Inescapable Escapism

Reality passed by me and I could feel myself climbing the stairs but I was barely aware of it. Not really. I was enthralled by the priest standing at the front of the church. I longed to know what was happening in that world but I just couldn’t work it out. I lifted my hand again, pretending that I had an itch, and pulled the thick covering away from my ear.

I waited expectantly for one of the men dressed all in black to poke me in the back again but no prod came. It didn’t matter though. The priest had finished talking. He had returned to his lectern or podium or whatever it was but now he was resting heavily on it, his head hung. His posture was slumped, his head bowed. I wasn’t sure if he was praying or leaning on it for strength. I couldn’t see his face, that would have helped me work out what was going on.

He was silent for a moment longer and I glanced around at the rest of the congregation. They were all watching him, not a single person looked away or seemed to notice my eyes on their face. I wasn’t sure why they were staring at him but it made me want to do the same. I turned back to face him just as he looked up again. His face was a mask of sorrow and mourning but then he met my gaze and my blood ran cold.

There was something in his eyes, a wild spark of enjoyment or excitement. I felt myself recoil away from his gaze, folding in on myself and staring at my hands as if my display of subservience, my submissiveness, would protect me from whatever horrible plan he clearly had. I knew that it wouldn’t though. My end was coming, my days were numbered. I was destined to die, I had been trained for it my whole life. I was ready.

Confusion washed over me and I slowly lifted my head again. That was not my thought. I wasn’t sure where it had come from but I knew for certain that it was not my thought. I’d been in other heads before, in other me’s, but never had another’s thoughts so clearly spoken into my head. They’d never passed as my own. That one had. It had felt so natural, so normal. That made me uneasy.

“Stand,” the man at the front of the church ordered with a wave of his hand for the benefit of the brides.

The girls around me all stood as one and my body reacted before I could stop myself. It was automatic, we’d been trained to do this. I knew the cue, I knew what was expected of me, but I didn’t know what would happen next. I knew parts. We were to go outside and we had a walk ahead of us, but from there, my memories were empty.

We had made the journey before, I could remember flashes of it. We had been forced to walk the path frequently. It used to be a rarity but recently, about a year ago, it had become a common thing. We did it once a week, every week after church. We had a private service, we weren’t allowed to fraternise or spend time with the others in the town. The only time I ever really saw them was during the walk through the village to the gates, as far as I could recall with my limited memory.

But now, we were together. We were seated apart but at least we were in the church and the same time. And now they would accompany us to the end, wherever and whatever that was.

The priest began to stride down the aisle, causing whispers to erupt in his wake. Not from myself and the other brides, we weren’t allowed to speak, but from the rest of the people. No, we stayed silent, unable to hear each other even if we did try. We didn’t turn or move in any way until the black-robed men reached the aisle and signalled for us to leave our row and follow the priest who hadn’t even slowed.

Mine was the first to go. We filed out of the pew and began walking along the hard stone floors but our steps were silent. The worn slabs were icy beneath my feet, sending a chill through me. I knew that I was meant to keep my eyes on the floor and not to look up at the people as we walked past them but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t stop myself from meeting their gaze.

I shouldn’t have. The way they looked at me made me uneasy. I wasn’t sure why or even what their expressions meant. They were too solemn, too serious. But, that time, they didn’t look away. I’m not sure why but each person I looked at met my gaze and held it. I was the one who looked away first.

My neck ached as I stared at the floor again and my mind span, trying to work out what was going on. I was meant to be a bride, wasn’t I? I was dressed in a wedding dress and so were the other girls, but then why was it such a sombre affair? Why were people looking at me like that?

And where were the grooms? Surely, they should have been somewhere? Or maybe that’s where we were going? I knew that we were about to make the journey through the village towards the gate but maybe that was what lay on the other side. Or maybe there were carriages there to take us to see the grooms?

That made sense. The grooms could have been from neighbouring villages or something and we were going to make the journey to go see them. I mean, that explained it.

