WARRIOR MASK -Speculative fiction

 

It was the day that changed it all. My sweaty hands gripped the door as I entered the dojo. I couldn't shake my trepidation.

What is Jiuot-Sebre Warrior Arts? I wondered when I moved to Douglas, Wyoming, four months ago. The red and black painted words gave the place a mysterious lure. I googled it, but nothing turned up on Jiuot-Sebre. Yet every time I drove past the old building, a force from inside the walls beckoned me to enter.

Out of unsatisfied curiosity, I entered the small, rented space where a line of striking masks hung on the wall. The colors had faded from the once brilliant masks, making them look ancient. A tingling buzzed at the top of my head, almost as if my brain wanted me to leave. I studied the masks with their fierce faces, yet I kept looking away from my angst. They appeared alive as the empty sockets tracked my movement. I held my hand on the door. A green one with orange stripes scared me the most, almost looking like it wanted to fly off the wall and kill me. I stood in the doorway, unable to move, gripped by the energy that emanated from the masks.

"Close the door," a raspy voice commanded. I jumped and tightly squeezed the gloves I held. I could see no one in the empty dojo, only the masks. Did the masks tell me to close the door? The frigid wind rushed in behind me.

Do I stay and get vexed by the masks or return to the -25-degree cold? At least the dojo had heat. I wanted warmth and clutched myself as I pulled the door closed.

I wrapped my coat tighter around me as I slowly walked in.

"Hello," I said, hoping the masks wouldn't answer.

From behind a tapestry, an aging man walked out. His rich brown skin sagged on his wrinkled face. His wispy hair, a mix of brown and silver, sat on top of his head in a braided bun.

"I Shingsuet. Are you ready to train?"

"Um, well, I think I was just coming into, um, coming in to see what Jiuot-Sebre is."

Shingsuet strolled toward me with grace, gliding more than walking. I had expected to see him shuffle since he seemed as old as the masks.

Shingsuet grasped my hands in his leathered hands, and his heat felt good on my frozen fingers.

"I knew, young man, you come," he said. I shudder.

"I am sorry. I think this might be a mistake." I wanted to turn around—unease built inside.

"Oh, no mistake. You come to train as warrior."

A warrior? Who would I be fighting in Douglas, Wyoming?

Did I want to train as a warrior? I had entered the building from curiosity, not interest. I had passed the door with the words Jiuot-Sebre Warrior Arts every day on the way to my mining job. The small town of Douglas offered few activities. I had little to occupy my mind with when I wasn't at work, compounding my loneliness.

I hated Douglas, Wyoming. I lived in California until I was twenty-two, adoring the big city with never-ending excitement. I would have stayed in California but couldn't afford to live as a grocery store bagger. When I heard about the high-paying above-ground mining, I moved to Wyoming to give it a shot.

When I looked at Shingsuet, who appeared more as he belonged in a nursing home than running warrior training, I felt I had made a mistake walking in.

Shingsuet let go of me, and my hands immediately missed his warmth. He took his fingers and unzipped my puffy coat.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

"Come, take off coat. It is time to train."

I almost protested but then heard the howling wind outside. With nothing to do and nowhere to go, I let Shingsuet remove my coat.

"I like your dojo. I like your masks," I said, attempting to make conversation.

"Those masks watch over my students. One day, you will find your mask."

"Hm, okay." I didn't know how to reply.

I pointed to the wall. "I like the teal and black one."

"No!" he snarled, his brownish teeth jutting out. I didn't look at him as I picked a loose skin on my frostbitten lips.

My training started that day. Shingsuet scared me with his stern discipline.

“Jiuot-Sebre is ancient art. Very few people train it today," He said during my third month as his student. We didn't chit-chat much while training.

"Where does it come from?"

"It comes from Jiuot tribe in the Amazon rainforest." He had an accent I couldn't pinpoint.

"I have never heard of them."

"Does that make them not exist?"

"No, I wasn't accusing you of lying."

"Did I accuse you of accusing me?" Shingsuet's edgy comments made me question and stumble over my words. I fretted talking to him since I could never say anything right without him correcting or challenging me.

The first three months strained every muscle in my body. I always wanted to skip class but eventually dragged myself there, inwardly promising it would be the last class.

Jiuot-Sebre had components of martial arts, with strikes and kicks. It also incorporated weapons and dance-like movements along with ninja stealth.

"Do you have any other students?" I had asked.

"Does a master need more than one warrior?"

I never saw anyone else train there. Perhaps I kept going since I felt bad for the old man. Yet, old man did not describe him with his strength and vitality, something I lacked. He never tired, moving faster than anyone else I knew.

By the time I finished my first year of Jiuot-Sebre training, the art had me hooked.

"Jiuots ruled Amazon rainforest thousands years ago," Shingsuet told me one day as we ate a soup he had made. I didn't recognize the various roots and the protein in the soup. It had a bitter yet tangy flavor. At least I didn't have to make dinner that night. "They were most fierce warriors on planet. If they had been conquers, they could have taken over world, but they weren't. They loved their land and kept to selves. But, whenever enemy tried to conquer them, enemy quickly died."

"So, will I ever earn a colored belt?" I had asked during my second year in training.

"No, this not karate. This warrior training. When you at master level, you will unite with your mask," he said, pointing to the fierce masks that watched me every day I trained. Even two years later, they still spooked me.

