Page 11 of Anorthic Anarchy

Shoving the blade into his groin as hard as I can, it catches on organs and tendons, but I continue a steady upward rise, severing him from stem to sternum. As I hold the old man for the last time, he seizes violently as his guts spill from the open orifice. Piss, feces, and his rot pour out along with his bulbous intestines. The odious smell makes some of the men gag. But not me.

This is the perfume of a monster.

I nod at the guards holding him and they step away, letting him fall to the floor with a thud. Gathering up his warm, still oozing entrails, I grip my father’s jaw and force him to eat the bloody mess as I let out a riotous howl.

I haven’t laughed like this in years.

At the end, his gray eyes enlarge at the realization of his impending doom. Pressing my lips to his ruddy cheek, I whisper,

“For mother.”

Chapter 6

Astrid

It seems so silly to cry over the darkness. Of all the things wrong in my life right now, it should be the least of my concerns. People live without vision all the time. Why can’t I learn to?

At least four days have passed since I was branded as the monster’s property. It’s difficult to understand how long it’s been, though, because of the lack of light. The way I count time is through meals, which arrive at regular intervals three times a day.

Wyatt still hasn’t shown up and part of me worries about that. Where could he be?

The sharp shooting pains in my hip subsided day one but were replaced with a throbbing ache. Now, the skin is only irritated and itches a little. But I keep putting cream on it that Dilan nodded to before the last time I saw her. I know just how to find it.

Three and a half steps to the sink, reach to the left, open the cabinet door, crawl fingers up about one foot, and there it sits next to my toothbrush. I named it Ted. Ted likes to sing about sunshine and no more rainy days. He’s probably seen enoughwater to last his lifetime of about three months. That’s how long until one should replace them, right?

Life would be so much easier if they would let me have light.

But apparently, that’s a problem. When Lydia brought me dinner on the second evening after I arrived, she blew out the lone sconce until an abyss of blackness surrounded me. All she said was, “This is for your own good.”

When I asked her to please light it again, she wouldn’t. In fact, she’s mean, and her only gracious act is to shove my tray at me three times a day. During every meal, she slides it across the stone floor and snaps at me, “Here. Eat your food, Mrs. Strauss.”

She carries a flashlight, which makes her presence worse since it’s the only source of vision I have. A glimpse into what life must be like in the sun… I remember that glowing orb in the sky. It was nice.

Those daily garden visits I was promised haven’t happened. I have a feeling I was promised a lot that won’t get delivered.

Sniffling, I decide tonight I’m trying a different tactic. As soon as I hear her coming, I’m going to spider monkey out of the corner, tackle her, and take her down. From what I can gather, they brought me in from the left of the cell. That must be where the stairs are that lead outside. If I can push her out of the way, then I’ll take off at a sprint in that direction, keeping my hand on a wall to make sure I’m running straight. The first door I come to, I’m busting out.

Then I’ll find Wyatt.

It’s been too long since we last saw each other, but he must know I’m here. He said in his last letter that the people he works for are powerful and he’ll come get me as soon as he overthrows the consort. No one was ever supposed to know about me, so I’m not sure how my fiancé found out. All I know is that Wyatt never wanted his organization to discover my existence becausethey’re dangerous. But so is the master. I’m not sure which would be worse.

I bet Wyatt’s group would let me have a candle.

It must be lunch because I smell the bread Lydia carries down the hall before I hear her footfalls. Since living in darkness, my other senses have peaked to what I like to think of as radioactive. Today, the girl has some type of rubbery, bitter scent that wafts in with my meal.

As nimble as I can, I slip behind the cell door and wait.

Her shuffles come as well as her tiny ray of light, like she’s a theater attendant. All I spot is the dancing blue bulb as her hips sway. Careful to keep myself from detection, I hold my breath and press back against the wall as she unlocks the gate, balancing my tray on one forearm. It creaks loudly as it swings open, and I lunge.

Using the tiny strength I have, I grapple with her as she screams, and the silver tray clatters to the ground. I find a handful of hair and tug, then swing, but only hit the air. An elbow crashes into my belly, and I bend forward until she shoves her knee into my nose, causing me to fall to the ground in agony. Blood gushes from my face and I quickly tongue my teeth. They’re all still there.

“You fucking bitch! Enjoy the food on the floor, then.” With a crash, she slams the cell door and locks it.

I sob once again. This time from defeat and pain.

After another pity party, I pull the lettuce out of my hair and munch on it with a sore nose and lips. My fingers feel their way across the floor to the tomato, then some turkey. The bun must have rolled outside the cell because I can’t find it.

Oh…but this must be her flashlight!

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