The Death of Christianna

                This is your fault. Now we can't be together anymore.
                The man looked hard into Christianna's eyes. His pupils were frantically scurrying back and forth about the messy kitchen, his hands shaking profusely. Sweat was welling up in pools about his entire body, he smelled terrible. The clothes were disheveled, but that was normal.  A small stubble of beard crawled about his face, and his eyes glinted as surely as did the long, serrated blade in his left hand. That confused Christianna, for she used her right hand.  The left one was really weak and hard to control when she used that side.
                She wasn’t using any hands right now, though, and couldn’t if she wanted to. The feeling in her wrists had went out perhaps an hour ago, her little fingers painfully numb. Arms tied behind the chair, beneath another strand of robe about her stomach. The chair was irrevocably nailed down in the dark corner of the room, but she wasn’t scared. He just screamed when they were in the kitchen, and then after a while he would fall asleep and in the morning he would say sorry and untie her. Her hands felt better the next day and they were a family again. One big happy family, and all the other kids downstairs were jubilant at her return.
                Tonight was different, though.  The foul smelling stench wasn’t dripping off him as it usually did when they were in the kitchen. His smell was normal, though even one with so poor of scent detection such as hers couldn’t miss the smell of fear reeking from his very essence.  He was very articulate and wasn’t stumbling around like he normally did when they were in the kitchen.
                With expert finesse, he took the knife and dismembered the long coil of robe wrapped around his right arm by some three feet. Walking perfectly, he made it to the other side of the room where he picked up his chair. That one wasn’t nailed down, he liked to sit in different spots around the kitchen when they were talking.  He carried it over to Christianna, actually, and set it perhaps a leg’s length away from her. Maybe they were going to talk tonight, after all. She had never talked to him when he wasn’t reeking of that foul stench, and was quite curious to see what the conversation would be about this time.
                Christianna was all of a sudden very fearful, her curiosity souring immediately when he stood on the chair and reached up to the hook on the ceiling. Dried blood was lathered onto the hook and she was afraid of it even more then his cane and his ropes and his sharp little knives. That was what happened to the children who were bad, if they were too noisy or went outside, if they opened up the window curtains or were caught using the telephone. Also if they were caught out of the basement at bedtime too often.  She had seen what happened to the children who were put on the hook.
                Christianna pukes. The puke further dirties her gown, mixing in with other bodily fluids that I would prefer not to mention, so terrible the thought. She can feel the blade slipping through her shoulderblades, and the ball in her throat rises and she thinks she is suffocating. The sounds of all the screaming children reverberate through her ears, as she tries to force back memories of those terrible evenings. It takes a few seconds for it to sink in that she is still tied to the chair, however.
                The man, instead, has tied one end of the rope around the hook. Tying the other like a shoelace, he slips his head through the hole and stands upon the creaky chair, his eyes never leaving those of Christianna, watching in curiosity.
              This is your fault. I loved you, Christianna, I loved all of the children.
                This is your fault. I loved you! Why won’t you let us be a family?
                This is your fault. All I wanted was a happy family, Christiannna.
                This is your fault. I loved you.. I love-
His talking is cut off as the siren outside blares and there is a terrible rattling at the door. The man was frightened and he slipped on the chair, a sickening crunch tickles its way about the air from him and into Christianna’s ears. Spittle puts a small stain in her white evening gown, mixing with the puke and other stains that came from the man.  She doesn’t understand what is happening, though. The man’s eyes are still open, still looking down at Christianna, so full of contempt. A light froth is creeping out of his cracked lips, his body hung stiff as a board.
The door falls down and loud footsteps crash through the halls. One of the men bolts into the kitchen, but at the sight of Christianna and the hung man, he passes out on the floor. A second man steps inside with a firing stick drawn, who can’t help but avert his gaze.
                Tommy! Help me out, man.. Don’t look, Tommy.. Oh god! She was just a kid.. Just a kid..
The sick bastard! She was just a kid.. Why?..
Tommy, stepping a little too fast, misses the warning and suppresses the urge to vomit as he sees the man hanging from the bloody hook in the ceiling. It took him some time before he realized the girl was staring at him, and with pained eyes he looked condolingly into hers.
Shh, mister. Daddy says it is bad to be so loud this late at night.