It didn’t though and even as I thought it, I knew that it was wrong. It just didn’t feel right. I knew that something else was about to happen, I just wasn’t sure what.

We emerged from the church and continued following the priest in a single file. The compacted mud beneath my feet was warmer than the stone slabs of the church, thankfully, and I scanned my surroundings carefully, surprise rushing through me. I recognised the place. I had never been there before, obviously, but it was familiar to part of me at least. I had been there before, walked into the church countless times.

The buildings, even though they were slightly familiar, were like nothing I had ever seen before. They were houses, yes, but they looked strangely primitive.

Most of them were small, apart from the clergy house that was tucked away just behind the church and the building where I’d lived for the last eight years or so. They were both a little grander, bigger and with stained glass windows, just like the church. They both had proper tiled roofs rather than the strange thatched ones, which stretched out much further than the houses below them, which the rest of the houses that I could see had.

The other houses were clustered too. There had to be some system to it but, to me, it just looked random. They were strewn haphazardly with thin tracks of worn mud branching off the main path and leading up to the doorways.

And there was something painted on the doors. A white circle. It was crudely done and the paint had dripped, making it seem like the circle were crying. I looked around. Every single house around me had one. The circles didn’t look permanent though. Surely, if they were, they wouldn’t look so hurried. It would have been painted neatly, right?

Our home didn’t have a circle though, I realised. Neither did the clergy house. That had to mean something. Was it linked to whatever we were doing? To why we were dressed in wedding dresses?

I wasn’t sure but I pushed the thought out of my head, looking down again to give my sore neck a rest. It felt strange walking away from the building where I had lived with my other brides. No, that name felt wrong. Sisters. They were my sisters. Maybe not biologically but there was more to it than that. I had been there for so long, I could barely remember my life before but now I got flashes.

I had grown up in the village or town or whatever it was. I lived there with my parents and someone else. My brother. He was older than me but not by much. I could barely remember him and I didn’t think I was meant to. We were told not to, I think. There was a faint memory of someone telling me that my family didn’t matter, not anymore. I wasn’t a part of it, I was better. All that mattered was my duty.

I couldn’t remember what my duty was but I knew it was to do with why I was wearing a dress. Maybe I was being married off to a prince or a king or something. That would be cool. I’d become a princess or a queen. I think I’d like that. I’d be able to be in control, in command. I could tell people what to do and make sure that they’re well looked after. I could make people happy.

That thought took me by surprise and filled me with such longing, such hope, that it almost made my chest hurt. I think I would enjoy being a ruler. It would be a lot of pressure but I could do it. I think. Maybe it would be too much pressure and I would crumble. Or maybe I’d do the opposite. Maybe I’d go wildly in the other direction and become so overbearing, so controlling, that people hate me and then what? At what point does one stop being a ruler and start being a dictator and would I feel it coming? Or would I slip so quickly, so seamlessly, into it that I didn’t notice the change?

Maybe someday, I would find out but I knew that it wouldn’t be happening then. Not in that world. There was too much finality to how I was feeling. The end was coming and I was ready.

No, I wasn’t. I was furious and ready to fight, conflicted. It was my duty to die, I knew that. I could hear voices telling me that, memories, priests throughout my life have told me that it was my duty but why? That is what I couldn’t work out. Why and how?

I didn’t have much time to figure it out though. We were approaching the giant wooden fence that marked the edge of our town. The term ‘fence’ didn’t seem to do it justice. It was a giant thing, towering over the nearby houses, and reinforced with metal. Huge jagged spikes had been placed on top, pointing slightly outwards, some covered in downy feathers.

That was where my walk had ended every week. We never left the gates, there was no point. We didn’t know what awaited us out there but, somehow I knew, by the end of the day I would have my answer.

The priest did not slow as he approached the small wooden stage that stood to one side of the gate and I found my gaze drawn to the space. It had a built-in podium in one corner at the front but the rest of it was empty, blank. That’s where we were being led. They instructed us with hand motions to climb onto the stage and stand in a line, shoulder to shoulder with my sisters. I could barely hear anything as we waited on the worn stage for the crowd to appear.

