Nyla was going mad. She couldn't differentiate between right and wrong. Blood from the pads of her icy fingers splattered on the marble floors. Her skin was cold to the touch, her body was sweating profusely. She couldn't have done it. Could she? Sh...
I was eleven when I became a woman. I tripped on a branch and fell onto a tree root emerging from the surface, begging for a source of hydration in these desperate times. I scraped my elbow and ran past Yazmin into my family's small, homely cottage. Mom cooked pea soup every Thursday. "It's tradition and it's good for you," Grandma would always say. When I opened the door, the pungent smell went straight into my nostrils, causing me to gag.
"Mom, I scraped my elbow," I cried.
She intakes a deep breath. "What did I tell you? Don't play with the wire fences."
"I wasn't. I just tripped."
"Come here." She applied a wet paper towel, disinfecting it with some cheap antibiotic from the pharmacy. She covered the abrasion with a small bandage. "Drink some water. I boiled some earlier. Tell Yazmin to get some too."
When I went looking, she had disappeared. The sun was setting. It was probably 7:00. She had to be home before dinner or else Lyla would be angry and worried.
I sat across from Mom at our wooden table that Mom said not to play near because you'll get splinters from wood chipping. She served me a bowl of revolting green soup with a piece of stale bread.
Mom had short, curly chocolate-colored hair. She had smile lines. I never see her smile anymore.
"Is Daddy coming?"
"I think so. But not until after bedtime. Sorry, sweetie."
I bit down on the leathery, cold bread that tastes like cardboard. I ate the soup in disgust. I wasn't complaining though. Mom never let us miss a meal. She used the ingredients we were able to obtain. And we were grateful for such.
Phoenix and Asher came barreling into the kitchen. Asher, an eight-year-old mess, loved to show-off in front of Yaz. Phoenix, an eight-year-old angel, strangled her brother in hopes to get her stuffed animal she got from Playne's Market back. She wore her halo on her shoulder.
After dinner, Phoenix was too busy imagining a place where Cuddles is surrounded by world peace. A vision that will never happen. Asher was using two wooden forks to play drums on the walls. I sat on the floor in the shared bedroom. This bedroom reeked from Asher never bathing. Phoenix kept her area neat and would scold Asher if anything was misplaced. It still had cotton candy-colored wallpaper from Daddy putting it on when this was my nursery. This was where I grew up. So many bad memories. So many good memories.
I stood up to go tell Phoenix and Asher to come to sleep. I felt a liquid trickle down my thigh. I looked down. It's blood. Crimson trailed in a line down to my ankles. Where was it coming from?
"Mom!"
She came quickly into the room with urgency, her face filled with fret. "What's wrong?"
"I think I'm dying!" I touched the blood. Warm.
The serious line on her face turned into a slight smile with a chuckle. "You're a woman now, sweetie." "I'm eleven. What does that have to with me bleeding?"
"This is part of your life, once a month. It represents that you are worthy of a husband and can have a family of your own. Oh, you're so big now," she insists.
I went to bed that night confused. I understood that it was a big deal to be a woman. We were key to rebuilding this country from the great extent of deaths. We were to raise boys and girls as intellectuals. Daddies labored so that Mommies could mother. But why was blood involved?
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