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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781490778839 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Trafford Publishing |
| Publication date: | 12/09/2016 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 198 |
| File size: | 395 KB |
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The Chosen
By Kassandra Patti
Trafford Publishing
Copyright © 2016 Kassandra PattiAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4907-7882-2
CHAPTER 1
White Walls
January 12, 2015
"Acelia, you need to stay put."
My arms were bound by leather straps, trapping my arms to my sides, but giving me enough slack to prop myself up on my elbows. My legs were in the same leather straps although they were pinned to the bed. My movement was restricted, but it still gave me slack to shake and wither away from the syringe in her hand. I gazed around; there was nothing to protect myself with, there was a pitcher of water on the counter top although that was out of reach, there was a makeshift stand holding up a curtain to divide the room. I looked back at her and the syringe. The poison they wanted to fill me with, to make me fall asleep for days and send me into a hazy frenzy where the hours melted into days and the days melted into weeks.
Her smile was tight, forced. She had on her signature glasses, the black rims framing her round face and extenuating her green eyes. If you didn't look past her fake charm and sweet smiles you would think she was a god sent, but I know better. I know who she is and what she does and it is nothing close to godly.
"Your parents wouldn't be too happy to hear that you were giving me trouble now would they?" The bitter words dripped from her mouth. She knew she had the upper hand, and she was showing me that she knew. It was a threat, a silent threat that she would carry out: behave or your parents won't get you out, they won't see any of your improvement.
I stared at her; I didn't avert my gaze from hers. Dr Cunningham was always throwing it in my face, my parents liked her more, they trusted what she said, everything, she said was taken with the utmost attention. Second guessing it was never an option. Never.
"I mean they would be pretty pissed if they heard that," I looked down at my body, strapped to the bed like an animal in a lab. I looked back up at her, the idea that they strap us down like animals and poke and probe at us fuelled me. I spit in her face, some saliva slipping down the corner of my lip, trailing down my chin. Dr Cunningham cringed; her hand slowly removed my spit from her exposed arm. She gave me a hard look, her eyebrows furrowing.
"I wouldn't want them to have false hope; I shouldn't start trying to please them now." I took the silence as a chance to make her see I was not joking around; I would not let her do whatever she wanted with me. I was not sick, she was. I let a pleased smile take over my usually sombre expression.
She left, shaking her head as she called a 'code blue'. Code blue meant I was getting a free ticket to isolation. I had been there enough times to know what a code blue was. Waiting for the nurses now was going to take awhile; they always took their time with the blues. I don't usually mind their tardiness; it gives me time to enjoy the light, to enjoy the soggy mattress and the bars that dig into your back when you move the wrong way. Isolation would be my home for the next few days, they'd tell my parents that I had an incident and was being punished for my bad behaviour.
I pulled at the constraints, the rattling of the metal frame squeaked with every push I gave. The leather dug into my wrist, the burn marks from the straps were reminders, and a time-keep for how long this has been going on. In and out. In and out. In and out. It was always the same deal. I dug my head into the thin pillow and stared at the ceiling. It was white, not pure white but more of an off white not to hurt the eyes when the light bounced off of it. The cord for the fan was gone, it was beaded the beads were bright setting off the rest of the room even if it was only a splash of colour. I wonder where it went. ... It used to help pass the time. I could picture it now, watching the three hands swing around until it became one, the red blending into the white but occasionally popping out, it had all become one blur of continuous whiteness.
* * *
There were scratches on the wall. Four long marks carved into the wall. All of them were equal in size and length. If you looked close enough you could see smears of blood through the cracks. The blood was a dark red, dried up from the time that it had happened. It could have been hours ago, even days ago but I don't know, they won't tell me. Do they even know it's here? I let my fingers skim the top of it; the marks were rugged, messy. They hadn't thought about the marks, they just went at it with what, anger? Sadness maybe? The wall was not something made of stone, but rather of a softer material in case we become suicidal and plan to harm ourselves.
I let my left-hand rest against the marks and I close my eyes. Everything started to hit me; my senses were heightened. Did they give me a steriliser? The perfect silence left, a white noise came barreling towards my ears, a throbbing pain started to ring through my body. Big meaty hands grabbed at me.
"Leave me alone." Could they not see something was wrong? I was going to figure this out on my own; they clearly don't know what's happening.
Another hand clamped down on my right arm, the pressure caused me to flinch, my eyes flying open.
"Would you quit that?" I snapped, although my arm was now tingling with a pain I hadn't felt before. I threw back my left arm trying to get them to stop but I was stuck. They were too strong.
"Get the sedative." Someone behind me was throwing around orders, I couldn't see them. My vision had become distorted; shapes were taking on weird forms, noises started to sound far off.
