тнє • cℓєαиѕιиg - σиє
It is early morning. I can tell Clem is up - he's not on the for of my bed. If Clem is up, then Maria's making breakfast. Bacon is the only thing Maria ever makes for breakfast when she comes to visit us, out in the country, and bacon is Clem's favorite snack.
I'm glad Maria is here. She makes us all happy, and at least some of my smiles aren't the fake kind that I plaster onto my face at regular intervals. Maria one of the only two people in the world that can make the smile reach my eyes. But she also never visits - unless it is a Cleansing. Of course, today is a Cleansing, mine. It would be my seventh one this month. A record? I think not. Last summer, Katy Anthonia got sixteen Cleansings. She spent the rest of the year in the woods, paying the price, but I feel really bad for her. Wait - no, I don't. She was the one that killed my dog, Marsh. No, she deserved at least some of it, but not all. A Cleansing is the worst sort of torture, and even though killing Marsh was bad, she did it for a purpose. Her family was the poorest down our street, and had never had a complete meal in their lives - ever. If they were in the President's company and were given food, they'd still gorge it down like they haven't eaten in weeks. Which, of course, they haven't. They don't have a Hunter in their family, like we do. We have me.
As I pull on some fresh clothes and wash my face and body in the basin, I think about the Cleansing that is forthcoming. If a person in City 146 - the "town" I live in, it was more of an alleyway, in terms of cleanliness - disobeyed the rules, they were publicly whipped, on the spot, by the Charge. The Charge was the "government" of our town, and they threw around the rules, like "no trading, hunting, selling, violence, or anything else without our permission." To tell the truth, everyone was pretty fed up with them, but the Charge had guns, and no one messed with guns. Not even me, who messed with anyone.
I - being my usual clumsy self - managed to knock some books off of my desk. I had made it last spring, when I went out for lumber and got some extra. I decided the family needed a coffee table, made it, and then had my family insist I took it into my own room. So I did, but I've got to say, it's pretty useless in here. It doesn't keep Clem off my stuff, she still eats my books and clothes. I need to start keeping them in the woods, where I hunt.
Anyway, the books made a huge crash, and the house went eerily quiet. Haven't they figured it out yet, I don't need our coffee table in our room? I'm just going to keep using it as a drum. I pushed the stuff back onto the table and headed downstairs trying to act casual. Unfortunately, Maria was on my case right away.
"Skye! You can't hunt when you're clumsy like that!" She waved a spatula scoldingly at me, but she was grinning. My real name was Lyric Streak, but Maria insisted on calling me Skye. "Girl, you won't get this family anywhere if you're hungry, either! Come here, grab some bacon."
Now it was my urn to pretend to scold. "You took some of my bacon? You know, trades need to be carried out on both sides, and approved by the Charge. It's punishable by death if you don't." I slid into my seat, however, and waited eagerly for Maria to hand me some bacon, rolled up in a cloth.
Maria rolled her eyes. "You eat a piece of bacon, Skye. Trade the rest for a blanket - we're going to need it, winter is coming fast. Use whatever you have left to treat yourself."
She had a point. The temperature drop was already hinting that winter was coming fast, and we'd need some more blankets. Last year the whole family, my mother, brother, Clem, and myself, had tried to survive on two blankets and a dog bed made from a cardboard box. We barely made it.
Regardless, I didn't like being told what to do. So I said, "Maria, I've been at this since Dad died. I know how to handle mornings."
My aunt smiled. "I know you do, sweetheart." She tossed me a till-warm bun, and I caught it deftly, slipping it into my pocket for later.
I headed to the door, pulling on my boots. They were made of supple leather that had molded to my feet, after years of hunting and running and walking and whatever else an average day of mine consisted of. "Tell Mom and Charles I said good morning. I should be at the butcher's or the woods if you need me. Just call."
Clem woofed, running over to me, and desperately trying to get his nose into my pocket. I laughed, shoving him off gently. He knew a lost cause when he saw one, though, and sank back into the shadows, glum.
"Bye," I said. "I'll see you at the Cleansing." And with that, I slipped through the door, and disappeared.
