Isla Berry
Just a budding author trying to make it in this cut-throat industry. My motto: Write drunk, edit sober.
Isla Berry
Just a budding author trying to make it in this cut-throat industry. My motto: Write drunk, edit sober.
Just a budding author trying to make it in this cut-throat industry. My motto: Write drunk, edit sober.
Just a budding author trying to make it in this cut-throat industry. My motto: Write drunk, edit sober.
I stare up at the screen and await my fate. I’m surrounded by hundreds of young people, we all sit shoulder to shoulder wondering if today is the day we’re Matched, or if we go back to our room alone once more.
If I wasn’t so sick of seeing the same four concrete walls, I’d mock the ladies desperately hoping to be chosen. Today I’m almost ready to see my name pop up on the screen next to some random guy just to get it over with. I’m tired of waiting to see who I’ll be forced to spend the rest of my life with.
They say the ‘test’ is backed by research, designed to create your perfect match. “It brings science to soulmates!” they say. Their slogan is everywhere, slowly brainwashing the masses until all we can think about is the day we finally Match.
But I know better. The matches are meant to preserve bloodlines. To avoid mixing so-called tainted genetics with those more pure. The marketing is simply there to keep us compliant with their bottom line.
Problem is, their bottom line never contains same sex matches. People like me are completely thrown out of the equation, doomed to be Matched to someone we could never hope to love in the way they want us to.
The mega screen above our crowded room blasts on, and two empty face cards appear on the screen. Like me, everyone is imagining their face on the screen. But unlike me, they’re actually excited. There isn’t a worse fate in my opinion.
The crowd cheers as the faces on the cards rapidly cycle through hundreds of hopefuls. It stops on two near perfect looking people, and more cheers erupt from the crowd.
“Clara Dunn and Charles Lorsen, you have been Matched. Please make your way to the center stage.” The smartly dressed woman standing under the mega screen says over the loud speaker.
“That’s me!!” The blonde girl sitting next to me jumps up.
The girls around us try to look excited for her, but it’s clear from their too-excited squeals that they’re all just jealous.
A little wave of congratulations come from all around us, but I just sit silently, grateful it’s not me. The blonde must mistake my relief for sadness, because she stops in front of me and grabs my hand.
“Don’t worry hun, I’m sure your Match will appear soon.” She pats my head like a dog.
I look her dead in the eyes and smile, “I truly hope not.”
She gives me a disgusted look, her little nose scrunched up in confusion. She quickly turns away from me and makes her way down to the stage. The young man, a tall blonde who does look like he was hand picked for her meets her on stage. They give each other a tender hug, and he whisks her off her feet and carries her off into the curtains beyond the stage.
“Let’s give another round of applause for our first Match!” The woman on the stage yells.
As expected, the crowd goes wild. I don’t join them. I just sit hunched back in my seat. Fourteen other lucky couples are Matched, and we finally get to the last one of the week.
“And now for our last Match of the week, who will it be?” The woman on the stage says excitedly, like we are in a game show. Which, I suppose we kind of are.
The faces on the screen rotate through once more, the crowd dead silent in anticipation. And then they stop on a face I recognize all too well. My own.
I sit there in a daze as the crowd cheers. All I can do is stare dumbfounded at my own headshot.
“There is our last couple for this week, congratulations Taylor and Micah!” The woman says.
I still don’t move, frozen in panic.
“That’s you!” The dark haired girl next to me nudges my shoulder. She gives me a reassuring smile and grabs my arm as she lifts me to my feet.
My dread weighs me down as I slowly make my way through the crowd to the stage. My Match, Micah, is already there looking equally sick to his stomach.
I walk up next to him. He’s shorter than I am, which I suppose isn’t hard to do considering I’m just shy of six feet tall. But he’s a whole head shorter. He has to tilt his entire head back just to look me in the eyes.
“Hi,” he says and reaches his hand out.
I take it and give it a good shake. “Hi.”
It’s a perfectly awkward introduction. The Match Makers did well.
“Let’s hear it one more time for Taylor and Micah!” The woman comes up between us and grabs our hands. She raises them in the air like we just won the Olympics.
The crowd all stands and cheers as we are shuffled off the stage and into the back room where the other fifteen couples wait.
I feel like I just stepped out of a dream. Equally the most incredible dream I’ve ever had, but also a nightmare I’ll be reliving forever.
The prince was nothing short of perfect. The way his eyes gleamed playfully, his shy smile, his gentle touch. And that body. I know young girls — as my step mother calls us — aren’t supposed to think like that. But how could I not when I could feel his undeniable strength with his every move?