"I don't need that shit! Don't get that sedative." Now I was being pulled to my feet, I had no socks on or shoes; my feet touched the warm ground where I had been sitting.
When had I gotten in this room ... Did they give me a drug before they left? The fan, it was the fan that got me, they know how to use it.
"Strap her down," It snapped me back to reality, my head was hazy, my vision still blurred, but I heard that as clear as day.
"Strap me down? For what, I'm not fighting." I whined. I had been strapped down before, it was uncomfortable.
"Acelia, you better cooperate with us. You pulled quite a stunt." It was Cunningham, I could tell. Her hypocritical voice rang in my ears clear as day. There was no distortion for that.
"Stunt. Spitting isn't a stunt."
"That was unacceptable, but right now you need to calm down." Calm down? I thought this was calm.
CHAPTER 2Tenebris
10:00 pm
The room is quiet, eerily quiet. It is always quiet. The grey walls wash into one another; the figure is lying in bed, her eyes darting from one spot to another, following something. Her eyes are closing. Flutter, close, open, flutter, close.
There is no more movement, no more following. Movements are fluid, careful, balanced. There are people now, shades of grey and black dancing around each other. They're removing straps, but there's no noise, just movements. Quick and fluid one second they are untying the next they're moving the body. A big male takes a hold of her, holds her like a toy, a little child. Fragile and easy to break.
The hallway is dark; little lights come from the side, grey lights illuminating the way. Darkness has descended on the world. I move along the shadows, blending into the grey masses, shifting my shape to stay hidden, undiscovered.
They opened doors, grey lights flash from the metallic masses letting them pass through to the next room. The end is not far, the last door is opened, and they place the girl on the floor. I slip in; the shadows are my resting place. The girl is sleeping, her eyes move rapidly behind her eyelids. There is a camera, they can see inside, they can stop the madness, monitor the insane.
Just one touch, soft, gentle, just one. I'm allowed one; the rules do not let you do more. Our hands touch, my left-hand touches her right. My lips curl, as I sliver back to the shadows, my home, the back of the mind, where no one can reach me.
The girl's eyes open, she is awake. She crawls, her eyes made of glass, unmoving, unseeing. The wall greets her, its softness caressing her hand. Her hand travels up the wall before she pulls down leaving small indents in the material. She does not stop, one spot is deeper than the other; all her fingers are digging now, hard, not stopping. Her fingers are bleeding, the dark grey dripping from her fingertips. Her nails are coming apart, cracking under the pressure. They must not see; and must not hear her, no one comes in the small room; no one helps her. No one should. She stops, fingers bleeding, there is blood on the floor, blood on her hand, her eyes close and she falls asleep. Her eyes not seeing, her mind not remembering.
CHAPTER 3Saint Josephine's School for Girls
August of 1861
The school was really a house, a very large house. It was said that this was a prestigious school to attend, yet it did not look grand from the outside. My mother showed me images of the outside, although in the images it looked more spectacular than what it does now. There was a large porch that wrapped around the house. A small set of wooden steps led you up to the door. The house was white as was the porch; the banister was black, offsetting the white to make it look bigger. The house had many windows lining the house, going from the front to the side and presumably the back. There were windows on all floors, the first and second had the most windows and one circular window was on the third floor. It was lonely, its glass blackened, vines covering the right side of it. The house had a cone shaped roof at the center of the building; a brass cross was tall and visible from its corner.
There was a statue in front of the house of an angel. Her face was beautiful, her features soft and serene and her hands gracefully tucked under her chin as if she were praying, or updating God. Her wings were tucked behind her and were small compared to her 3-foot height. Her hair was long and set in waves that moulded to her back and fell across one of her cheeks. With her beauty was something peculiar, at first glance anyone would miss it, but on the side where her hair does not brush her cheek, her white stone exterior was turning black at the corner of her ear.
I was brought here for one reason. I was becoming a bother to my mother, always questioning her motives and that of my father. The things I had been told in my own home got me sent here. 'It is for the good of you and your father and I, sweetheart', that is what I got from my mother, but I know the real reason and I have come to accept that this will be my new home for the year.
As my mother and I walked forward, I noticed another cross; this one was hanging above the entrance. We knocked before entering and walked into a grand opening. The stairs were on the left side, against a wall and led up to a large hallway. The house floor was wooden, the light brown opened up the room and the walls that were painted a sky blue and trimmed with white, made the school look more like a home than a school for girls.
A small light hung in the entrance, although the light bounced off the walls and brightened the place up. A table was set to the right of the door, where there was a key strung to a black rope.
