I didn't have to look below to know the tide was coming in. Each crash of the waves echoed up to where I sat, looking to the horizon, waiting for something to happen. Each day was the same, the rain fell, the clouds never dispersing. The tide rolled in, washed out, and the echoing crash resounded along the cliffs' edge. Some days I wondered why I wouldn't just take thost few extra steps, end the droll life by falling into the icy oblivion below. In a world where the sun no longer shone, the grass never grew, the trees whithered and rotted away, what was there to live for?
Hope.
I always waited for some sign, something to tell me the clouds would part, the blue skies would return, and that the world would once again be bathed in sunlight. I longed to feel the kiss of warmth on my skin, to feel the joy of life in this vast grey world.
As I sat, listening to the waves, a single sound penetrated deeper, clearer, across the precipice. From inland came the bells, their toll like a heavy weight on my body. Night was approaching, time to head back home, back indoors, where it would be "safe". We weren't allowed out after nightfall; each person was to be inside their hovel by the time of the last bell chime, if we didn't wish for one of the many punishments thought up by the Masque.
The Masque could be thought of as royalty; they had total control over our realm. Although they loved the limelight, loved to be seen and heard and worshipped, no one had ever seen their faces. Each family in the Masque had separate specialized masks made in the familial colors, with the crest somewhere in the design as well. The current leading family of the Masque were the Tchaikovich, their family colors of burgundy and olive, and depicted by the sea serpent, a fierce water dracon. Of the eight royal houses, the Tchaikovich were the most active and the ones who made the most ridiculous rules time and time again. They constantly had guards patrolling the streets in the day, scouting for a single order to be broken, so that they could unleash the insanity of their punishments. Every day they would bring in prisoners for anything from sneezing to bumping into a guard, and the punishments only became more ridiculous as time passed.
The last punishment I had heard given was that the prisoner would pluck each hair from their own head, then slowly weave that hair into a rope. The rope was then, of course, to be used as a noose to hang the poor fellow. All he had done was say excuse me a few decibels too loudly, supposedly interrupting the Captain's afternoon nap. The prisoner's hair was only around 2 inches long, though. He made the rope, of course, but the rope couldn't even fit around his wrist, much less his neck. The punishment then turned to plucking a single mane and tail hair from each horse in every stable in our town of Requerrence. To my knowledge, he is awaiting the birth of quite a few foals since he must pluck a single hair from every horse's mane and tail, including the ones from those yet to be born. So his life is guaranteed more time, if only by a few weeks.
Requerrence, also known as Re-occurence to the villagers, is the town that is known as home to the Tchaikovich family. Every day must be as the day before, and every day after cannot be something other because change is wrong. The first rule imposed by the Tchaikovich. So every day, I wake up, eat my ration of bread, drink my ration of milk, then walk to the cliffs to sit and stare. Because that had been what I had done the day they chose our town, that is what I now must do every day.
It isn't always so bad; some days there is a light breeze, and with it are scents and tiny things like feathers that drift towards me. I have started to collect the feathers, I suspect they are from a twill bird who nests along the lower rocks of the cliff. As I had done yesterday, the few things the breeze brought me today I slipped inside the almost imperceptible pocket of my skirt.
With my head low, eyes looking no higher then the knees of those in front of me, I made my way homewards. As I walked among the houses, each decaying lot of wood and debris, I listened for any change in movement, any unnatural sound. The guards always chose this time to play their games. They would take an extra step into the road, or move their weapons just enough, and someone would always, always, jump or move. Then, their life would be forfeit.
There.
Just a few feet ahead, they moved. The air swirled and stilled in a fraction of a second, their breathing changed, the very cruelty of their plan could be felt like a stone in a pond. I changed my path, walked along the other edge of the road, slowly moving over so as not to be noticed.
"You there, halt," said the guard. I barely raised my eyes, praying he hadn't noticed me, hadn't called out to me. He was looking ahead, at a child.
The child turned, raised his head so slightly. "Yes, sir?" It was a whisper of a sound, a voice parched and dry.
"You dirtied my clothes, kicking up dust like you did. No manners, no manners at all," the guard smiled cruelly. It was obvious his clothes were pristine. They were magicked to not dirty, not soil. Not even blood would stain them. But the trap was sprung, it was too late.
"But, sir, there is no dust..." the child whimpered, pleaded. He looked around, as if begging any of us to step forward, to save him. Everyone continued on their way, because this was our life now. Even I could not bring myself forward, could not save this innocent. Life in Requerrence made us all horridly cruel beings, immune to the every day bloodshed.
"Brat, don't you dare to talk back to me," the guard delivered a swift kick to the child's chest. He crumpled into a heap on the ground, heaving and coughing; crying. Still, not one person came to his aid, even as the surrounding guards barking laughs echoed along the street.
I kept on my way, eyes down. The scene was now behind me, but the nightmares would remain in my heart. I longed for the power, the ability to save even one life, but I had none. Like anyone else, I was helpless, weak. Pathetic. A few more paces, a few more steps, and I would be home. Home where I could silently vent my frustrations, bite my lip and let fall the tears for those who cannot be saved.
I could see my home now, shabby, rotten, but mine. I hastened my steps, ever so slightly. I reached out my hand, and pushed. My door fell open with ease, and I hurried inside to the one safe haven left to me. For now at least. The guards were known to enter homes claiming inspections. Really it was just their excuse to break in, steal from our rations, beat us, or even rape us. I had been lucky, none had come for me. Yet. Every day I feared, though, that it would be my turn. My day. I slept in unease, nightmares plaguing me. I never forgot, not one death. Each person's face, tears, engraved into my heart. One day I would return their hatred to our captors. That was my wish, even if it meant my death, I hoped for just once chance to strike back. But fear gripped at my body, made me unable to move, to speak, to do anything other then that which had been done till now. Nothing. I would blend with the crowd, pray to be unseen, unheard.
"Coward," I thought to myself. I was a coward. Even here, in my home, I could hear the child's shrieks of pain, of agony. My back pressed against my door, my eyes closed tight, hot tears streaking my face. Soon the fear and pain resounding along the street would end, soon the child would hurt no more. Soon.
I walked and collapsed on my bed, buried my face in the rag of a pillow, and wept. The child's fear just another wound on my heart. I don't know how long I lay there, how long my tears fell. When I lifted my face, everything was dark. Night had fallen. I rolled over and went to sleep, because nothing more could be done.
It was just another day in Requerrence.
