Caged

Part 8- Slip it in the Tea

A week rolled by at an agonizing pace. Arabelle spent what felt like hours staring at the calendar laying on her desk. The first thing she would do when she awoke each morning would be to stagger over and fall into her chair, then stare at the growing number and worry. Then, she'd gradually take a pen in her hand and cross off the previous day.

Finally, the day came that everything would end.

Arabelle could not bring herself to sleep. It seemed that, although the day was over, she could still feel the rushing of the people outside. She recalled the sight she had witnessed on the day of her Judgement. All those people moving around seamlessly, never once running into each other or getting in each others way.

In a way, it could've been described as a work of art. But, as she fleshed the thought out in her head, she imagined the paints used to create such a beautiful image were based in blood and tears, carefully colored so that not a soul could tell what they really were.

Micheal had stayed up most nights since Joseph and Wendy left. Arabelle could tell he tried to stay awake for her sake on the most terrifying of days, but not long after one am passed, he was fast asleep.

She remained in his room for a while after that, wondering if she really was right to go before the people and convince them that change was what they needed. Things had been the same for so long that she feared people had gotten comfortable in their routines and reject the idea of abandoning what was safe and familiar.

Pushing herself up from the sofa in Micheal's bedroom, Arabelle tip toed into her room, laying down on her bed and shutting her eyes tightly.

I must go to sleep, she told herself, attempting to clear her mind of all her negative thoughts.

It was just past three thirty when she too gave in and rested. Her chest gently rose up and down as her breathing slowed and she moved into the dream world.

"Please don't do this!" in her dream, she heard the voice of her Judgement partner, the girl in the mint dress, screaming and pleading.

For what felt like forever, the girl begged for her life while Arabelle stood there in the president's office, glaring at the back of his swerving chair.

Suddenly, the girl's horrific screams were intensified, joined by at least two hundred others. "Hear that?" the president asked, turning in his chair so that he faced Arabelle. She covered her ears, but that seemed to only make the screeches worse.

"It's your fault," the president blamed her, standing and going over to the window, motioning for her to join him. "Come... look at what you have caused."

Without warning her feet carried her to his side. Below them, buildings were engulfed in fire. The few homes that were still standing were being looted, the owners forced to their knees and killed.

Arabelle tucked her chin inwards, unable to take in the terrible sight any longer. "You tipped the balance," he told her, his voice losing some of its smugness and taking on a sad, distant tone. "When I governed over them, there was order and structure. But now...look at this. This mess which you have caused but refuse to clean up. You and that wretched boy."

The dream forced her to look, pushing her chin up and opening her eyes. In the middle of the street, seemingly guarded from everything else, stood a lonely child. His dishwater blonde hair lifted into his face, egged on by the breeze blowing through the street. Tears formed a film over his crystal blue eyes, and Arabelle realized that it was Micheal as a child- alone and afraid of the world.

Before she was able to get any farther in her dream, there was a knock at her bedroom door, jogging her out of her sleep.

Tap tap tap.