I’m not a swooner. The first time he held me on his arms was the first time over ever swooned.
The evening Itself was a fairytale. I still have no idea how that Fairy Godmother got me on the guest list, but I had no problem waltzing right into the list heavily guarded building in the realm.
From the moment I walked into the grand hall I was paralyzed by its magnificence. The ceiling was nearly one hundred feet tall, with the most intricate mural of our kingdom painted across it. A diamond chandelier sparkled above the steady stream of guests, casting a cascade of light across the floor.
The tall windows gave way to the most gorgeous view of the palace grounds, a garden that exploded with flowers and spanned for what looked like leagues. Each window was lined with thick velvet drapes the color of dusk.
There was gold everywhere, and I mean everywhere. It framed the prices pieces of art, decorated the tables, and even glittered in the tile below our feet.
It was all so much to take in, especially for someone used to sleeping in an attic that might as well be a broom closet.
As I was busy taking everything in, I saw the prince. A tall, dark, and undeniably handsome man with the greenist eyes I had ever seen. From all the stories I had heard from people passing through our inn, he was a true gentleman. One of the few left, according to the ladies who worked within the castle walls.
The prince could have chosen anyone to dance with that night, but he chose me. I was too busy to see him catch sight of me, but from the whispers I’ve heard from my patrons, he dropped an important conversation with some prince from the Middle East to rush to my side.
I didn’t believe in it until then, but it was love at first sight. He looked deep into my eyes and I could tell he felt the same way.
“What’s your name?” Prince Charming had asked.
“Ella, your highness.” I had replied in a daze.
“Please, Ella, may I have this dance?”
And that was all it took. We danced the night away, laughing together, telling stories, and simply enjoying each other’s company. To say I was whisked off my feet was an understatement.
But just like that, it had to end. The clock struck midnight, and I could feel the magic draining from my every pore. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to Charming, I just sprinted out of there like a chicken running from a fox. The Ella he knew was a glamourous Lady, not some dirty kitchen wench. I wanted him to remeber the regal me, not her.
My nightmares have been fueled by what happened next.
I sprinted down the palace steps and tripped down the steps, shattering one of my glass slippers in the process. The glass shards penetrated my foot, immediately painting the ornate stairs in my blood.
I didn’t think I would be able to walk from there, but my adrenaline must have kicked in because I hopped and slid down the rest of the stairs to my carriage.
Jacque helped load me into the carriage door, and slammed it unceremoniously behind me. I was relieved to be back in the safety of the carriage as the magic poured out of me. It was exhausting, like I had spent the entire day scrubbing the in from top to bottom hundreds of times.
As I road through the bumpy wooded path back to MaLady’s Inn, the ornate carriage began to change. Its porcelain white walls turned orange, seeds and slime covering every inch. My body sunk into what was once a bench, and the entire thing was shrinking rapidly.
It was going to trap me inside if I didn’t get out. Ignoring the pain only foot, I yanked open the door and leaped out of the moving carriage. I landed on the side of my body and heard the unmistakable crack of broken ribs. I couldn’t breathe, my entire body body in shock from the harsh fall.
I escaped not a moment too soon. The pumpkin had returned to normal size, and smashed against a nearby tree. Its guts were splattered everywhere, and I couldn’t help but wonder if mine would have been mixed in with them if I had stayed put.
Jacque and the other mice miraculously escaped any harm, and all of them surrounded me with as worried an expression as a mouse could give.
Thankfully, the inn wasn’t much further ahead, but it still took me a good hour to make it back to my pathetic attic. I collapsed into my rickety bed just as I heard my stepmother and step sisters return from the gala.
Their voices echoed from below, but it was clear they were talking about me. The mystery woman who, as they claim, stole their chances at winning the prince’s heart.
The second line slowly starts fades into view.
No. No, no, no, no, no. No. This can't be happening.
"Does that mean it's positive?" Ben asks, tears in his eyes.
Happy tears, I might add. He's always wanted to be someone's dad. I, on the other hand, could not be more terrified. I wasn't supposed to be able to get pregnant. More than one doctor told me so. Promised me I wouldn't be able to.
The line on the pregnancy test gets darker and darker. "That's certainly positive." I say, trying not to sound all doomsday. Who knew that two little blue lines could change your life forever.
"But that wasn't supposed to be possible." Ben is on his knees now, staring directly at my belly like it's some sort of priceless artifact.
