licking the frigid air. Flickers of orange light lash across the night sky, clouds of smoke curling up from the orange glow.
Guests pour out of the house behind me, their excitable chattering rising above the crickets. The air has a pulse to it, thrumming with anticipation and glee, but that’s all wrong.
Two girls are dying tonight, yet all that coats my tongue is the rapture of their
glorious deaths.
Phoebe and Bethany are thrown to the ground, their wails heightening from the impact. Tension lines the muscles in my legs, weighing me down and making it nearly impossible to line up with the other three girls in formation.
We stand before them, various emotions clogging the space between us.
Resignation and enthusiasm from Jillian and Sydney respectively, but Gloria and
I look at each other, absolutely petrified for what’s to come.
Francesca stands on the other side of the bonfire, deep shadows, and bright red accentuating her features. A demon risen from Hell.
“These girls were deemed unworthy in the Culling,” Francesca announces
loudly. The men quieten, and I imagine it’s the only time they’ve been inclined
to shut up and listen to a woman speak.
“For centuries, we’ve carried on this tradition. In our world, only the
strongest can survive. Only those who can endure and persevere no matter what
we throw their way. These girls standing before you— they are worthy of you.
And they will prove their worth to you by snuffing out those that were not good
enough.”
Francesca’s dark eyes turn to us expectantly, but all I can do is stare.
I see Rocco advance towards us, large stones in his hands. Sydney grabs for
hers quickly, nearly vibrating with delight.
He stares down at me with expectation, a delighted look on his face.
Reluctantly, I grab a rock, surprised by how heavy it is.
Jillian and Gloria grab for theirs, quivering hands curling over hard stone. A
tear drips down Gloria’s cherub cheeks.
Noticing it, Rocco leans down, grabs her by the cheeks, and licks her tears; his disgusting tongue sliding up the entirety of her face. She squeals in response, and Rocco snickers darkly.
“Show me one more tear, little girl. I’ll be happy to throw you down next to
them.”
“Don’t make me do this,” she pleads quietly, barely above a whisper. Her entire body is quaking in his palms.
“Do you prefer to be the one throwing the stone or to be the one beneath it?
Choose now.”
She squeezes her eyes shut and nods her head, accepting her fate silently.
Pleased, Rocco forcefully pushes her away and stands beside Francesca, chest
puffed, and hands clasped behind his back. As if he’s a soldier honoring the death of his comrade.
A black hole swirls in my chest, eating up anything good left inside of me. I
glare at the duo, the fire in my eyes fiercer and brighter than the one before me.
I can’t decide which I’m more eager to kill. Him, or his sister.
A collective silence ensues, the energy thick and heavy. Not even a cricket chirps, as if the wildlife can feel the tension, too.
Sydney breaks first, cocking her arm and hitting Phoebe with the rock on her
shoulder, directly over one of her wounds, a savage cackle echoing in the air.
I wince, my horror growing as she swings mindlessly. Phoebe’s cries reach my ears mere seconds later, and finally, I react on instinct. I push Sydney to the side, ignoring her outraged wail when she lands awkwardly on her hand holding
the rock.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jillian and Gloria kneel, raising their hands
and bringing the rock down on Bethany’s head—attempting to give her a quick
death.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins, and my heart races. I quickly roll
Phoebe to her side, blurring out her extensive injuries.
Sydney clambers to her knees, rushing toward the both of us with murder in
her eyes. Growling, I whip my rock directly at her head, ignoring Francesca’s sharp gasp as the rock strikes true, knocking the crazy bitch out cold.
Turning my attention back to Phoebe, I carefully gather her in my arms,
cradling her head in the juncture of my shoulder and curling myself over her.
“I will not let you suffer,” I whisper in her ear, desperately and rushed. A hot
tear breaks free, burning a path down my cheek. “You saved me, Phoebe. You were so fucking strong and brave, and you will always be my hero. Do you hear me?”
“I… I h-hear you,” she chokes, sobs racking her chest. Inhaling deeply, I lunge for a branch in the pit, barely feeling the flames licking at my flesh.
Rocco rushes towards me, but it’s too late. I’m jabbing the sharp tip of the branch deep into her jugular. Phoebe convulses beneath me, blood pouring from her neck in rivulets. I hold on to her tightly, but I cannot say the same for my shattering soul.
A sob bursts from my throat, and I press my forehead against hers, hardly feeling the blood soaking my skin.
Tears of sorrow and rage track down my cheeks, and all I can do is just squeeze her harder, rocking us back and forth as she dies in my arms.
“Sleep, Phoebe,” I whisper against her, my voice cracking. “Go to sleep
now.”
Nearly as quickly as it began, she stills. But I can’t let her go. I weep into her
lifeless body, battling with relief that she’s no longer suffering, and despair that she had to die at all.
Someone’s daughter died today.
And all I can hope is that whoever loved her, will forgive me for being the one to take her from them.
Two Months Later
I twirl the tube of red lipstick until it’s completely exposed. Carefully, I apply
it to the bow of my top lip, taking great care to stay within the lines.
Then, I move to my bottom lip before rubbing them together and popping
them.
I stare at my reflection, hardly recognizing the person staring back at me.
Black circles rim the underside of my eyes, and I remind myself to put extra concealer there before I meet with Xavier tonight. He only likes to see how exhausted I am after he fucks me.
I haven’t been placed up for auction yet. Francesca says I’m almost ready and
that when the time comes, Xavier will ensure he is the highest bidder.