"That's cool," I said.

Shansuet's face reddened as his eyes hardened. "No, not cool. Honor."

I never said the right thing to my master.

I trained hard with Shansuet. As the years went by, I found only a few more things about Douglas that I liked but only a little. I looked forward to the State Fair every year. Sometimes, some of the people at work took me antelope hunting. But, for the most part, training Jiuot-Saber was all I did. When my tenth anniversary of living in Wyoming arrived, depression entered me.

Ten years of living in a podunk town. What had I achieved at thirty-two? I hardly had friends. The winters bothered me more and more each year. It seemed as if Douglas had two seasons. Ten months of winter and two months of spring. I had considered moving over the years but knew I couldn't make the same wage in California. And, of course, Jiuot-Sebre kept me there. The discipline didn't exist anywhere in the United States that I could find. Maybe Shansuet had made up the art.

One day when I entered the dojo, the lights went out as I took my shoes off. The darkness shrouded my eyes.

"Shansuet."

A hard stick bashed me in the side of the head as bright lights flashed behind my eyes. I fell to my knees and grasped my throbbing head.

"Shansuet, what was that?" My voice wavered on the edge of crying. Pain pounded against my skull. Before I could call Shansuet again, another blow hit me in the same spot.

"STOP!" I screamed.

"Warriors do not beg for mercy," Shansuet's raspy voice called above me.

I could sense a stick flying toward my head again. I slipped to my right, kicked my leg up, and knocked it out of Shansuet's hand.

"Shansuet, turn the lights on. I think you might have given me a concussion." Nausea hit me as my head spun.

"Warriors do not beg for light."

Shansuet's foot landed into my right kidney. I crouched and tried to hide.

Shansuet's clothing rustled. I didn't want another whack or kick or whatever he had planned. I dropped to the ground and slithered to his weapon cache. Shansuet wasn't playing around, and I needed to be ready. I grabbed a spear and waited.

Shansuet had trained me to fight in the dark, but never this intense. I think he planned to kill me, and I had to defend my life. I closed my eyes to rely on my other senses. When I felt Shansuet near, I swooped the spear across the floor and took out his feet. He should have fallen, but he jumped upward, and I couldn't find him.

A sharp knife impelled my left thigh. I held a circle blade, much like a shuriken, ready to use it if necessary.

I sensed Shansuet above me, possibly hanging in the rafters. I closed my eyes and did a quick meditation that Shansuet taught me. I gathered some circle blades and launched them where I thought Shansuet hid.

"Oof," Shansuet moaned.

"Master, I am sorry," I called out. I hope I hadn't hit anything vital.

"Warrior never sorry."

A circle blade from the dark flew into my leg. The pain buckled my knees.

I moved stealthily along the wall. Shansuet launched more circle blades at my previous spot, only to have them clang against the floor. I slowed my breathing so Shansuet couldn't trace me to my location.

I listened.

I could hear Shansuet in the middle of the mat. I took my spear and brought it down hard, hoping not to kill him but knowing he expected me to give it my all.

Clack

His spear met mine. We battled in the dark. I missed Shansuet often, but he never missed me. I did pretty well at defending his spear. I vanished to my left, as Shansuet taught, then overtook his back. With my hands gripping his tunic, I choked Shansuet. He fought and sputtered under my hands. If I kept going, he would die. I couldn't kill my master. In a panic, I released my choke hold.

"Why you stop?" He roared in anger, and his saliva hit my cheek. He swung behind me and grasped my neck, and choked me.

I fought and struggled to release his grasp upon me. He had all intentions to kill me. I had to think of a different technique before I blacked out. I pulled a dagger from my ankle strap and slammed it into Shansuet's hand. He let go of my neck. My hands became wet with his blood. I flipped to the side of Shansuet and had his back again. This time I had my blade to his throat.

"Master, I do not wish to kill you," I said.

"You must," he replied.

"This has gone too far."

"Kill me, or I kill you." He dropped to a squat as my hand pushed away. He then popped back up and had a sharp instrument against my stomach. The blade went in and stung!

"Master, stop!"

"Kill or be killed."

I kicked the blade out of his hand, then he did a flip and had my back again. As his hands choked me, I struggled to free myself. I felt funny as my head went fuzzy. I was about to die.

I took my dagger and plunged it into Shansuet. His hands released from my neck as he dropped to the floor.

"Master, I am sorry," I called. I felt around for the light. When I flipped it on, I saw Shansuet's bloody body on the floor. The dagger poked out from his heart.

"Master, I cried as I dropped next to him.

He didn't breathe.

He had no pulse.

"Oh, Master. Why did you make me kill you?"

I pulled out my phone. "Should I call the cops? They are going to arrest me for homicide."

Tears streamed down my face.

"Why did you make me kill you?"

Electricity crackled behind me as my hair stood up. I looked at the masks on the wall. Bright yellow and green sparks shot out of the mask with teal and black. The mask popped and hummed as the mouth on it turned even more cynical.

Suddenly, the mask exploded off the wall and flew toward Shansuet. I jumped out of the way and would have hidden if I could have found something to hide under. The mask latched onto Shansuet's face. His body rose and spun in the air as electricity sprayed from the mask.

