The bare walls of the room used for the girls of The Community changes to the chapel, Father George’s altar coming up from below.
His dark beady eyes are filled with the devil’s intent. The face of the evil which spews brimstone all over me, the smell of sulfur surrounding me, transforms into the face of Father George.
The darkness along the walls, the one who just ate my dream, my one true wish, turns its head toward me and I can feel the breath of death and pain coming from its maw. I try to scream, to warn him, but my mouth is sewn shut. Before the prince can kiss the princess, darkness comes from below and swallows him whole. The prince and the princess should find love. Her story plays over the wall of cinderblocks in front of me, a dance of shadow and light. I’ve forgotten so much of my small life before the girls were isolated from the rest of our families and members of The Community. So why do some of the men leer at me and the other girls like we are meat for them to devour when our flesh is to remain pure for our husband? I remember my sister, Chloe, telling me and my two younger sisters a story about a prince who saved his princess and gave her a kiss which brought her back to life. I’ve memorized scripture and been told these are the things we will live by. I think I used to believe something dif erent, but it’s hard to remember and so much easier to give in to the teachings. I’ll exist surrounded by cinderblocks and their twisted, corrupted word of God. It’s probably better that I don’t remember what the sun feels like because if I did then I would miss it. The glimpses I get of the sun are brief and incomplete, making it hard to remember what it feels like to have its rays reach around my body.
I don’t remember a time when I’ve ever truly been warm. Cold seeps into my skin and burrows into my bones.
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