Now the thing about Cleansings is that you never know what will happen in them until the actual ceremony. They could decided to hang me by my ankles from a 40 foot tall building, although I hope they won't. Throwing up my breakfast wouldn't make me much more popular, and I'd have some difficulty hunting in that awkward position. Last year, Luciana Jones, my best friend, was publicly whipped for her Cleansing. Come to think of it, almost everyone in town has been publicly whipped once or twice in their lifetimes - even me.
I had been out in the garden, back when we were still dirt poor, picking onions and potatoes and carrots for supper. It was the crack of dawn, and I still had four more things to do before my first Cleansing, scheduled at 7:30. My earliest. It was early springtime, and the flowers in the front of the house were just beginning to blossom and throw their gorgeous petals wide. The verdant grass sprung up around me, tickling my ankles, and butterflies fluttered lazily about the little garden. The day was beautiful; it had just enough light and warmth to be considered in that slim range of "perfect" weather we all loved. It was a marvelous day - except for the fact that there was a Cleansing that day.
The screen door swung open and Mama stepped into the grass barefoot, sinking her toes deep into the rich soil. "Sweetie, the Cleansing's been rescheduled for . . . five twenty-five instead of seven thirty. I'd recommend wearing something comfortable - you never know, with a Cleansing."
I had nodded shakily, and began to work faster, until my hands were a blur, yanking the roots and onions violently.
By the time it was time for my Cleansing, I was shaking so hard I was sure the whole of City 146 could hear my chattering teeth. Mama had to carry me because I was unable to walk, but by the time I had regained my composure, they told me the punishment, and I was shaking again.
I was to get a public whipping.
They tore off my shirt, leaving my bra on, and tied me, spread-eagled, to a pair of posts. Everyone was ordered to gather around. I was gritting my teeth and my eyes were pouring tears from the horrible fear.
At the first lash, I gave a blood-curdling scream. It felt like someone was cutting into my flesh with a knife, and barely had time to gather my breath before the next twenty strokes came, in quick succession.
I didn't last through all fifty; Mama says I fainted around twenty-five strokes. Charles said my head lolled round to the side, and my tongue was hanging out, all blue, and that my back was covered in green goo. Though, I highly doubt Charles was telling the truth.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts; I was at the butcher's already. I pulled the rolled up bacon from my pack, and the bun, and looked up at the butcher's shop. I expected to see the place lively, full with people. I expected laughter, dancing, singing. But the place was empty. I half expected a tumbleweed to roll across the scene.
The building looked almost depressing now: the flowers that usually bordered the perimeter's of the shop were brown, dead. They sagged to the side, and were layered with a thin coat of snow. The sign was gone, leaning against the leg of Runce, the butcher.
Runce sat on the steps of the butcher shop, looking desolate. I headed over, frowning.
"Runce, hey." He looked up, and I was surprised to see him glaring at me. "You trading today? I need some blankets and a bow."
Runce didn't answer me, just stared at his boots.
I bit my lip, and headed up the steps quickly. I pulled on the doorknob, but suddenly was yanked by a huge, rough hand – Runce.
He jerked me toward him, and I bit my lip again. "Runce? W-what are you doing?" I tried to wrestle my way free, and when he didn't let go, I began to struggle more frantically. He yanked on me, until we were nose-to-nose.
"It's your fault," he hissed. "I got my shop shut down 'cause you brought people to do illegal trading!" His voice rose to a shout, and he began to shake me with a sense of urgency.
Then he threw me away, turning his nose up as if disgusted. "I'll be watching your Cleansing with rapt attention," he hissed, and sent me sprawling.
I scrambled to my feet, shocked. "Well, if you're so eager to see me suffer, why don't you hit me, huh?"
Runce didn't react. At first, I thought he'd leave me alone, when the knife came flying at me. I ducked, but foolishly threw my arm up to protect my face. The knife opened a long gash in my left arm, just below my elbow.
I gasped from pain, and clutched at my arm, then hissed, "That's illegal, too." And I ran for my life.
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