All four of his limbs stretched apart, then came together. Shansuet dropped to the ground on his legs. He stood in front of me, but how? I had killed him. Maybe the electricity kept him standing. His eyes opened through the slits in the mask.

"Now you warrior," he said, somehow alive.

It took several hours for my nerves to calm down. I had just experienced too many emotions. Fear for my life. Extreme sorrow for killing my master. Horror from the magic mask. The experience left me emotionally drained. After we ate an incredible meal, with fruits and meats I couldn't discern, Shansuet took my hands in his. The only time he had done that was on my first day of class. He led me to stand below the wall of masks.

"You now Jiuot-Sebre warrior. You get mask. This honor greater than karate black belt."

"You mean I get to have a mask?" I liked the idea of having such a rare artifact, but I couldn't imagine keeping that mask in my house only to stare at me while I slept. And, after seeing Shansuet's mask take life, I didn't want one.

"Mask pick you."

I stood in front of the masks, and they all started shaking.

"Masks are two-thousand year old. Each one belonged to a Jiuot-Sebre warrior who has gone to battle."

The masks vibrated loudly as tiny sparks shot out of each one. I wanted to hide, but I needed my bravery since I was now a Jiuot-Sebre warrior. The green mask with orange warpaint exploded off the wall and crashed into my face. Heat sealed the mask to my skin. It vibrated on me. I wanted to rip it off, but this was my black belt ceremony, and I needed to take it like a warrior.

I elevated off the ground much as Shansuet had. Energy pulsated in and out of me. A huge flash of color burst out, and I dropped to the ground as everything went dark. I tried to remove the mask, but I couldn't. Shansuet must have turned the light off again. I prepared myself for his attack.

"Must we fight again?" I didn't want to fight anymore. My body had already taken a beating, and everything on me stung or throbbed.

A spear knocked against my leg. This time I would be more ready. I took my spear and slammed it against Shansuet's legs. Since Shansuet seemed immortal, I fought harder. I didn't think I could kill him if I wanted to.

Strong hands grabbed my hair and yanked it so hard that it ripped from my head. Shansuet had never fought like that before. Nails scraped against my skin. I pulled out some circle blades and sliced Shansuet's arms with them.

A sliver of light appeared in the back of the dojo, then became brighter and brighter. It seemed like hundreds of masks came at me, but these had bodies attached to them. Where did they come from, and how was there that much room in the dojo?

With my distraction, Shansuet's spear came toward my face. It would have creamed into me, but thankfully circle blades flew from the masked men and must have hit Shansuet because he dropped to the ground. As the masked men got closer, light shined on the body at my feet, and I saw that my attacker was not Shansuet. He looked like a rainforest tribe man with his chiseled body and loin covering. War paint streaked his cheeks instead of a mask. I turned back to the masked men.

They came to my side and spoke to me in a language I didn't understand. I then noticed I was not in Shansuet's dojo. We stood in a cave.

More loin-covered attackers appeared from the other side of us, and the two groups engaged in battle. I slithered under a hanging rock and watched.

Indeed, the masked warriors had superior fighting skills. Within minutes, the masked men had conquered the loin-clothed enemy.

Wow. I had just watched the actual Jiuot-Sebre warriors. The masks they wore looked bright and new.

A couple of them touched me as they ran in the direction their enemies had just come from. Since they acted friendly to me and had a light source, I followed them. Eventually, we exited the cave into the thickest jungle ever.

"The Amazon!"

I followed them into a few more battles, which they easily won. Then, we went to a village-like place. I don't know any other way to call it. They had homes constructed out of stone and rock. Women and children welcomed them with shouts, smiles, and a feast. Often, someone would talk to me, but I had no idea what they said.

As the warriors basked in their homecoming, I wandered, looking for Shansuet's teal and black mask, but I could not see it.

"Shansuet! Shansuet!" I called in desperation.

That night I slept on the hard ground next to the other warriors. They all took off their masks, but mine would not come off. As a fire burned in the middle of our sleeping mass, horrific bugs crawled on me all night. Wild calls from forest beasts echoed along the canopy. Despite my terror, I eventually fell asleep. Shansuet visited me in my dream.

"What is going on?"

"You Jiuot-Sebre warrior now."

I shook my head. "I don't want this. I need to get back to Douglas."

"You hate Douglas."

Well, I did. That was the truth. "But this isn't my life. I don't speak their language. I have no idea what is going on. I need to go home."

"You home now with Jiuot-Sebre warriors. Nothing I can do."

"Did you know this would happen?" I asked.

"It is what I train you for."

"Why didn't you warn me?" I asked.

"This is not my will. The mask picked you over ten years ago. This your fate."

And then Shansuet disappeared.

I woke up, sweat pooling under the mask.

And Shansuet was right. I couldn't change it. I lived and fought among the Jiuot-Sebre warriors, fierce and skilled. At some point, the mask eventually unfused from my face. When I removed it, I hoped it would return me to Douglas, but it didn't.

I eventually developed a working use of the language.

I had no sense of time since I didn't know how to measure the years and seasons. Most days seemed the same. But I could sense a significant amount of time had passed. I had acclimated comfortably to my life, sometimes forgetting I had come from a completely different place. Then, one day as I sharpened my spear, I heard.

"Shansuet! Shansuet! Where are you? Don't leave me here."

