Seven Deadly Sons

Melanie. (35)

This evening, the accused Melanie chose to solve the riddle rather than compete in the human hunt." The crowd meets this statement with laughter, though it sounds entirely forced around me. 

Perhaps it is delirium.

When I am offered an aperitif, I take it. I struggle to remember why I shouldn't, struggle to remember to care.

"She must solve this task for me, for us, by dawn;

You must fill up our stores with wine using this utensil: a sieve."

I glanced at the item presented to me by a guard of some sort, the shadow behind the throne unmoving still. Bite into the food still melting in my hand.

My taste buds explode with an onslaught of chicken, topped on a base of something white and gooey; like jam but also like cream. The relish on top tastes simply bright, much like freshly cut grass.

I am about to take another bite when the other third disappears from my poised hand. Disgusted, I look around for another, for more, but am only offered again the sieve.

We have similar items to this back in England, but this one seems to be made of a metal of sorts. The colour is rose gold, shining and twinkling in the light. The mesh is also metal, such extravagance for a cooking utensil.

I am reminded of jack and his beanstalk and his eggs of gold.

I look up, even dizzier after the snack, to ask the queen to repeat the task — but she is gone. The throne is gone too, I am surrounded by people.

Not people Mel! Ælfin, I must remember...

They are everywhere, in front and behind and even above, hanging from the domed ceiling. I notice the roof with all its art and shimmer also seems to drip grass and long lengths of rope — or are they vines? Roots?

The party is louder suddenly, as if my ears have been muffled with wax and suddenly I can hear. I did not even notice I was not hearing, had not bothered to try and listen.

The crowd tilts back and forth more now, so much so that I believe I am either bent entirely left at the hip or falling over. And I do, fall over that is. Several times. I feel feet, hooves, webbed toes all over me at once - and then I am stood again.

Someone is holding my forearm.

I try to turn, to get a grip, to see whoever it is but their face does not focus. A dark smudge in my peripherals, highlighted by piques of shimmer or wing or lash.

I remember the riddle, not a riddle but similar to one - may as well be one! I think, laugh. Laughter bubbling up — and suddenly — the throne, in view again! Why had I wanted to see it?

The poem, the task; yes. Where was the sieve? Was it in my hand - this one or that? I feel sick.

That thought latches, of sickness. I need to kneel, need to hug myself. It feels like burning travelling up my spine, about to exit my throat eyes and nose at any moment.

Then, suddenly again - as all things seem to be sudden, suddenly. The crowd is gone, only a few guests remain and the room is much svelter, skinner, thinner, dinner. Had I eaten yet?

I was so hungry. I could eat a horse. I laugh, because at that moment, there really is a horse. Its upside down — topsy turvy, as everything suddenly is, even the light fixtures — but its definitely a horse. Undoubtably. I laugh at that word, without doubt it means. How can someone never doubt?

The horse is the right way up now, it was me that was wrong. I hadn't realised I wasn't using my legs, but I am now. Someone is holding my arm.

Stairs, staircase. Im going down, be gentle with yourself I'm told. Im not sure who tells me, no one is here. Perhaps its my inner voice, my inner self. Thats funny too.

So funny in fact, that I am bent double, walking left to right on a stair rather than up or down. I lean against the brick, for support, and the dampness has made it cool.

I go to lean against it - safe now, with myself - but then I'm going down again. Faster now; cheekbone, ear, toenail, elbow. They all hit things, hard. Am I in a fight? Why am I running?

But im not running, im rolling, and ive stopped now. Im at the bottom of the staircase, but make it quick. Real speed. The shadow man, definitely a man; that voice in my head was at least. Mother always told me; you need a man to look after you when you're older. She was definitely right! Laughing again, rolling in the dirt of the floor like a pig.

Then we are up and walking, and he has my sieve! Its a trap then, surely. We aren't in the prison-slash-cellar-slash-otherworld anymore, we are in the basement of a pub. The attic of an asylum.

Its not an asylum. I hear matron patronise. Its an orphanage. An orphan, thats me.

Orphan means without parent. It means their parents are dead.

I wake in the dark of my cell, again.

I am a creature of the dark. Melanie means darkness. Perhaps I have always belonged here, in the dark, am mistress of it.