"Welcome to Saint Josephine's School for Girls, you must be Florence." The sister bent down to touch my cheek, the back of her fingers softly touching my cheek and then my hair. "You are quite the beautiful young girl." She said before she stood straight and smiled at my mother.
"I am Sister Margaret; I am pleased to meet you Mrs. Cariani. Father Appiah has told us about your decision to enrol Florence in our school; we are most pleased that you picked our school seeing as we have had a recent opening." She looked content. She had a pretty face. Her eyes were a deep chocolate brown with flecks of gold. Her hair could not be seen because of her headpiece, but that was regulatory for nuns to wear whenever they were in the presence of others.
"Yes, of course. I was hoping that our telegrams made it safely and that you would be so kind as to have already set up anything that my darling Florence would need in order to be comfortable here," my mom is sweet. She always has been, but she is also a tough woman, making sure everyone is taken care of before she even has a second to think of herself.
"Of course, you have absolutely nothing to worry about Mrs. Cariani; she will be treated like all the other girls and will love it here." She looked down at me this time before she put her hands on her lap, "how about you say bye to your mother now, it's going to be quite awhile until Christmas dinner with your parents." She gave me a small smile before she gave us some space and walked past the opening to her right, into what seemed to be the dining quarters.
"My darling daughter, you must behave while you are here. Do not say things that are untrue. Do you understand me?" She crouched down to be levelled with me and she pushed back my blonde hair, tucking it behind my ear.
"I will do no such thing mother, I promise you." I gave her a smile, I felt sorry for her. The truth was hard for her to hear so she decided that it was not true but I know she thought about it all the time and I blame myself for her pain and sadness.
"That's my girl." Her lips met my forehead before she stood back up and took my small hand in hers. "I love you to bits, my little girl, we will see each other soon and your father will be pleased to see you grow into an educated and beautiful young lady." With that she gave my hand a squeeze and walked out the door, the carriage was still waiting for her and the driver must have been getting impatient but my father paid him well for his patience.
"How about I show you around?" Sister Margaret was back at my side, her hand on my lower back.
I simply nodded and let her guide me through the opening that she had emerged from. There were five rows of long wooden tables, there were white plates already set up for lunchtime. Along the tables were benches that looked stiff and worn out. Different noises and sounds were wafting through the room.
"The kitchen is off to the corner there but you are not to enter without permission." She said before hurrying me past into the day room.
The room was large, an array of couches were strewn around the room in an organised fashion. They were royal blue Victorian couches. There was also a selection of books set on a table in the centre of the room. The bibles were on a different table arranged in neat piles. The walls were off-white, making any colour pop. A fireplace made the space warmer, made it feel more like home. Three windows lined the back wall, giving me a view of the back yard. The grass was remarkably green and a few trees littered the yard but other than that, and a path made of gravel, there was nothing special about it.
She ushered me back the way we came and up the stairs. The stairs were nothing special but once we landed on the second floor, it became clear that the images and simple words of this place were because of the inside and not the outside. The stairs split the hallway into two halves. One side was issued for the girls living here and the other was for the Sisters and staff. The girls' hallway was wide and was lined with 5 doors on each side.
"Your room is the second to last door. You ladies will need to share two washrooms, which are right here." She walked us to the end of the hall where the last two doors were pushed opened. Three sinks lined the wall and showers were against the other. There were stalls for toilets, yet the exact number of them I could not figure out.
"How many girls stay in one room," I ask finally letting her hear my voice.
"There are 6 girls per room; you will need to make sure that your things are tidy at all times and that you take part in your chores." She opened the door to my room and the conversation quieted down, the hushed voices of the girls halted as they looked back at me.
"Girls please show Florence here your kindness and make her feel at home." She gave the girls a nod and closed the door behind her.
The room was very big, bigger than what I had at home. There were three beds on each side, their frames were metal and the mattresses were noticeably thin and worn out. I looked around there was nothing to set apart the room from the girls. There was no personality. My room back home was painted a light green, which happens to be my favourite colour; there was no colour here only pearl white walls and wooden floors.
The girls seemed to be about 15 years old, which happened to be my age. Two girls were identical they had light brown hair that was tied back and had the same facial structure. They must be twins. I looked at the remaining three; they had dark brown hair and ranged from hairstyles. One of them on the farthest bed from the door had short hair, cut just below the ears whereas the other had long hair. With their differences they looked alike, their faces neutral and their outfits identical. The outfit was not one that I was used to, a navy blue dress that was fitted to fall below the knees, and the sleeves reached just past the elbow. My own dress made me feel out of place, it was white lace with the sleeves just covering my shoulders and the length of the dress almost touched my feet.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Chosen by Kassandra Patti. Copyright © 2016 Kassandra Patti. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing.
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