After not hearing it forever, it took a minute for me to understand English. A warrior I hadn't seen before wandered around in a mask. We weren't in battle, so no other Jiuots had masks on.

"American?" I asked, struggling with my English.

"Yes!" He cried out in delight. "Can you help me? "Where am I?"

My mind felt empty as I tried to remember my previous life. I sorted through my brain until I could articulate a sentence.

"This is the Amazon rainforest, and we are the Jiuots."

"How do you know English?"

"I used to live in America. Where are you from?"

The guy tried to pull off his mask but had no success. "I am from Douglas, Wyoming. Have you ever heard of it?"

My heart leaped in my chest. "Yes, I am from there. Or was. I live here now. What year is it?"

"2022."

"Wow, it's been over ten years since I left." That felt like another lifetime ago.

"Did Shansuet send you here?" he asked, still wrestling with his mask.

"Yes," I said. I hadn't heard Shansuet's name in so long.

"Let me guess," I said. "You just finished your warrior training."

"Yup," he replied. "How do I get home?"

"I am sorry, friend. You don't. This is your home now."

The man spun around, looking at the whole area.

"Really?"

"Yup."

"Do you know if this is 2,000 years ago or modern-day?" He asked.

I scratched my arm. "I don't know. I haven't ever seen anyone but tribal enemies or us. I guess it could be 2,000 years ago or even 2022."

"Whoop, whoop, whoop!" came the war cry of the enemy in the distance. Instinctively we all grabbed our masks and weapons and stood in our warrior stance.

I held the American's hand, much like Shansuet had done to me so long ago.

"Come, it is time to put that Jiuot-Sebre training to use."

_________________________________________________

Warrior Mask

by Stephanie Daich

CROSSING THE BOARDER -Fiction

Crossing the Boarder

“We found the teen girl’s body floating down the river,” the feminine voice announced over the morning news. “We believe she was part of the border crossing that happened two days ago when over fifty illegals entered our country.”

My heart dropped. A teenage girl. Like me!

I couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling. Had they kept the borders open, the girl wouldn’t have died. I felt too young and uneducated to have a political stand on immigration. But the dead teen would still be alive if there were better ways for people to cross borders. -To escape their oppression.

Who was the dead girl? How many people did her loss of life affect? Surely her mom and dad. That teen represented so much to me. She was a future, never to be. It wasn’t just the loss of her life. It was her generation that drowned in the river as well. Her quest symbolized hope, a dream that never would be. Had her siblings found freedom?

“Tara, get going. Stop stalling,” my newest mom said. This Christian home only had a television. They didn’t have internet as all the other homes had.

Sylvia yanked me up by my ponytail. I guess I hadn’t moved fast enough. “Go on. There are chores to do.”

I looked at the television; the news had already moved on to a new story. Sylvia led me toward the back door. “You must be quick because I have to go into the school today, and you will need to watch the kids.”

Sylvia didn’t see me as one of the kids. At thirteen, I was the oldest child in the new home.

I emptied the garbage from the night before and hauled them out to the pigs. In this home, pigs ate the garbage. I was at least one step above the pigs.

Sylvia and Edward ran a mini-farm. I had just gotten there two days earlier. That would have been the same time the group of fifty illegals entered the country. They had begun their journey just as I started mine with the Jonases. Sylvia and Edward had spent the last two days teaching me about my chores. I had to feed the pigs, chickens, goats, and sheep every morning. Then, I would need to help Sylvia get the kids ready and out the door for school.

“Do I go to school with them?” I asked, hoping, praying.

“No. Not at this time. We need you at home.”

“But,”

“Tara, it is for the greater good of the church.” Sylvia hushed her voice and looked to the sky. “It is for the prophet.”

Those were kill-all words. Anything for the church or the prophet ended all discussion. And, of course, I should feel privileged, for the prophet’s blood ran through my veins. But that didn’t make me unique. In every home I got shipped to, at least one other child there was also spawned from his holiness.

When Sylvia took away my dreams for school, she dampened my light. School gave me a chance to escape the wretched church life. Sylvia had delivered a death sentence.

Working outside on the mini-farm refreshed me, getting me away from all those loud kids, twelve in total, but that number could change at any moment. It always did. Girls didn’t have much hope in my church. We usually ended our school career at about my age. Our service to the church held higher importance. They put teenage girls in charge of babysitting many brats or working at the family factory or store. When I say family, I mean the whole clan shoved inside our various factories, refurbishing used crap and then reselling it at the store. We didn’t have the smarts to do anything beyond that.

“Tara, what is taking you so long?” Sylvia screamed as she stood over me. She caught me sitting in the dirt, petting baby chicks.

Before I could answer, the feed scoop hit me on the side of the face.

“You don’t have time to dilly-dally. I have to take the kids into school and talk with the principal.” She paused, then screamed in a shrill that hurt my ears, “You are going to make me late!”

I didn’t stand fast enough, and she yanked me up by my ponytail.

“You have five minutes to finish your chores.”

When she left, I picked up the cat and held it close.

Sylvia was abusive and had no patience, but what church mom ever did?

*

Three kids screamed while the baby crawled across the floor, dragging its half-poopy diaper with it. I looked at the five kids I was left to watch. In church, they often talked about Hell. I was pretty sure I was in it. I grabbed the baby and sprawled her on the towel. She fought me as I finished removing her diaper and wiping her clean.