*            *            *

                They’re in the car, now. Christianna is wrapped in a blanket, sitting next to a man who calls himself Doctor Daniel. She sits on the right side of the car, he on the left – she wouldn’t sit in the middle. Daddy said its bad to talk to strangers, because they might steal you right up and take you away from our family. So Christianna leaned away from him, instead focusing her eyes outside of the window. She liked it outside, all of those little lights up in the sky casting a pretty look upon the world below.
                It was nice at night, so quiet. She spent a lot of the nights outside with.. oh, what was his name? She couldn’t seem to remember right now. He wasn’t like Daddy, though. He talked softly and didn’t squeeze very tight when she put her hand inside of his. He would wrap her arms right around her when she said she had to go home, and then start crying. It usually made her cry, too. He would tell her that she just couldn’t go back to that terrible house; she could run away with him. They could be together and the man would never hit her again.
                Every night she went back, though. Every night he would follow her back to the wall where the little broken window was, and hold her hand as she crawled back into her little niche of a room to go to sleep, she was so tired. He couldn’t fit through it any more, after the last two years she could barely fit through the hole herself. But every night he used to crawl through with her and sit down, waiting there with her head in his lap until she fell asleep. He would run his hands through her hair and whisper that she just couldn’t stay here. Now he would just sit at the hole as long as he dared.
                He was nice but he just didn’t understand. Daddy loved her, after all. Why would she want to leave him? He hits me because he loves me, she could recite it to herself now. I’ve just got all of the badness inside of me and it might go away one day if I’m really good and don’t break the rules. Then we can be a happy family.
                The night before he said he was calling the emergency hotline so that she and all the other children could escape. That made her laugh, why would she want to escape? But he said that she would get out of the house and then they could stay together. That sounded nice.
                Alas, Christianna didn’t understand what this ride was for. He never said anything about her riding in in a big piece of metal, it was so noisy. Didn’t these people know that you weren’t supposed to be noisy when it was dark? You can’t be a happy family if you’re noisy when it’s dark, because then the bad people might hear you and come take you away.
                Oh, how she hoped she would see the boy again.

*            *            *

ONE YEAR LATER

              I hurt bad.  Christianna thinks.
                So tired..
The little screen off to the side of her bed said 103.7° F. Is that a bad thing? I sure hope not. Four large blankets lay across Christianna, but she’s real cold. Her arms and legs shake slightly, but she can’t make them stop. Her head hurts and whenever she opens her mouth to talk, a weak little cough rattles from her lungs.
            She told the boy not to get too close because she didn’t want to cough on him. Little specks of spittle came out and it was really gross. She didn’t know how he had found her. One day he just showed up, said Miss Vatea. That was about two weeks ago, if she remembered. It was nice to see him again.
            He sat by her bedside every night, holding her hand and whispering to her even though she couldn’t muster up the breath to respond to him. I wish he could hear my thoughts. My head hurts and when I breathe in my chest does, too. I feel bad because I’m excited to see him and want to talk about so much, but I’m just so tired right now. It seems like I’m only up for a few hours a day, but he’s always there by the bedside. Eyes staring at mine with a halfset grimace on his face, hand wrapped around mine. That one doesn’t feel so cold.
            Everytime she falls asleep, there is a little hope that maybe when she wakes up she won’t be so tired and she can talk. All fair Christianna wants is to go and sit under that big willow tree and watch the stars dance across the sky’s evening gown. She dreams about it, too. She dreams about feeling better and watching the skies, dreams of him placing those little yellow flowers in her hair. It made her stomach feel like it was in her throat and her lips curled up into a smile as he looked into her eyes, clutching the left hand and whispering that she shouldn’t go back to that dark place.
            That feeling made her a little nervous. Daddy hadn’t mentioned that feeling, so it must be a bad one. It felt good, though, and nothing seemed to happen so she decided that it was alright. The thought was back but she didn’t feel so nervous this time, it was only the nice one this time. That feeling like you get after you eat when it’s your day, you know? Your stomach doesn’t growl at you and it doesn’t get real tight or hurt. Just sort of a.. content? Little feeling.
            This was the feeling that was in her mind as she closed her eyes again. Maybe when she woke up Christianna would feel better and the boy and her could go out and pick flowers. Maybe.. maybe.. but now, I must sleep. She looks up into his eyes, willing them to stay open for just a few moments because she remembered something Daddy had told her the night the men in the dark uniforms took her.
            She couldn’t make the sounds but she could move her lips, so she hoped she picked out the meaning when she twisted her lips to make the movements so she could say “I love you”. Little drops of water welled up around his eyes. Interesting, thought Christianna. I’ve never seen him do that before.

