to her work.

"Now, what do you propose we should do with your sorry hide?" Mother asked her. It was more of a rhetorical question, but Fiyonah sighed and shrugged anyways.

"Oh I know! We can start selling you out! There has to be something that you're somewhat good at that can be useful to others, as well. Heaven knows you can't sew worth a sock, you can't work the fields- oh heavens how we tried- you can't cook anything decent. Well, if all else fails, at least you're almost attractive." Mother crossed her arms and smirked at the back of Fiyonah's head as Fiyonah crossed to the sparse seasoning cabinet that her father had made her mother when they got married.

"If I did something to your hair... dressed you in a skirt... you'd have to borrow one of Twila's shirts, and it will be too small, but all the better if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you." Fiyonah mumbled under her breath. Mother turned around and slapped her on the back of the head. Wincing, Fiyonah continued skinning the beast.

    "Haven't I told you to never - I mean never! - back talk me, girl?" Mother glared poison into her skull. Not daggers, for that can be a quick and less painful way of death when done mercifully. Poison makes you wish, desire, for death. Not that mother would know how desire feels.

   Josiah ambled into the room, the tension cutting him cold in his tracks. Smiling wide, he nearly skipped to mother, threw his large, heavy arms around mother, and planted a sloppy wet kiss on her cheek. The affectionate embrace did not soften her resolve. For, though he loved her, she could not possibly love him. Josiah, no matter how much he tried could never be Fiyonah's father. Mother had already found her love. Josiah just paid the bills and warmed her bed.

   "Ah, Jocelyn, lets hold off on the torture. Save it for me." He joked, giving her a cheeky wink and giving her another sloppy kiss. How he managed to assist them in paying the bills is beyond Fiyonah, as he only stays in her home all day, watching Russian soap operas, dreaming of the day that mother will love him back. That day will never come. She's only capable of cruel anger. Not even hatred can visit her. Only anger.

   Mother turned to him, giving him a sickly sweet smile. Josiah, too in love to notice the trap, returned this gesture with his own grin.

   "You're right, dear," she spat that word like a curse, "we should save it for later. In fact, perhaps we should invite her to join us. Give her a taste of the real world beyond these walls. You never know, she may enjoy it as I do." Cackling, she stalked out of the kitchen, heading to her room to work on her plan. Josiah, too stupid in love, fell into her trap.

   Fiyonah froze at her mother's tone. She recognized the trap plainly. She had no idea what her mother meant, but had no intention of finding out how mother would lay it. She would have to work fast and discreetly. She would have to finish her chores early to sneak over to Zachariah's.