BANG!

“Waaa!”

Someone was hurt. Without having time to put a new diaper on the baby, I ran into the next room. Trapped under a tipped dresser, a toddler screamed. He must have tried to climb it. I attempted to pull the heavy object off him but couldn’t budge it. I used the small space under the dresser to wiggle him out. In the background, little people cried.

“I want to go to school. I am not meant to be a babysitter.” I wailed. “This sucks.”

The little boy crawled into my lap and cried, needing me to comfort him, but I didn’t have it in me. I felt terrible for him, but I only knew one level of care. I pushed the boy to the rug.

“Shake it off. Stop crying.”

And then, I joined him in tears.

“Tara,” my name shot through the house, along with a slew of Mexican words I didn’t know. “What have you done here?”

I entered the living room—piles of toys lay on the floor and couch. The dirty diaper remained brown side up, followed by a trail of goo. Dirt covered every inch of the partially naked kids. Half of them cried.

“I am sorry…”

Sylvia dug her nails into my shoulder and dragged me around the house.

“What were you doing?”

“I am sorry, the dresser fell on…On the little boy.”

“Why were you not watching him?”

“I couldn’t…I wasn’t…I was changing a diaper.”

“You mean the poopy one that has gotten everywhere?”

Sylvia pushed me into the cramped space under the sink as punishment.

“You were supposed to have come to help me. To make my life easier. You have made it harder.”

Bang. She closed the door on me.

The smell of mildew choked me as it entered my throat. I tasted it. I suffered in my entrapment as my anxiety made me feel like I would explode. The pipe from the sink pushed into my neck. How long would I be stuck in here?

Corporal punishment wasn’t new to my life.

Different home.

Different method.

Same black hearts.

After what felt like thirty days and then some, Edward came home. Sylvia used tears and theatrics to describe the “miserable” child that cursed their home.

“You must exchange her for a better girl,” I deciphered behind the cupboard door. “She only makes life harder.”

“Mother,” Edward said. “The prophet chose our home to bless his daughter with. Why must you murmur as they did in the scriptures? Tara is supposed to be a blessing to us.”

“But,” Sylvia whined, “She is not a blessing. She is a curse.”

“MOTHER,” Edward’s voice sharpened. “Are you speaking words against the prophet?”

I could feel the silence under the sink.

“No, Father.”

“Good. Now, Tara may take some training. But we can be patient, for it is a virtue of the Lord. And it is by patience that I allow you to be my wife. Remember, Mother, when I got you, you were no older than Tara. You were a lousy wife. But I have trained you, and you are coming along. You still aren’t a great wife. You leave much to be desired.”

-Ouch! I almost felt sorry for Sylvia until my hand slipped into something mushy.

Edward’s voice continued. “In fact, this brings me to a new matter I have wanted to discuss with you. When the prophet dropped off Tara, he gave me the blessing to search for my second wife.”

A whole symphony of Mexican cuss words went off, and then the slamming of a door. Sylvia must have left the house. I couldn’t blame her. Who would want Edward as a husband? He looked a million years old, and he stunk. He didn’t sound like a nice husband, but those only existed in the movies. Churchmen were mean and controlling. And none of them were handsome.

The loneliness overwhelmed me as the night moved into the morning. Sylvia had left me in my coffin under the sink. In my deepest fears, I thought about the dead teen. Was she scared as she tried to cross into our borders?

“What was your life like before you left?” I asked as if she was there to keep me company. At first, she appeared as a ghost. Her face was pale and rotten as if she had come from her watery grave. But it pinkened up before me, and she soon looked like an angel, one removed from this life way too early.

Her big brown eyes welled up, “Life was horrible. The drug cartel ruled us.”

“Ahh, yes,” I said. “I have heard of them.”

“I am sure you have.”

“Are you comfortable?” I asked. I wanted to scream in agony since my muscles had cramped into place.

“I no longer feel anything,” she said. She did look relatively relaxed.

“Was it worth it?” I asked.

“Worth what?”

“Was crossing the border worth dying for?”

“Yes. Intently, yes!”

That didn’t make sense. “You didn’t reach freedom. How could that be worth it?”

“I did taste freedom before I died. It was worth the sliver of flavor that freedom gave me. And look at me now. I am free from the cartel. Free from the sex trade. Free from oppression. I no longer have to watch the pain on my mother’s face as they do the things to me that they did. Death was worth leaving all of that behind.”

“I am scared of death. How can death be worth it?”

“Well, you see…”

The cupboard door flew open, and Sylvia dragged me out. She was too quick, and the movements felt like they would snap my stiff muscles.

“It is time to feed the pigs,” she said. “And today, if you want to avoid sleeping under the sink, I suggest you work fast and efficiently.”

I glanced under the sink, but the dead teen was gone. I missed her companionship. I couldn’t fully stand as my stiff muscles locked me in a stoop.

When I fed the pigs, I stole some of the discarded food. My stomach ached in hunger. Who knew when I would eat again?

“Here, chicks, chicks,” I said, tossing handfuls of grain. I wanted to be quick so I didn’t get punished again, but on the other hand, being outside was the only balm to my soul.

