Beneath the ground.

My pillow is still soaked with my tears, doesn’t want to get dry, because I wouldn’t allow it. My life has become a set of regulations that I must follow in the name of the king; to protect a family, which I didn’t want to be a member of, from a war that has ripped our soul from our body, unmercifully. Death has concurred our one-day-peaceful life. So this is one reason I wouldn’t allow myself stop sobbing for. I wish of a place where black and white are equal, where women and men are equal, where poor and rich are equal. I think this is something I don’t deserve now; I’m not that acquitted, innocent, pure girl anymore. I’m the war’s monster. The controller. The war’s director. That is what they think I’m, more accurately, that is what I’ve become. Something I never wanted to be. Something I totally hated when I had the mind of my own thinking to my own. The thing is that I am the one who is well-ordered, since childhood. I’ve this reoccurring nightmare of me reuniting with him, and when I hug him, he disappears, vanishes from sight. I scream to find that I am the only one alive in a middle of millions of murdered people, murdered by me. It has been a total of 6 years 4 months 12 days since the last time I’ve seen him. Since I married Charles. Since my life has been so miserable and organized so routinely boring. My life has been a bunch of nothing, when it was everything. It has been a total 6 years 4 months 12 days since the last time my heart knew how to pump properly. I’m weak and easily broken, now. I wish of a place where black and white are equal, where women and men are equal, where poor and rich are equal. I’m still on my bed, while the alarm clock next to me roars 8:00 AM. I’m unable to move, fixed, feeble. I reached for the alarm and slammed it on the floor. It stopped buzzing. Looking down to what I’ve done, the alarm was broken into pieces that couldn’t be welded together no more. I damaged it; this is what I am good at, damaging. Just damaging. I helped myself to stand upright, trying to forget about my dream. When I was finally disconnected from my comfort room, I headed towards the only existing window of my room, which displays nothing but our everyday hideous life, our black environment. The beauty is no more in the eye of the beholder, because how this is possible when beauty doesn’t even exist. Our world has always been green and appealing, but I destroyed that good side of everything. I looked more deeply in what I’ve done and cried. My bruises doesn’t heal, it hurts even more. My screams aren’t working. I’ve done what they wanted me to do; I didn’t take the consequences into my whole deep consideration when obeying. I’d lost everything already at that time, but I made all human beings to be exactly like me. With nothing to live for. I went to my working desk, taking the photo that has my brain’s storage capacity already full, and I looked at him. Remembering that day of love. Written on the back of the hard copy: I wish of a place where black and white are equal, where women and men are equal, where poor and rich are equal. Love, Richard. It was 26/5/2028 The best day of my life. The day that enabled me to have a full courage to start colouring my own life portrait. The day we first met: On my way to Samantha, the routes were busy and everyone was late to work. Identifying me was pretty easy usually, but today I got myself ready and wore my black dress. Samantha was supposed to have a much longer accommodation at the hospital, but mum declined and took the money behind my back. Beside the needed rest, Samantha wanted to party over at her place. Just Samantha, William and I. Samantha has been my childhood best friend. We are always together, when crying and when laughing. We are the one coin that needs both sides to be worth it. We are worth everything together. Her mother, Miss Suzanne Davis, was working at our house since the day of my birth and even before. She was my second mum to me. She used to tale Samantha and I a sleepover story, about princes and charming, good-looking gentlemen. With a normal saying of her own at the end of the story, with a kiss on each cheek: I hope that you both could earn your long-lasting love story. I loved her. With her I felt safe, and exultant. But one day without any previous warnings, Miss Davis died in a car accident outside the clock’s barrier, when I was 12. That day I lost my mum, my safety zone, and my happy moments with her. She was my secret keeper, the peaceful and most kind, generous, strong, independent woman I’ve ever seen. I lost that, all of that, and she buried my soul with her. After Miss Davis death, mum didn’t allow the presence of Samantha in our place with no use. “She’s a black girl. What will people say if I kept an orphan black girl at my house? Reputation is a priority, Elizabeth.” She used to say, when I open Samantha’s conversation up. She was then directed to the Grapple’s Orphanage by mum. With a standard description to the place when I come over to visit her: Take me out of this hell. This hell with no exit. When at last she turned 18, becoming a total free woman, she decided to work independently, without a man in her life. One day, mum told her once that her mother’s place needs fulfilling. She replied by saying, “I still have my dignity, Miss Adams.” As one who wants freedom to shadow our community, I totally stood by Samantha’s side. That is when mum never allows me talking with Samantha, hating the idea of her. As Miss Adams, she was never rejected by anyone, as I could recall. 