Which I suppose it is, considering I have just one fallopian tube and an army of cysts that supposedly made my uterus 'uninhabitable,' as my doctor told me. This must be one hell of an embryo to have found a way to survive my allegedly barren womb.
"Should I take another one?" I look over at the stack of positive tests piling up on the counter. Pink dye, blue dye, digital, test strips. They all say the same thing: Overwhelmingly positive.
"I think we have our answer," Ben is actively crying now, tears fall down his face in a steady stream. He looks up at me and smiles with such a gleeful smile. "We're going to have a baby."
Jacob slides the bag across the table, the hooded figure opposite him peers inside. “Where the hell did you find this?”
Jacob grins sheepishly. “Around.”
The hooded man pulls out a bottle of bourbon whiskey. He pops the cork off and breathes in the sweet smell of honey and oak. “What did you trade.” Ihis voice laced with command.
“Does it matter?” Jacob says defensively. “It’s your birthday, I thought we could celebrate for once.”
The man folds his hood down with a sigh. His ice blue eyes extenuated by the deep wrinkles that carve his face. He frowns, an expression exaggerated by the same deep lines.
“You only turn eighty once. Just enjoy it, would ya?” Jacob grabs the bottle from the old man’s hands and pulls two plastic cups out from the same bag. He pours several shots into each. The amber liquid shines like gold, and both men know it’s worth its weight.
“It’s been ten years since I’ve seen a drop of this stuff.” He brings it to his lips and takes a gulp.
Jacob does the same, letting the whiskey warm his body. He’d think about the payment later. For now, he was determined to live in the moment. He looked over at his great uncle Matthias, who was clearly savoring each sip.
Matthias’s coughed, raspy and rattling. He put his cup down and brings handkerchief to his mouth to stifle the sound. When he’s finished with the fit, blood came away, painting the already rust-stained rag.
It was getting worse. Who knows how much time he had left with the last person left of his family. Jacob needed to take his own advice and just enjoy it.
The thick black velvet caresses my body as it falls to the floor, covering every inch of my body yet exposing everything.
“You look beautiful.” My sister, Claire, says from behind me.
“I don’t think beautiful is the goal here. This is a funeral, after all.” I look back at the full length mirror. The black clashes with my light skin and makes my lifeless blonde hair look even more colorless than normal.
“It’s what Mom would’ve wanted. You know that.” Claire opens the jewelry box on the dresser and pulls out a string of our mother’s favorite pearls. The paint that once made them almost pass as real is chipping, but they are lovely nonetheless. She places them around my neck. Despite the cold of the little beads, they’re a surprising comfort against my skin.
“I can’t believe it’s just us now.” I play with the small beads between my fingers in attempt to stop the welling tears from cascading over my haphazardly applied makeup.
You’d think that the years she fought cancer would prepare us for this day, but there was nothing that could have prevented the devastation I’ve felt over the past few days. Stopped the tears from flowing freely. Or unknotted the anguish that gathered in the pit of my stomach.
Claire hugs me from behind, her tight, dark curls rubbing against my face. The smell of her coconut shampoo fills my nose, something familiar in this new life I have to figure out how to live. Her embraces are all that’s getting me through.
“I promise I’ll never leave you if I can help it.” She says as she pulls away. “We’re in this together. Forever.”
I nod. “We’ll always have each other. No matter what.”
Another day, another hunt.
Most families in our post-apocalyptic bliss spend their evenings snuggled together in the comfort of their own bunker. Telling stories of what once was, cracking jokes in attempt to lighten the devastating mood, or maybe even being so lucky as to read a book that they came across during evacuation.
But not my little band of psychopaths. We take the Zs head on.
“Last one to a dozen cooks dinner!” Yells Jess, my brother’s wife. She brandishes her sparkling machete, testing the edge for lethal sharpness. Despite being seven months pregnant, this woman is deadly.
“Deal.” My dad sniggers. A cleaver is his weapon of choice. Even at 72 the man is as lithe as a lion. It was probably all the multi-vitamins and fish oil. Or so he claims.
My mom, Carol, comes up behind him and kisses my dad on the cheek. “Well that’s not fair. Some of us go for quality over quantity.”
My mom would be right. Unlike the rest of us, the Zs she shoots down always stay down. There’s nothing more unsettling that one of those Walkers getting back up again once you thought you took its head off. I had one that was literally hanging on by a single tendon. Swinging from side to side like a pendulum. The heads gotta be clean off, otherwise the job ain’t done.
My younger sister, Clara, comes up behind me, shotgun at the ready. “Sun’s getting low.”