As I carried the heavy buckets of water, I thought about Sylvia and Edward. Both had thick Mexican accents. They must have been born in Mexico. How did they get here? Had they come together? Had they met in the United States? What was their story? They must have been dreaming of something better as they crossed the border. Had it gotten better? Was it worth it?

The cat came to my side. She was the barn cat, and I called her Coconut. She didn’t have to live in the house or have any rules. She came and went as she pleased. She had freedom.

Every time I was outside, I would cuddle with her. She filled my empty heart.

“Tara,” Sylvia screamed. “Lila needs a bath. You need to be finished with your chores in five minutes.”

I was finished, so I had five minutes to myself.

-Five grand, glorious minutes.

“What do you think of my life?” I asked the dead teen who had appeared again.

“I don’t think it is much different from mine,” she said. I liked that she had returned to spend those five minutes with me.

“What do you mean? I have freedom. You didn’t.”

“Freedom. You call this freedom?” She waved toward the house. “You don’t have freedom.”

“But I am not oppressed by the cartel.”

“But, what about your prophet?”

I had met the prophet, aka dad, five times. My whole life, they had brainwashed me about how blessed the prophet is. How powerful he was. The strange thing was that he felt dark whenever I was around him. I knew what light felt like because I found it in the scriptures. But not with the prophet. He felt the very opposite of light.

“Is my dad as bad as the cartel?”

“Worse,” she said. “The cartel is evil, but they don’t pretend to be anything but evil. Your prophet is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He justifies every bad thing he does as a mouthpiece to the Lord. He can do no wrong in your church yet does great evil.”

“Wow,” I replied in awe. She said the things I had been thinking about for a long time.

“Can I call you Amy?” I asked. I was once placed with a church mother named Amy. She had just gotten married. I think she was seventeen. She was the nicest person I had ever known. I don’t know why I couldn’t have lived with her forever.

“Yes, you may.”

The door to the house flew open, and Sylvia stuck her head out. “Tara! Now!”

*

“Tara, I want you to meet Brother Partridge,” Sylvia said with a lift to her voice. The wrinkles around her mouth had softened. She seemed like a different woman as she treated me with kindness. A slightly bald man shook my hand as he followed my church parents to the table. All of the kids were gone. Sylvia, Edward, Brother Partridge, and me were the only people at dinner.

I squirmed from the discomfort of being alone with the adults. Well, not entirely alone.

“You got this,” Amy, the dead girl, said, appearing, giving me a thumbs up. I smiled at her. I am glad she came to join me for dinner. I knew no one else saw her.

“Are you still in school?” Brother Partridge asked me.

“Oh, yes,” Sylvia answered for me. “Top of her class.”

“Can you cook?”

“Exceptionally. If I could have cooked like her at that age, then my husband would have been a lucky man.”

I didn’t understand her lies.

The three laughed, leaving me dumbfounded. The night centered around me, but why? And why were my church parents acting like I was the greatest in the world? They hated me.

The rest of the week went like that, with a new brethren for dinner each night, and I continued to be the star of the show. I’ll be honest. It kept me confused, for Sylvia treated me worse than any church mother ever had when the dinners were over. But, during the dinners, I was her shining star. What was going on?

As I did the chores, I held Coconut close and cried. The cat absorbed my sadness and returned it with joy. I loved her more than anyone I had ever loved before. I learned to do my chores super-fast, so I could have about twenty minutes with Coconut.

“Tara, now!” Sylvia screamed like she always did when my chore time ended. I kissed Coconut and came into the house.

“You did not do the laundry last night, and now no one has anything to wear,” she barked at me.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to do it,” I replied.

“Don’t you talk like that to me, you home-wrecker,” Sylvia said as she dragged me under the sink. I probably spent as much time under the sink as I did out of it.

“Amy!” I said. I hadn’t seen her all week. At least I could spend my solitary confinement with her.

“Oh, poor Tara,” she said as her big, brown eyes swelled with tears. “I am sorry to see you under here again.”

I shrugged. “I am used to it,” I said.

“Tomorrow is a big day for you,” she said.

“How so?”

“The prophet will be here.”

Usually, when the prophet arrived, he took me somewhere new to live.

“I can’t leave Coconut.”

“You don’t like it here, do you?” She asked.

“Well, no. I miss school. I want to go to school. Maybe they will let me go to school in the new place I go to.”

Amy looked indescribably said. “Oh, Tara, your days of school are over. You know that, don’t you?”

I knew it, but I didn’t want to believe it.

“Do you know where I am going?” I asked.

“No. But you don’t understand the significance of tomorrow?”

I tried to stretch, but I couldn’t move. My anxiety rose. Amy made a nice distraction to my discomfort.

“Tonight, the brethren will bid for your betrothal. Tomorrow, the prophet will come to announce your engagement.”

“My engagement!” I screamed.

Bang. Sylvia slammed the other side of the cupboard. “Be quiet, child,” she yelled.

“I am not ready to marry,” my heart raced. The dark cupboard squeezed in on me. “Who am I marrying?”

“Did you not realize the dinners were to your potential husbands?”

“No.” I shove my fist in my mouth to stop myself from screaming. “Those men were gross and old.”

“I am sorry.” Amy placed her hand on mine. I wished I could feel it.

I was trapped under the sink when Edward came home, and a huge fight started between him and Sylvia.

