I round a corner and the large lime washed building of the Recovery comes in to view. From the outside it looks like a church with it’s large archways and stained glass windows’ but if you look closely you see it’s not really a church at all. Instead of angels, the windows depict the Overlords uprising; sparkling in false glory. The large archways are only for bringing out the weapons that are manufactured here.
That’s what I do all day, everyday and I have ever since I was six and the Overlord over through the government. I- as all children do- manufacture weapons for the Overlord to use in his wars-not that there is much resistance left to fight.
The doors creak ever so slightly as I push to open with them, but instead of meeting an empty room as I expect, I meet the glaring eyes of Mrs Jana, the oldest carer in this place- in fact I think she’s the oldest carer ever.
Until I met Mrs Jana I never understood the expression ‘she shot daggers with her eyes’. Now I do.
“Where in the Overlords name have you been,” She asks in a raspy and harsh voice.
“I . . . I am so sorry, Ma’am. Thought I would get some extra rashes for the shelter, but it . . . it was an insolent thought” I stammer in a shaky voice, it’s better to seem obedient and apologetic rather than fierce in a place like this, they wont hit you as hard.
“That’s not good enough, Miss Robertson,” Mrs Jana says harshly “You know your not aloud out for that long, and you know the punishment,” She says the last bit while trying to hide a cruel smile that is beginning to form on face. Mrs Jana is known for her love of implementing the punishments.
I wince as she pulls up her hand as far as she can and brings it down on the side of my face with so much force I’m sure it will leave a bruise.
She looks pleased as a tear rolls down the side of my face. It didn’t really hurt that much; but she doesn’t need to know that.
The older lady points a finger in the direction of the rooms- which are more like cells, really - and I quickly hurry up the stairs to avoid another hit.
Once I reach my room I change in to my grubby nightgown and comb through my dirty golden hair with an old brush before twisting it in to a braid for the night.
I’m just settling in to bed when a tentative knock comes over form the door. I sigh, pulling back the covers and heading toward the source of the noise.
Opening the door just a crack I see May, Joy and Sara, the cutest triplets you will ever see, with their bright red ringlets clear but dirty faces and bright eyes. They have come to be like little sisters to me in the time that we’ve served here together.
I pull the door completely open and the three girls tumble in. They’ve come in search of a bedtime story- they do most nights now. I can tell by the pleading look in their eyes that they just want to escape.
Settling the girls on to the bed I turn to them and start the story; “Once upon a time their was a beautiful girl, who was forced to work all day long by her evil step mother and step sisters”. I can’t remember the name of the story, just that the girl has a fairy god mother who grants her wish to go to the ball, where she and the prince fall in love; it all sounded like complete nonsense to me but the girls looked entertained, and distracted- distracted is good.
I finish the story and realise the girls have fallen asleep on my bed. May is closest to the end so I pick her up first and carry her to her room, next is Joy, she is slightly more awake and she curls up against me as we walk.
As I arrive back at my room I see Sara is sitting wide-awake.
“Do you think that we’ll ever get a fairy god mother, like the girl in the story, Clara?” she asks innocently.
I want to tell her the truth, I really do but there’s something in those big blue eyes; a tiny glimmer of hope and I just cant take that away from her, so instead I answer; “Maybe, Sara. Maybe if we wish really hard we’ll get a fairy god mother, just like the girl in the story.”
Sara smiles sweetly, and stands up to walk back to her room.
She’s almost through the door when she turns back and says; “I think that if I had a fairy god mother I would wish for everybody to be happy again, and for everything to be right.” And before I can reply she’s gone.
As puzzled as I am by her comment, my body craves sleep and as I blow out the lantern that rests on my rickety bedside table, I instantly give in to the pull of unconsciousness. Unfortunately, my have no control over the pull of the nightmares.
Screams echo off the walls around me. Some are scared, some angry, some even sound insane in the terror that is breaking out, surrounding me.
They’re all calling to me, but I don’t go to them, I know I should stay put, like father said.
The sound of gunshot rings in my ears and I know I have no right to hide; I have to do something to help.
I hear something else to, something else that doesn’t belong. The padding of hundreds of running feet vibrated off every wall.
Nobody believed that they would come. That they would truly invade.
Now they had.
And nobody could do a thing about it, but I was certainly going to try.
Another blood-curdling scream vibrated in the air around me, it was terrified but I knew it, it was Mother.
The sound of my Mothers voice and the new rush of adrenalin that coursed through my veins made me I crawl out of my hiding position. I tried to run to her but a pair of strong hands instantly intercepted me.
I struggle but it’s no use, how can a six-year-old girl stand up against a fully-grown man.
Yet another scream ripples through the air.
I can see Father pulling against the men who restrain him. He brakes free for a moment, just managing enough time to punch the guard closest to him- hard, so hard in fact, I can hear the crake as Father breaks his nose. Father manages about two steps toward me before the guards’ recovers and he’s trapped again.
A fire glows in the background of the horrendous scene. I can feel it more than see it and for some reason it seams like a comfort, an outward sign of the fire with in me.
Smoke fills me mouth and when I start to choke a great force crashes against my face and I realise a moment later that I was just slapped by the man holding me, not like a child but as if I am the vilest thing he has ever seen.
I bite in to the first thing I can- his hand- and push as much force in to it as I can.
Father starts to yell at the men that surround us, but I seem to by the only one who notices the anger in the guards eyes spread through his body to his hand, where he reaches for his gun. I scream, but it’s too late. My father’s body crumples to the ground a pool of liquid scarlet spilling out around him.
Mother turns her face away, but I will not. I will not show these people they can hurt me. I will not cry.
I am strong and I will not lose myself to this fight.
So I stand there and watch my father die while I listen to the cackles of the men around me.