There were more people now than had been in the church. It seemed like everyone had come out to witness whatever was about to happen. A steady stream were still making their way down the path but the priest seemed bored. Maybe he was just looking forwards to what was about to happen too much.

He was, I knew that he was. He had been counting down the days to this moment ever since I’d first met him and I knew it. The moment he walked into my classroom, I knew I was going to be chosen. Bargaining hadn’t worked, the threats hadn’t worked, nothing had. I was too young, too strong-willed. I was not willing to leave school at the age of eight, I was not willing to marry the blacksmith’s son who was nine years older than me and cruel. I ran but there was only so far I could go in this small enclosed town. I fought, I screamed. I hid in the barns, ignored the beatings, and continued to go to school.

Now I could remember it. I could remember the priest turning up at my school, the better school in the town, the one for the richer people’s kids. He brought me out of class, took me to the nearest chapel and told me that he had wonderful news. After all, it is an honour to be chosen. The One Who Sees All does not choose just any girl for this duty, he chooses the ones who are worthy.

It was random, that’s what they always said. My parents always told me that but there were some not-so-subtle warnings. They were threats, they always were I just didn’t realise that at the time. For years, all of my life really, whenever I did something that they didn’t like or that they thought wasn’t appropriate for a girl of my position, they’d say if I’m not careful or if I make a fuss, the One Who Sees All will see me and it will not be good.

I thought that’s what had happened but now I know it wasn’t. We were told that the girls were chosen because of a vision from the One Who Sees All. The priest or the bishops receive a message from the One Who Sees All, a joyous announcement that another girl had been chosen to fulfil our purpose and protect the villagers.

I believed that before. I was stupid enough to believe that it could be that simple, that holy. I truly believed that, if it were my purpose, I would be chosen but if not, I had a choice for what I wanted to do with my life. But I was wrong. I have never had a choice, my life has never been my own. Before, it was controlled by my parents. I was forced to do what they said and they would choose who I was to marry and then it was chosen by the priest and his underlings. I have never had free will. I have never had freedom.

I think it would have been easier if I never got to know any of the other girls. Maybe then I could have believed in the One Who Sees All. I could have gone to my grave, doing as I have been taught for the last eight years, but now that was impossible. I could not simply believe that the girls around me, the trouble makers, the angry ones, the disappointments, just happened to be chosen by some higher power whose brilliance we will never understand. No, we were chosen because it was too dangerous to allow us to live. We were chosen because we would fight.

Finally, enough of a crowd had gathered. The priest stood straight and shoved the slightly smug smile from his face, replacing it with an appropriately grave expression. It didn’t really matter though. People were finally looking at us. I hadn’t noticed before, I was too wrapped up in the memories that weren’t mine but I finally had access to. The crowd were looking at me and the other fifteen or so sisters who stood on the stage. They were finally allowed to.

Their expressions were just as telling as the priest’s. Some members of the crowd stared at us in awe or even jealousy. I think they expected us to be honoured to be chosen. They were the majority who didn’t know how this worked, they didn’t know how we had been selected. The ones who did had more interesting expressions. Some looked guilty, some sad whilst others looked vengeful.

My mother’s expression was vindictive. I had found her in the crowd. She didn’t look anything like my mom in the other world, her hair wasn’t blonde and her face was completely different, but I still knew it was her. My father was somewhere behind her, my brother and his pregnant wife were with them too, but I didn’t look away from my mom.

She wanted me to. She wanted me to look down, to be submissive and to show that my years living in preparation for what was to come had broken me but it didn’t. Instead, it drove all anger inwards. It strengthened me, made me harder. I was not ready to break, I was not ready to die. I would, that was inevitable, but at least I would finally be free.

That’s all that mattered.

