Page 2 of These Eternal Bones

Dimmable Bright Side

Molly

Dirt.

It’s the first thing that comes to mind as my cracked lips mush the earthy, gravelly texture around their raw, chapped flesh.

The taste breaks through to my tongue, making me retch something terrible before my eyes even pop open.

The damp soil cools on my fingers as I dig them deep into rotting leaves long fallen from their branches, wiping the dirt from my mouth on the shoulder of my dress.

I wonder if the leaves once thought themselves as untouchable as I had, if they even cared.

People rarely truly care. Even about themselves, until it’s too late.

Until reality is force fed to you and all your pretty delusions wash away.

I hold no more delusions. There’s something bleak yet comforting about expecting the worst and hoping for the best .

The fingers on my left hand rub together, feeling the thin band at the base.

I will my eyes open before slamming them shut at the onslaught of light, however dim and softened by the fog.

My throat is hoarse and bone dry as I force myself from the forest floor, the silence making my pulse jump.

It’s a jarring way to wake. No animals, not a scurry under a bush or a fluttering of wings.

Even the ground beneath me seems devoid of bugs.

The tall, vividly green, needle-like trees seem reluctant to rustle their branches in the wind.

As if it may offend some higher power. I do not share their reservations.

I need water.

Quickly.

My calves and thighs scream in protest with each movement.

I brush myself off, as if it matters, imagining that from afar, if you plugged your nose, the stains and filth on my dress might appear intentional.

The deepening slope of the terrain seems far more obvious in the light, I was running uphill last night.

That certainly explains the tight pangs in my muscles.

Past the trees, I can’t see the dark lighthouse, but I know it’s there all the same.

The way you can sense someone coming down the hall before you hear their footsteps, the way the hair on the back of your neck stands on end when you should be alone.

We were never alone at New Eden. Too many opportunities to doubt when left to your own thoughts.

To be alone was to be perverse.

Even if it was just to cry without stroking hands and murmured words that rarely held any genuine comfort.

“Don’t worry, sister; this is his plan.”

“It won’t be that bad, sister. He would never see us in pain without cause.”

“Atone. ”

“Atone.”

“ATONE.”

Even a part of me now wonders if he can see me, if his eyes are following me as I stumble through the woods.

Would he tell my sisters and mothers of my suffering and transgressions?

Could he feel it when Captain Faine took liberties with my body?

A body born for him in the eyes of God. Something akin to sick satisfaction comes with knowing he couldn’t have it, that he will never have it.

An even sicker part of me had hoped the captain would take my virginity that night, my first blood.

That he’d rut into me and defile what our prophet so feverishly coveted.

He didn’t; it was the only part of me safe from his musings.

The reason for that doesn’t bear thinking, not now.

I fear the captain never intended to let me go in New Isles, not for free.

Not of my own volition. Another horror story he would tell us about the world beyond New Eden, one where innocent girls are sold to carnal trade.

My sisters and mothers sobbed loudly, clinging to him like a raft in the sea.

I cried too, but quietly. It was the first time I had ever doubted him, not because I didn’t believe but because the story sounded so terribly much like our home.

Like the system he and his forefather set up.

I self-atoned that night for hours, until my legs gave out and my mind went dark.

Still, the doubt persisted in the morning, like a weed, it grew and spread until there was only that festering doubt left to be felt, my heart devoid of faith.

Soon enough, it gave way to repulsion. Endless stories of monsters plagued my nightmares, but the worst among them were the humans, not the tales of otherworldly beings that were said to be our punishment from God.

I quite think we were perhaps the world’s punishment. Humanity, with all our vile nature and proclivities.

Despite the resignation I feel toward faith, my heart aches as I stumble, falling hard as the toe of my boot catches a stump.

I would give nearly anything for a bowl of bone broth with those tiny thin noodles Sister Ann makes.

You didn’t even have to chew; it was my favorite on nights the desert grew cold.

I found early on, after I left, that it is quite easy to miss the places and things that cause you pain.

Maybe it’s even easier because of that pain.

Though it was terrifying at times, it was still home .

The world tilts around me as I trip again, a cry leaving my throat as my hands fly to my thigh.

A sharp, unyielding pain lances deep to the bone.

My entire leg seems to throb, from my toes to where it connects to the rest of me, as I roll myself off the jagged piece of wood I’ve fallen on.

The base of what was once a monstrous tree, in its own right, is broken off so low at the trunk its roots have lifted from deep in the ground.

Snapped. I don’t bother glancing around to check for eyes in the woods.

I can only hope I don’t terribly offend whatever creature is lurking in the fog by my show of immodesty as I hike my skirts, revealing my bloody thigh.

My hand trembles as I go to prod the gored flesh before thinking better of it.

My fingers and nails are so caked with filth they would surely rot the wound the second I touched it.

The wind blows, rustling what few unmatted strands of hair I still possess, wishing I could chop it to the scalp.

My lips tremble as I grip my skirts, grunting and tugging and failing to rip even an inch of fabric to bind the wound.

I’ve never been good with pain, no matter how minor.

The things others would brush off sent tears to my eyes and left me sniffling, but there’s no time for that here.

There’s a bubbling in the distance, I think.

Although I can’t tell if my aimless walking has brought me closer or farther from it as I stand, hissing and wincing the entire way up.

My blood at least feels somewhat warm under my dress.

A bright side, I guess. I walk some more, and then even more after that.

My thoughts straying and bending so often, I’m nearly caught off guard when I come across the rushing creek.

The trees have thickened so drastically that I’m forced to weave through them to make it onto its bank.

The moment I do, I sprint for the water, my knees jarring against the rocks as I drop.

Spending admittedly far too little time scrubbing my hands clean before cupping them and sloppily drinking, trying to race against the bits that escape through my fingers.

I drink until I feel sick, my stomach both bloated yet empty.

The front of my dress is soaked with frigid clear water, but still I’m tempted to take more.

Just for fear of losing it again. The creek rushes on, entirely unbothered by my plight as I nudge rocks into its channel.

I need to move; I know that, but I can’t convince myself to stand.

I’m filthy, cold, and wet. Entirely out of my element, starving, bloody, and about to cry.

My teeth score my bottom lip, willing the tears to stay at bay as I tilt my head back, glaring at the gray sky.

Like the sky itself, or whatever lies beyond it, is personally responsible for my current situation.

Be it the cosmos or some hateful God with a perverted sense of humor, I don’t know.

Warm, salty tears trickle down my cheeks as I stare, watching birds fly above the towering trees.

How simpler things would be if I’d only been born a stupid bird.

If I’d been born with a penis. Apart from my brother's masterings, they had it easy, being waited on and served by the women. They didn’t have to atone as we did, seeing that the masterings took away their only real chance of perversion.

They were babies when that happened. None of them remembered the grizzly affairs.

If I were a man, I could’ve worked honestly to pay my board on the ship.

I would’ve been at captain’s mercy, sure, but with most of my dignity intact.

I would know how to fish and hunt, how to find shelter and fight.

I could’ve fought Captain Faine. I could’ve fought him that night, instead of running from the only home I’ve ever known. Maybe I could’ve killed him, even .