            The machine next to her bed lets out a solid “beep!” as Christianna closes her eyes again. It doesn’t go away this time, though. A flat “beep” just keeps going for what sounds like forever. After some time he hears a siren go off, just like that one night. The siren was going off and he was losing Christianna again. With a look of despair in his eyes and a feeling in his gut that can’t be articulated, the heartbroken pain so bitter, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. Squeezing her hand, he shivered. It already felt so cold. With a cry on his lips, he opened up the window and ran out, disappearing into the sunset. Tonight, however, the stars wouldn’t bring him any happiness.

For whom the bell has tolled
I bade thee fly free
Use your wings but leave the tears;
A heartfelt farewell
My maiden, Christianna.

*          *          *

            The handle to Christianna’s room jiggled. “Open it! God damnit, turn the knob!” a voice exclaims. “I can’t!” speaks another. “My hands are shaking!”. After what seems like forever the door finally opens, and a mosh of doctors and nurses rush into the room. Fingers are pressed on arteries, and numbers are frantically crunched.
            “Is it normal that they’re this cold already?!” whimpers one of the younger doctors. All of their robes are swirling about in the wind coming from the open window. Emotions and adrenaline are on high, and in panic hands are rough on poor Christianna, once again.
            At the command of one of the older nurses, everybody files out of the room with heavy hearts and low souls. They’ve never failed before, not like this. Nobody thought it would be with one so young, so dreadfully young..
         
            The elderly nurse all but falls into the very chair that the boy had previously been sitting in. Her arthritis reminds her of her age, and the contradictory image in front of her plays tricks on her poor eyesight. Why couldn’t it have been me? She thought, as well as similar thoughts.
            Her hands are dry, cupping her shaking head as she softly weeps into her palms. The saltiness of her sweat burns the little cuts acquired throughout the day when you have old, weak skin. Lifting the covers over fair Christianna’s face so that she may rest, the old woman stumbles out of the rom.
            A proverb mocks her; “The good ones go young”. Turning around, she looked right up at the stars and states “Fate, damn the fate. I curse thee, stars! Age before beauty! What fairness is this?” But before she left the room she hitched up her chin and took a deep breath, remembering she had to be a model for the younger doctors who were surely all but pawing at the door.
            Stepping outside, she looked into each pair of eyes before shaking her head one last time and walking past into the commons. “Damn, damn, damn it all”. The door was left open, frankly, she didn’t’ think the poor maiden cared too much anymore.

Everything quiets down as night devours the world and the stars do their dance across the blanket of dark about the sky. For the first time in a long time it’s all quiet, just like daddy said it was supposed to be.
         
            Missing a step, the nurse profaned again. “The boy! Damn me, that American boy that she was always talking with. It is only fair that he knows.. but what do I tell him? He’s hardly more than a lad himself.” Sighing, she whispered again, “Damn, damn, damn it all.”

Thus, as I imagine it happened, so goes
The Death of Christianna.