“Once she is my wife, you will no longer be able to lock her in the cupboard,” Edward said.

I looked at Amy. “Is it true?” I asked. “Will he be my husband?”

The thought disturbed me. I hadn’t watched many movies, but enough to know that your husband should be close to your age and somewhat desirable.

“Eddy, you don’t know if the prophet will choose you. I don’t know why you made a bid for her, anyway? She is an idiot.”

“She is much prettier than you could ever hope to be.”

“I have been a dedicated wife to you. Why will you do this to me?”

“This is what the prophet wants,” Edward said.

They continued to fight.

When Sylvia opened the cupboard in the morning, I didn’t want to leave. I found safety under the cupboard. No potential husbands could fit in there with me. No marital duties were waiting for me -just the safety of the cupboard. When I didn’t move, Sylvia yanked me out.

She gave me a freezing cold bath in the yard, naked for anyone to see. Then, she styled my hair. Rarely had someone run their fingers through my hair. I bawled at the foreign touch.

And then, he was there. The prophet. My dad.

A blanket of darkness surrounded him. I had no doubt he was not the prophet of the Lord. He had duped the whole church into blindly following him.

“Oh, Tara, you look radiant.” The way he said it creeped me out. He was my father, yet I saw lustful eyes. He better not be one of my suitors. I wouldn’t be the first daughter he had married. He turned to Sylvia and asked, “How has she been?”

“Oh, so delightful. You were right when you said she would bless our home.”

“I am so glad she has blessed your home. For that, you will feel God’s love to know that I have chosen her to be Edward’s second wife.”

Sylvia’s lips tightened, and the color drained out of her face. I am sure it drained out of my face as well. Later, the prophet and Edward did a very uncomfortable ceremony with me.

That night as Edward headed to bed. He said, “Just think, we will be married in a week, and then you can join me in this room.”

I puked right there. He hadn’t seen it, but Sylvia had. She shoved my face in it, much like you would a dog. After I cleaned it, she pushed me into the space under the sink.

“You will basically live here until your wedding,” she said, and she was right. She let me out to do my chores and help with the kids, but then I was crammed back under the sink. I didn’t mind it as much because I was sick with fright at what the next week would look like, and besides, Amy usually kept me company.

*

I couldn’t stop crying. I had never felt such dreadful doom. It was the night before my wedding. What would life be like as a married woman? I would have to help raise Sylvia’s kids, but I was already doing that in a sense.

“Things will get worse for you,” Amy said.

“You aren’t helping me.”

“I don’t want you to go into it with unrealistic expectations.”

I had seen plenty of homes and families at church to know how it went. “Sometimes, I like to play like I am clueless. It is easier that way.”

“I know,” Amy said, rubbing my hair like Sylvia had done last week.

“You won’t have to sleep under the sink anymore. But you will have to share Edward’s bed.”

“Stop it!” I cried, wishing my hands could cover my eyes. “I don’t want that part to happen.”

Amy looked sad. “I understand. I hated that part too.”

“You weren’t in polygamy.”

“No. I was part of the sex trade. But, Tara, polygamy is a different form of the sex trade. I had many men, and you will have Edward every day for the rest of your life, if you want it or not. They aren’t much different.”

I cried.

“You don’t have to do this.” She told me, tenderly, as a real mother might say to their child.

“I am stuck. I have no choice.”

“But you do. You can run. You can cross the border.”

“Cross the border? Like, go to Mexico?”

“No, cross the border out of your cult.”

“I don’t know how. What would I do? Where would I go? Who would take care of me?”

“We all asked ourselves these questions when we crossed our border.”

“What if I die?” I shuttered.

“I died.”

I stared at Amy. She had died. She had risked everything to cross the border.

“Was it worth it?”

What a dumb question. She had died.

“Yes. I’d do it again, just to die again.”

Amy opened the cupboard door.

“This is your chance to break free,” she said.

Amy had removed the barrier that locked me in, yet I couldn’t move, as if some unknown chain tethered me to the sink.

“I will be with you,” Amy said.

“I can’t,” I replied, shaking.

Amy died crossing the border. “What if I die?”

“Do you want to live like this for the rest of your life? It will never get better than it is today. It will only get worse.”

The one nice thing about moving from family to family is that I would eventually get a new family. This was it. Sylvia and Edward would be mine forever.

Amy gently grabbed my hand, and this time I felt her.

I FELT HER!

She helped me out of the cupboard. I stretched and looked around the empty kitchen in the dark.

“You can do this, Tara. I will be with you.”

I wanted to stall, but I had nothing to hold me back. I thought about collecting my clothes, but none of them fit me anyway. I took Amy’s hand and used her strength to walk out the door.

As we went into the dark yard, Coconut rubbed against my leg. I jumped so high at the fright she gave me.

“Oh, baby,” I whispered as I picked her up. My racing heart hurt. “You are coming with me.”

“Are you ready?” Amy asked.

I shook my head no. She grabbed my hand and said, “It is time to be brave. It is time to run.”

And we did.

We ran.

*

“Where should we go?” I asked Amy after I woke up. We ran the whole night and ended up sleeping in a barn. The light shone through the cracks, and it had to be noon. I felt comfortable having Amy still there and Coconut. Sometimes, Amy had disappeared in the past, and I never knew why. “I don’t know where to go. I am so scared. What if the church finds me?”

