girls of the wildest kind ; amber & october [10th]

o c t o b e r      r h a p s o d y      f r a y

o c t o b e r      r h a p s o d y      f r a y

at first, when they threw us in here, i didn’t understand it.

i thought i might scream. this was not the show i had been preparing for; we, like animals, trapped within glass, to be leered at by those who walked by like dancing monkeys. it was dehumanising, not to mention disrespectful to the generations of frays who had come before me. i felt my great-grandmother winona fray turn in her grave. i wanted to shout, to cry, to argue, to tell them exactly what i thought of whichever useless intern had made this decision. it was a sick joke, and not one that i personally appreciated the humour in.

you’ve got it wrong. what i need is a stage, not a cage.

i hoped that soon, someone would show up that i could argue with. i’d tell them exactly what i thought. they’d come, soon enough, to provide the food and the water, and the fresh clothes and linen. i waited, quite patiently, sitting on a tree stump, seething, trying to keep my skin out of the sun. mother always said it ruins a perfectly good complexion, to let it see too much sky.

nobody came. it was only then that i realised what was happening.

they were testing me. something i’d read about once, something called adversity. put a person in the worst possible situation and take a step back, watch, see what they could do. i peered through our confines at the audience, understanding. they were not here to mock me. they were here, it was clear, to see me shine. i couldn’t believe i’d nearly fallen at the first hurdle. this was not a demeaning joke, but rather, a chance. this was my time to make them all love me. this was a spotlight, just for me.

i rolled up my sleeves. it was time to get to work.

. . .

as though the universe knows i am now poised and ready, a girl with muddy brown hair and plain features gives me a little simpering wave. like a moth to a flame. i relax into myself, offer her a glittering smile in return. “my name’s amber,” she says, “i was wondering if you’d mind some company.”

she looks exactly as a girl in a pit awaiting her death should look: abashed, terrified, her feathers all ruffled and her hair messed up. the poor thing. i bet she was just devastated to be plucked from her life of oblivion, so sad, to die now instead of later, after ruining her body ploughing fields, or something similarly awful. she looks like she’d shrivel up if you gave her too much attention.

“my goodness,” i say, “thank god somebody asked. i was about to lose my mind staring into this stagnant pond.” i gesture to the place beside me on the log. “sit with me! do you want me to braid your hair? here, it’s all messed up!”

on the other side of the glass, several of the spectators turn their heads to watch us. a man dressed as an oversized budgie taps the shoulder of the woman beside him, and she presses her face to the glass. we have caught their attention. good.

“i’m october. i’ve never killed anybody before, so i’m pretty nervous. have you?”