Page 20 of Souls We Rip

The young girl considered her sister’s words and stood up, her hair turning almost white due to the sunlight.

“Then why does God not help us with father?”

At that, all the colour drained from the peasant’s face. A smirk pulled at my lips, and I raised my eyebrows. Laughter bubbled in my throat but disappeared as soon as it came.

“We are not the ones to judge, Angi. The time will come when our father will repent for his sins. Until then, we have to live as much as we can in the little that we have. Only God can take with the hand that He gave.”

The irony was there. I had stepped into her god’s place and done what her silent fiction had never dared to do.

Ana

My sister’s feet were splashed by the river's cold water. We took our aprons and opinci to wash them on the bank of the rippling water. We were more than dirty as we helped our father slaughter some of the chickens.

I still felt his slap from when I refused to watch. The fact that he held my neck as his other hand stabbed one of the youngest chickens made my stomach wrench. That day, I decided I wouldn’t eat chicken at all. My sister held my skirt during my father’s endeavours, hiding behind my back.

“Ana, do you think we will find good husbands?” Angelica asked, walking back to the house. We held our opinci by the fingers and the apron on one shoulder. One of our neighbours greeted us, a long stick in her hands.

She was coming from the pasture with her cows, the smell of hay reaching our noses. The sound of the bells attached to the cows’ necks raised goosebumps on my arms.

“I don’t know,” I resumed the question, walking on the stone road. “We might. But until then, we have yet to learn to sew shirts and how to make proper food. Yesterday, I burnt the fried cheese and…” I drew in a breath, clenching my jaw.

“Why can’t men make their own food?” she asked, her blonde brows knitting.

I turned so fast to her that my head became dizzy. “Angi, you know our roles. You should be considered lucky that we get to read.”

She wasn’t satisfied with my answer. “But God sees men and women as equals! They cannot exist without each other!” Her hands rose in the air, red blotches touching her skin.

“That is true, my sweet sister. And there are men out there who want to be loved as we want to be.” My foot kicked a pebble.

“Might be. I just do not want to have one like our father.”

Her small voice kicked my heart into pieces.

At least, in the wake of my death, Angelica will have Gavril at her side. And I could reside in Heaven.

I sniffed, feeling the heavy air. Heaven or even Hell could not smell like wax.

Hell would smell like fire and burnt meat, at least that was what our priest told us every Sunday, after his sermon. We listened to him every week, every holiday and when we would go for confession.

I feared God more than I feared men, as He would send our punishments. If one were to sew on Sunday, the needle would pinch the finger. If one washes their clothes in the river on Sunday or any holy day, something evil will turn their way.

However, where I was then, it couldn’t be either Hell nor Heaven. It was too cold to be Hell, too unpleasant to be Heaven. My feet kicked the air, trying to find something to cover myself, so I could continue my slumber. A shiver passed through my body, as goosebumps broke on my skin.

I forced my eyes open to a wall made of stone. Grey, cold stone. I jolted out of bed, checking my surroundings. My feet touched something soft; a moth-eaten rug stood over the sharp floor.

On my right was a small fireplace, barely producing any heat and almost no embers left. Someone had the good intention of making the room warm, but it was long forgotten.

There was no natural light coming in. Only a generous amount of candles were spread over the walls, their flames hardly staying alight. Hardened wax surrounded them, the honey colour easing my pounding heart.

A small round table stood by the bed; one chair sat next to it. On the wooden table, there were some papers and a glass ink pot with a raven's feather in it.

I scanned them, but there was nothing written on them.

No doors were between this chamber and the next one, only a large hole in the rock wall.

My whole body was cold; the dress I had was too frail for this place. I brought one finger near the fire of one candle to feel the blaze. It stung, my skin quickly getting red.

I wasn't dead.