There were church members everywhere. Everyone would be on the alert by now.

“This is how I felt when I ran. Where would I go? What if the Americans find me?”

I had never realized how much Amy and I were alike. We were both trying to cross into new territory, new land, to escape Hell.

“I think you know where to go,” Amy said.

“I do?” I shook and rubbed Coconut to not think about it.

“Yes, didn’t you have a third-grade teacher who tried to help you once? She knew you were part of a cult, and she told you if you ever wanted out, to come to see her.”

“Mrs. Tanner!” I shouted. I had forgotten about her.

“We need to get to Oak Forest Elementary,” I said. I grabbed Coconut and squeezed her tightly. “Do you know where that is?”

“I do,” Amy said. “If we leave now, we can get there before school ends.”

A jolt of energy shot me to my feet.

I was leaving the colt.

I could have a life as I had seen in the movies.

I wouldn’t have to be a child bride.

“And you can go to school.” Amy was good at reading my mind.

We had walked for over an hour when a large van drove by, stopped up the road, and turned around. My heart exploded in my chest.

“I think that is Brother Carlson,” I said. “One of the prophet’s counselors.” He slowly drove up to me. I backed toward the ditch.

“Tara, I thought that was you. God directed me to you. What a blessing to have found you.” He jumped out of the van and opened the side door. “Come in. The prophet will be so relieved to have you returned to the fold. We are all fasting for you.”

I stepped toward Brother Carlson’s opened hand.

“Stop,” Amy cried.

Brother Carlson stepped toward me. “Oh, you poor lamb, you look frightened. Come in. You are in God’s hand’s now.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Amy cried.

Smoothly, Brother Carlson had my hand, guiding me into the van. He rubbed the hair out of my eyes.

“It will be good to have you home, Sister.”

Brother Carlson lifted Coconut from my hands and closed the door.

“Coconut!” I screamed.

Without any kindness, he tossed my cat into the gutter.

Amy sat in the front seat of the van.

“Tara, if you don’t leave now, you may never get this chance.”

As Brother Carlson walked around the van, Amy took the keys and chucked them into the street. Brother Carlson climbed in and tried to start the van.

“Where are the keys?” He looked around the cab, then spotted them on the road. “That is odd,” he said as he got out.

Amy opened my side of the van.

“Run!” With the force that Sylvia used, she grabbed my hand and yanked me out.

“Run!”

I took off into a run. As I passed Coconut, I bent down and grabbed her. I climbed through the barbed-wire fence and into an open field.

“Tara!” Brother Carlson yelled. “Come back.” He stood on the other side of the fence, and I slowed down. But suddenly, he was through the fence, charging at me like a bull.

I clutched Coconut tight and ran fast, lightning-fast.

We ran and ran. I don’t know when I lost Brother Carlson, but eventually, I was alone. Not even Amy was with me. At least I had Coconut.

When I felt exhausted and had nothing left to give, I saw the outline of Oak Forest Elementary. I could hear the sound of schoolchildren playing in the yard.

A swift river separated me from freedom.

A tight hand grasped my arm.

Brother Carlson! Where had he come from?

I wiggled to get free, but his grasp grew tighter.

“Let me go,” I screamed.

“Tara, please don’t fight me. This is for your own good. You need to return to the fold.”

He overpowered me and flung me across his shoulder.

Coconut reached out of my arms and scratched Brother Carlson in the face.

“Ahh!” He screamed as he dropped me.

Despite the pain of being dropped, I grabbed Coconut and jumped into the river. I didn’t know how to swim, and the strong current carried me away. Almost instantly, Coconut was ripped out of my hands by the fury of the water.

I couldn’t even cry for her because I struggled not to drown. I fought hard as the water pulled me under several times. I passed a bank where branches stuck out, grabbed them, and dragged myself to the water’s edge.

Far up the water, Brother Carlson called out for me. He was still on the other side. I couldn’t see Coconut anywhere.

Everything hurt on me as I ran to the school.

I bolted into the office, dripping wet. I probably looked like a bog monster.

“Mrs. Tanner,” I cried at the secretary’s desk.

“Oh dear, what is going on?” The secretary asked.

“I need Mrs. Tanner!”

“Are you in trouble?”

I dropped to the ground in front of the counter. “Mrs. Tanner, please.”

I met with Mrs. Tanner, the principal, and the school nurse. I shared my story, and they promised me I would never have to return to the cult. They brought the police in, and my life was a whirlwind of uncertainty and change.

Three months later, I was with my new foster family, who was nothing like the church families. This foster family treated me with kindness and love. While reading for school, I heard the news playing on my foster mom’s iPad.

“As you can see in this footage, at least twenty illegals are trying to cross the river.”

I dropped my toothbrush and watched in horror. That was the same river that Amy had lost her life in.

And then, for a second, I saw them. Her and Coconut. They were helping the refugees across the river! My foster mom had been watching me, and she came and drew me into a hug.

I bawled into her arms. The first real soul-cleansing bawl in a long time.

I was like Amy. I was like those refugees.

I had crossed a different border. For Amy, she left a world of fear, searching for a better life. Coconut and I had done the same thing.

Amy had died.

Coconut had died.

-Died crossing the border.

But I had lived.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Crossing the Boarder

by Stephanie Daich