these sweet nightmares

chapter 3: desperation

It was the danger of starvation that forced us to initiate the plan quicker than we intended it to be. Hunger, as everyone knows, is one of the worst things anyone can experience. The little rumbling in one’s belly when one has forgotten to eat breakfast is nothing compared to the real pangs that plagues the body. It can drive even the sanest man alive to the brink of madness and delusion. It can cause people to go to the extremes, eating dirt, bark, or whatever, just to satisfy the moans.

It took us a long time to reach an agreement, though. In the first week of the month after Mr. Harold’s uninvited visit, we survived by finishing off what leftovers were found in the cabinets, storage room, and cellar, which was barely enough to fill even one meal.

The second week drove us to sell the last riches we kept hidden upon our person: jewelry, antiques, and even our clothing, all except for the ruby ring which Father held on with pride. Mother was initially against our thoughts about giving her wedding dress away, a very personal item to her. When she did relinquish her ownership, though, her depression sank lower. Less and less frequently did she come home, and it was only late in the night would she come back a little bit light-headed and intoxicated.

We were safe in the third week, albeit anxious and nervous about the thought of finding the end of the pot of gold. We rationed our food as long as we could just to survive, but it was end of the fourth week that we had to get over our fears and face the outside world––or die of famine.

It was not an easy choice. The work in the city was well paid, but only for those few who were lucky enough to land a job in the higher ranks. It was not known to all of the public, but there were horror stories about the conditions found in the outer regions of the city: dirty and contaminated places, cloistered rooms, long hours, and scanty pay.

But the one thing everyone was afraid of most was the mortification lying in wait. Since the gossip of our downfall, everyone we once had contact with refused to help us in our dire need. This was not news. No one wanted to hand around some wash-ups so that the ridicule could befall on them. We accepted the fact that we were on our own and that what we had to do was entirely up to us. Come hell or high water, we were going to take on the worst.

We traded in our elaborate clothing for something less conspicuous and sturdy. We layered ourselves with multiple coats and gloves and boots. By now, Mother wasn’t complaining much. She put on a brave face and wore trousers––bloomers as they called it––which were now a sort of fashion statement for those feminists in the city.

It was early in the day when we began our trip, and all was quiet. The sun was just rising from the east, spreading its fingers and touching the dark sky with warmth and coloring it blue.

Mother, Henry, and I stood outside in the morning mist while Father readied the horses and carriage. Eventually, those would have to go, too, but Father was able to negotiate to keep them a little longer.

I blew the air through my mouth, watching the white wisps swirl around. The autumn season was fading faster than anyone predicted into the bitterness of winter. Already, the temperature dropped ten degrees from the start of yesterday. It didn’t help much to know that there wasn’t enough heat radiating in the mansion from one single fireplace. All the rooms were cold tombs. In fact, I woke up today to see the water in my glass frozen solid.

The horses whinnied as Father placed the reins over them, fastening it tight. He hopped on the driver’s seat, nodding towards us.

It was a solemn ceremony, nothing special to it. We kept the virtue of silence as we sat down into the carriage, eyes down, lips sealed. Henry had the honor of the closing the door shut with a dulled thump. When he gave the sign, Father snapped the reins, the carriage began to move and off we went.