We all nod. Showtime.
When we were young, no more than seven and nine, my older sister and I made a pact. We’d promised each other we’d never leave the other one alone in this world. As I look down at my sister resting peacefully in her coffin, I can’t help but feel betrayed.
I couldn’t even tell you all that’s happened in the past five days. All I can tell you is that I’ve been numb. I’m devoid of all feeling, my heart ripped out and ripped into teeny tiny pieces.
“Bella?” My cousin Edgar comes up behind me and squeezes my shoulder softly before pulling me into a full embrace.
I hug him tightly, taking in the smell of fresh marijuanna and old tobacco mixed with Dial men’s body wash.
“She was an absolutely amazing person, the most loving and caring me I knew. Nothing can take that away from her.” He says into my ear.
“If this wasn’t her choice, I’d be more inclined to believe that.” I whisper back. Edgar is the only one I would ever admit that too.
For everyone else, I’ve got to put on a brave face and protect my sisters legacy. There’s already so much talk. So many pitiful glances shot my way.
Edgar steps back with a miserable look on his face, like he’s battling an inner demon and IBS at the same time. “Don’t think like that. It will only make this harder.”
“I don’t see how my sisters suicide, where I found her, mind you, could be any harder than it already is.” I say acerbically and stomp away.
You try heading over to your sisters apartment like you do every Wednesday night only to find the door ajar and blood soaking the carpet beneath her wrists. You try being the one to sprint over to her side, only to find that’s she’s already gone.
You try being the one to call 911 and get questioned about something you don’t understand by dozens of men in blue. You try to process the bored expressions of those men as they close the case immediately because, obviously, this was a suicide.
I stand next to the only window in this depressing funeral home. It’s a view of the parking lot and the liquor store right across the street. Expect the L isn’t lit up like the rest of the letters, so it looks like ‘iqour Store.
The drapes look like they’re from 1970. The once happy yellow looks more like the pus that comes out of an infected wound. It matches the carpet, and equally unappealing aged beige.
“Are you Bella?” A soft female voice calls from behind me.
I turn around slowly and take her in. Shes short, just over 5-foot, with brown eyes the color of dead leaves. She wears an easy smile on her face, if not a slightly nervous one.
“I am. And you are?
“Delilah. I was friends with your sister. I’m so sorry for your loss, she was such a kind soul.” She smiles again, but it doesn’t meet her sad eyes.
“I knew all my sister’s friends. How come I don’t know you?” Claire and I had all the same friends. We were inseparable, almost to an unhealthy extreme.
“Claire and I had only just met a few months ago,” she starts, “We were seeing each other.”
“Oh.” Claire never told me she was into women. But then again, I didn’t know she was into anybody.
“You found her, didn’t you?” Delilah asks.
I nod, doing my best not to remember the gruesome scene.
“How did she… look?” She asks.
“What, you mean besides dead?” Who would ask something like that?
“I’m so sorry,” Delilah says again, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s all my fault.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“She’s dead because of me.” Delilah looks like she’s about to break down in the middle of the funeral hall.
I pull her aside and we walk into the woman’s bathroom. “It wasn’t your fault. It was my sister’s decision.”
Tears flow freely down her face. “No, no it wasn’t.” She buries her face in her hands. “He did this to her, I just know he did. I told Claire not to get involved, but she just couldn’t help herself.” Delilah bursts into full on sobs now.
“Who? Who did what?” I’m so beyond confused right now. Is she saying my sister didn’t kill herself?
“Brody, it had to have been Brody.” Delilah brings her face up to meet my eyes. “I owe him a lot of money. I used to sell for him, but some kid stole my entire month’s worth of inventory. It was over $100,000 worth of drugs. I obviously couldn’t go to the police, but when I told Claire, she said she was going to. The next thing I hear, Claire’s dead!” She keeps sobbing.
I try to take all this in. My sister may have not chosen to abandon me after all…….
TO BE CONTINUED
It’s hard to be inconspicuous when you’re hanging upside down. Scouts are supposed to be sneaky, cunning, and quick. Clearly, I’m none of those.
This is the unfortunate predicament I now find myself in. Not just trapped in enemy territory, but hanging upside down thanks to one of the simplest booby traps of all time. I don’t know how the hell I missed it.
If I could only reach my foot to yank it free. The rope that snared it is tied in a single knot. If I pull the right strand free I’ll drop to the ground.
The blood rushes to me head in a steady stream of whooshes. It thumps in my ear like a drum, maintaining a thundering beat that threatens to make my head explode.