3 years later, Samantha fell in a coma for more than 5 days. Scientific tests then concluded that Samantha has a lung cancer, due to her work at factories, and that she wouldn’t be able to fight it back. I thought that I’s going to lose her, too. But she fought hard, and became one of the rare Cancer survivals. Now, I’m on my way to her place, for us to party a fourth month in a row without any cancer appearing. Gladly. … The houses behind the clock’s barrier is truly different than after it. As we can see poor and rich are never equal. We get everything ready. In a golden plate. But they work hard seeking to get their dream true. And most of the time it doesn’t. This world we live in is not fair, has no justice. Our world discriminates everything. My feet steps out of the clock’s barrier on rare occasions, following mum’s instruction. But the way to Samantha is never forgotten or confused. The road was drenched with water as it has been raining for two consecutive days, unlike our town, water tires don’t exist. The huge difference between my life and theirs produce hate and abhorrence between spirits. As a result, our connections is not that glowing; although people beneath my financial level do respect me, they boil from the inside. They feel the difference, the huge one, between our lives, our clothes, our way of talking, and our ease of getting what we dream of .Samantha has always told me that it is better for me to get companied by a bodyguard, avoiding the Theft Teams. Anyway, I don’t. Being a member from the second richest family in the world is pretty hard to get used to. Everything is strictly prohibited. Rules are set of things that differentiate us from who is below, who is nothing. Mum, on the other side, is the most person who cares about these laws, and obeys them blindly and accurately; without the thought of: Why did they even produce such unmeaning full instructions? Through history it has been said that our life was free, and we were able to stay blending, rich and poor, but now the clock tower separates those two worlds creating discrimination. My title always protects me. It gives me prestige, but in return it takes the joy of life. Mum usually tells us that we should be thankful to be an Adams. However, I’m not most of the times, feeling jealous of who can live their lives without being directed to, free of being who they are. Being a lady since the age of 10 is dumb. Smile and laugh with people you don’t like their attendance is dumber. Being happy to get instructed is the dumbest. … Miss Carla Spencer married General Robert Adams due to the most romantic love story ever on earth. However, their titles helped them reach their destination of marrying and living together to start a new family, new Adams. Through the years; however, their love dissolved with their duties to their kingdom. Fighting mostly that none of them consider the other rage and effort, after living the most careful life I’ve ever heard of. They were separated by soul, but didn’t get the divorce steps done, because Miss Carla needed the title to stay respected, honoured and safe. This crack in their relationship, produced a higher crack in their family business, making their two young daughters their latest priority of all. Thus producing a much deeper crack in the soul, in the connection. The crack that I assume will never be stitched. It has then been thought by both parents that love should not be a reason for marriage. Consequently, not allowing their children to have an opportunity of a beating heart. Getting Elizabeth Adams legally and unwillingly betrothed to Charles Christian, the prince of Riztalanda. … Reaching Samantha’s place, I knocked and waited patiently for response. Waiting for almost nothing William came opening the door for me. William is Samantha’s younger brother, and my best friend ever alive. Although he and Samantha aren’t descendent from the same mother, they’ve always been so close, creating a true bond that seldom exists nowadays-in our cruel world. It has been approximately 2 weeks since the last time I visited, with a fully-emotional, hard hug from William he deleted my loneliness feeling in these 2 unbearable weeks. “I haven’t seen you in like forever! How are you Lizzie?” A nickname that no one is supposed to give me even relatives, forgetting that William and Samantha already don’t recall my original name. “I am fine. Life is hard but it goes anyway.” Directing my sight to Samantha, who got herself drowning in her bed and pillow that I assume isn’t as fluffy and soft as mine. “How is our not-going-to-be-sick-anymore girl?” Looking back to William. “Will, don’t you still cook her and do the laundry?” Samantha shook her head, while William nods back. We burst into laughter. Then silent ironically hit the room. The one room I had my most beloved memories with Miss Davis. “Today is one of my best days, our re-unite felt impossible.” Samantha said in a grief, broken pace. With a reply that doesn’t exceed a head nod. We spent the rest of the day laughing, drinking and enjoying ourselves unconsciously. Recording this night as the best night of my life, not ever re-played. Our conversations was full of some selfish, talkative matters, but with no serious reasons, William would just interject: “We are naturally childish.” … My thoughts were neglected by a door knock. “You’re Royal Highness? Are you awake?” A maid with some black dots on her face, due to fireplace cleaning, said. “Yes, I am. What is it?” I looked to her deeply into her semi-broken eyes, I can see fear and pain. “Does Charles want me?” Asking the question that has a default answer yes. “Yes, ma’am.” “Well, inform the king that I’m on my way to his majesty.” Getting myself well-dressed with one of my simple, convenient dress. With no hats, fans or any kind of additional accessory. Looking across the room at the reflection of myself, I wonder what if. What if we lived in a place where black and white are equal, where women and men are equal, where poor and rich are equal. I stared at the photo and remembered. “Rest in peace, Richard.” I whispered to the photo and cried my eyes out, then I returned it to my drawer. I walked down the corridor passing through many people, who give me a long respectful bow or curtsy. Trying to get used to it but unable to. When I was already there in front his room’s giant, well-designed door. I took a deep breath and knocked, waiting for the permission to enter, which took a little time. At last he ordered me to come in.