Gaslight Trials | The Wattys2023 Shortlister ✔️

1 | A Spot of Lunch

We have no bread today to go with the meal, and my stomach growls in protest. The food is just never enough.

Turning to my friend, I catch her looking at me.

"What?" I shrug.

"Veda... Did you know..." Mar blushes. "That only here, at the highest spot in the junkyard when lit by the sun, your hair has a... fiery orange glow?" Her light caress puts me at ease.

"Dunno. Never cared much for it." I stuff the wavy disobedient thing even further under my newsboy cap. "Now yers is awfully pretty."

Mariposa's hair alternates the strands of blond and light blue, and it's so soft. Always clean, and nice smellin', and straight. Not like this uncombable bird nest on my head.

It is her stomach's turn to rumble.

Stupid Fumedge.

I clasp a broken pewter cup from the garbage pile.

"How about a fresh cuppa of the afternoon tea, Mildred? There are buttery scones with orange marmalade for desert, too."

Mar gasps and waves her hand towards her face as if it were a lady's fan.

"Why, how nice of you to offer, Amalia. I couldn't possibly, my darling. I am quite full, mind you."

It is easier to pretend we are all ladylike, not hungry, and happy.

"And how about you fucking get down here and get to work, 'Mildred'?" A rough, furious voice calls from the bottom of the trash mountain.

Shite. The Puncher.

Mariposa leaps to her feet, knocking both empty bean cans to the ground.

"Mar, ye know ye don't have to." I clasp her hand.

"I must." My best friend's doe-like, frightened gaze avoids mine as she dons her gas mask and starts down the garbage mountain.

And I follow.

As we descend, the Puncher's shiny bald head grows bigger and bigger, until Mar's two-meter-tall Menagerie boss looms above us.

How did he find out where we were?

"Well, well, well. About the time you showed up, Mariposa. My dear butterfly. Dare I say that... You fluttered away without my explicit permission." His voice carries a dangerously tender, treacly sweet note, as his augmented eye focuses on Mar.

"It... It was just for a spot of lunch, I swear, Mister Puncher." She trembles, appearing even tinier than usual.

"You can very well eat with other whores in the Menagerie!" He roars, exploding in ire.

A slap of his hand makes a lovely light blue cap with a pheasant plume fly off Mariposa's head and into the dust.

As I prowl towards him through the grimy junkyard, a sense of unease settles upon me. The air is thick with the scent of oil and decay, a stark contrast to the vibrant world of the Menagerie. My thoughts drift to Mariposa, her delicate wings and ethereal beauty hidden beneath the weight of her circumstances.

The Puncher's presence looms like a menacing shadow, his voice laced with a sinister charm.

"Well, well, if it isn't little Veda," he sneers, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and malice.

I feel a shiver run down my spine as I meet his gaze, my voice trembling as I respond, "What do you want, Puncher?"

He chuckles, his tone dripping with condescension. "Just checking up on my little butterfly," he taunts, his words a twisted reminder of Mariposa's plight.