If I don’t get out of here soon I’ll either die from some sort of heart attack or be killed by enemy scouts. I’m not sure which would be the worse way to go. At least the heart attack would be quick.
I use the last of my strength to rock my body up toward my tethered foot. For about the twentieth time I grab hold of my ankle and pull my body up to my foot. The base of the knot is only twelve inches anice me. I just need to climb my own body to reach up there. Then, I’m home free.
I take a big breath and pull myself up one inch at a time. Deep breath in, pulll. Exhale out.Deep breath in, pull. I’m halfway there when the hear men yelling in the not-so-faraway distance.
Shit.
I scramble up four more inches, the knot is nearly within grasp.
“Almost… got it..” I breathe out. I grab the knot and pull it loose with shaky hands.
I hit the ground with a thud, pain erupting from my entire right side. My vision goes white and all I’m left with is the fire dancing across my body. The ringing in my ears drowns out every other sound, so I have no idea how close the enemy is.
I groan and remain motionless, trying with all my might not to pass out. My heart thuds in my ears, and the white of my vision pulses with each beat.
After a few minutes of utter misery, my vision starts to return in splotchy patches. The ringing slowly fades, and the sounds of the forest take its place.
I attempt to roll over and wince. Even with my two most important senses back, there’s no way I’m getting up any time soon.
“Now, what do we have here?” Says an accented voice I recognize all too well. “You’re a bit far from home, aren’t you, Lassy?”
It’s Homer’s squadron. I’m as good as dead.
This night is the darkest yet, which I suppose is saying something considering it's been only three nights. But boy has it felt longer than that.
This garden isn't like anything I've every seen before. Its expansive plots span miles, making it all too easy to get lost. And I have gotten lost. Just like the other poor souls who enter this secret garden.
Even though the moon is hidden on this night, the lack of light doesn't matter. It doesn't need to, the flowers glow on their own like millions of stars spread upon the earth. Bright pinks, purples, oranges, and yellows illuminate the twisting paths as I stumble through the overgrown foliage. Each bloom seems to hum with a soft, ethereal light, casting eerie shadows that dance along the edges of my vision. The air is thick with the scent of night-blooming flowers, sweet and heady, wrapping around me like a blanket.
I push my way through a thicket of thorns, their sharp points snagging at my clothes and skin. The garden seems to shift around me, the very earth under my feet moving as if alive. I hear whispers on the wind, soft and sibilant, urging me to turn back.
But I can't turn back. Not when I'm so close.
As I emerge from the thicket, I find myself in a clearing unlike any other. In the center stands a tree, its branches twisted and gnarled, leaves shimmering with a silvery light. At its base lies a pool of inky blackness, reflecting the dark sky above.
I approach the tree cautiously, my heart pounding in my chest. The whispers grow louder, more urgent, as if pleading with me to leave this place of magic and mystery. But I am drawn to the pool, its surface like a mirror reflecting back the twisted branches above.
As I kneel by the edge of the pool, I see movement in the depths below. Shadows shift and swirl, forming strange and ethereal shapes that seem to beckon me closer. Without thinking, I dip my hand into the water, expecting it to be cold and forbidding.
To my surprise, the water is warm, almost inviting. It clings to my skin like a caress, sending shivers down my spine. And then, as if in a dream, I see a face staring back at me from the depths.
It is a face unlike any other, with eyes that seem to hold the secrets of the universe within their depths. The figure in the water raises a hand towards me, and pulls me in.
If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to get these girls out of here.
And it very well might be the last thing I do.
I’ve seen girl ls try to escape before. They never made it past the first fence. Could have something to do with the armed guards, or the pack of highly trained guard dogs.
“You’re all going to have to follow my lead, and do what I say.” I look around at the three terrified young girls sitting on the floor in front of me. Their clothes are dirty,l and ripped from travel. Most come to me from across the boarder, having spent hours crammed into a cargo box.
The three girls nod in unison.
“Good. This won’t be easy. If we manage to sneak past the guards, we’ll have to travel on foot until we reach the nearest city.” I get out of my chair and make my way to the door.
I motion to the girls to follow, and one by one they line up behind me.
“Keep your heads down and look at the floor.”
I take a deep breath and open the door. I see the flashing blue lights of the cargo truck arriving. That means a new shipment of girls has arrived. The Warden will be busy surveying his new stock.
I strut confidently out the door with the girls walking close behind me. It’s dead quiet in the hall save for the soft clicking of the clock.
The exit is just around the corner. Then the hard part begins.
To be continued….