“Thank you for gathering here today,” the priest began in that same grating voice that he had used inside, his words making it seem like any of us had a choice. “Today, on the equinox, we give thanks to the One Who Sees All for protecting us for another year. It has not been an easy year. Our crops have been taken from us, our animals snatched during the night. My fellow brother and I have spent many nights in communion with He Who Sees All.”

He paused and the crowd was silent but I had to fight the urge not to roll my eyes at how ridiculous and over the top he was being. It was stupid. Beside me, a girl let out a loud giggle. She didn’t even try to hide it and I felt admiration flow through me.None of the other brides would be able to hear it unless they had adjusted their veils and head covers but I could. It was risky, I knew it was, but they wouldn’t do anything to her, not when we were so close. Not in front of everyone. They wouldn’t dare.

Even so, I slipped my hand into hers, our fingers interlocking. I wanted to whisper to her to be careful, to be safe, but I couldn’t. Everyone would see. They wouldn’t be able to see our hands though. I knew that they would be hidden by the shorter, younger girl who stood in front of us.

We were amongst the eldest there. I wasn’t sure how old I was in this world but I knew that I was older. Some of the girls were about our age but most were younger. The one in front of me barely came up to my chest. They liked to wait until we were a little older, if possible, but it wasn’t that year.

They said that it was easier when we were older, we were better suited for what was to come. We were faster. We couldn’t be too old though, that was risky. I had fragments of memories of the priest and bishops telling me that, it had happened time and time again. If we were older, we may no longer be pure. The One Who Sees All wouldn’t like that. Only those who were pure, untouched by others, may undergo this great honour. I heard the sarcasm that thought carried even inside my head.

We had been warned often about what would happen if we succumbed and allowed ourselves to give in to our bodily urges. We would no longer be allowed to wear white, we would no longer be allowed this great undertaking. The One Who Sees All would see what we had done and that we were no longer worthy and they would cast us out.

A smirk grew on my lips so wide that I felt myself smile in reality. Clearly, based on the flashes of memories that flooded me, the One Who Sees All didn’t actually see everything. I could remember them, the moments, brief escapes. I didn’t want to go to my death pure and untouched. I wanted to experience everything. Plus, nights got very lonely in our dorms and we got curious.

Of course, once we learnt how to sneak out and that not everyone in the village was scared of looking at us or even speaking to us, we got a little bit less bored but a whole lot more curious. My smirk turned into a full grin and I had to look down as I recalled the nights that we had spent together. I could almost feel his lips on mine, his hands gripping my hips and my hands laced through this hair as his body moved against mine. I was impure, according to the church, but I stood there, in white and unseen by the One Who apparently Sees All.

He wasn’t even the only one. There were ones before him but they didn’t matter to me, not like he did. Every experience paled in comparison to the ones with him. No one saw me quite like he did.

He wasn’t there though. My eyes scanned the crowd but I didn’t see him. I was glad. I didn’t want him to see what was to come. This was, he could move on, choose a wife. We both knew that was how this would end. There could be no future with me, I don’t have a future.

I could feel that those thoughts were not my own but they were so strong, so full of power and anger, that I didn’t care. I let them wash over me, come from me, and simply listened.

Finally, the priest stopped talking. Maybe I should have been listening to him, then I might have known what was coming. I didn’t though. I was too distracted by my thoughts, too distracted trying to remember my life. If I had, if I had listened to him, would anything have changed? I don’t think so.

The man turned towards us and lifted his hands, gesturing for us to remove our veils and the thick material that covered our ears. I moved in tandem with my sisters, lifting the veil from my head and letting the heavy fabric hang by my side, my fist clutching it tightly. The gentle breeze blew my now loose hair back and caressed my face. It was a nice evening, warm. The sun was low in the sky which lit the clouds in dazzling colours. Gold, purple and red were streaked across it but I could see something beyond them.

The stars were starting to shine through. It was a beautiful evening and it filled me with peace. Maybe I would just let it happen. Maybe I could just lie down and stare at the stars until they finish feasting on my flesh.