Not Poor Enough For Pity

CHAPTER 6: SNIP. SNIP. SNIP

The night was long and unpredictable. In the midst of a party of the noble, whose music is as loud as the calling the sirens that blare in the distance, two individuals ran towards the back mountains of the manor.

The mountain was foggy, yet it held a sense of solace and peace. Trees in every turn and the chilling ice in the air that stung their skin with a numbness that almost felt comforting. The only sound in the air was the sway of leaves that would create figures in the shadows and the ragged breathing paired with running feet.

“Hold on tight we’re almost there.”

Lazarus gasped out gripping my hand tightly as he led me through the bushes that ruffled under the force of their weight. His voice held a sense of excitement and for the first time, I never felt this much adrenaline that pumps through my blood like a sustenance that needs constant attention.

I let out a long suppressed giggle, the sound was contagious with him letting out a chuckle as we ran through the bushes with a new purpose. As if mother nature pressed us together, fireflies flock towards us. Their lights guided us to a place that may or may not bring us into a new fate.

“Look fireflies, how romantic.”

“don’t be a little wuss.”

I hear him let out a breathy scoff hearing my insult. I stare at his back, his once gelled hair breaking apart due to the sweat that had brought us to this moment in time where it wasn’t only two kids playing around but two individuals who, with different lives and different last names, somehow share a circumstance that might unite them as one.

It felt like an hour went by when we entered a clear platform at the edge of the cliff that stares put into the city. I gasped softly as I walked closer to the edge of the cliff. I felt the cold breeze hit my face like crashing water in the early morning hours. The city was like a Lego city, with tiny specks of light. People walk and laugh, enjoying their lives not being a doll or a statue that endorses their parents amusement or a product of display.

“it’s beautiful isn’t it? A city with shining lights and laughter all around. Some don’t even know that the stone floor they walk on is a mirror.”

He walked slowly before propping himself on the edge his legs dangling like a child would when they sit on a chair waiting for their parents to take care of their needs. The air carried cold and melancholy, the trees shook softly by the pressure of the cold air. I couldn’t help but stare at his smile that seemed to hold a pain that might carry on to the future.

I sat beside him, the silence becoming wider every minute. I felt it, a change. My dress now muddy and rumpled and my hair a birds nest clipped on to a tree that sway to the pressure of the wind.

“won’t they realize we’re missing? My seamstress won’t like that.”

“let them realize. Let them realize that the dollhouse is empty and that the doll had regained a consciousness that it has been trying to retrieve for years under their care.”

Silence follows afterward with only the little rhythmic sound of the crickets and the trees swaying in the wind as if to block us from this place that kept us from a playhouse that would swallow us whole. In this mountain cliff, in the silver fog and in the midst of the cold breeze, we weren’t on a stage, we weren’t dolls or statues on display. We were just.. Us.

He stood up and offered me his hand. His smile was glowing.. Genuine. A warm, unfamiliar feeling floods my chest, something I cannot grasp. After some skepticism, I took his hand and he pulled me closer to him and straightened my body.

“Woah! What is this!?”

I felt my face get warm. It was no ailment that I had ever studied. A disease? It can’t be. He leaned in too close for comfort. His hot breath smelling of fruit punch and a smell that’s just him.

“I will give you time where puppet strings are cut and dolls are unknitted.”

“Lazarus, what are you—”

“We’re dancing, duh.” He said casually as if talking about the morning weather. He spun me towards the center of the platform.

“don’t give me attitude, hoe.”

He didn’t bother to correct me as he led with his right foot. I stumbled before getting the hang of it. My muddy dress didn’t seem like a dirty accessory. My disheveled hair didn’t seem unladylike. I was only distracted by the way his eyes were captivating to look at. Eyes that held warmth and comfort at times of need.

Our feet tangled in the long grass. We stumbled in an unpracticed circle with fireflies staged around us as this itself was a stage within a stage. My bun became loose and my black hair fell in locks, it swirled as we spun like a practiced scene.

He didn’t count the beats. I didn’t care about the muddy hem. With only the mountain air breeze and the laughs that were shared holding us together. It was only then when the string became thin enough to snap. But something held it on.

In this moment, I wasn’t a doll or a mannequin. He wasn’t a stature or a horse. We were just two 14 year olds trying to navigate a life who that the fates mixed in with poison.

“you’re staring.”

“no I ain’t, I’m observing.”

“oh?”

“you looks so.. Ungelled. It’s like you crawled out of a gutter.”

I let out a soft snort seeing his face contort from a calm expression into a somewhat mix of anger and amusement. He broke the dance as he tried to hit me playfully. I dodged his attack as I laughed loudly. The seamstress wasn’t here for correct my laugh, a laugh that was known to be unladylike and manly. Lazarus didn’t care. He didn’t care that I laughed like a pig. He didn’t care about my hair. He didn’t care about my dress. He didn’t care about my body. He cared about what I should feel, as a human being and as an equal.

He chased me around the platform grabbing me by the waist and manhandling me. I let out a shriek—something my mother would’ve scolded me for and accidentally kicked him right on the shins.

“ow-! You little…”

His laughter echoed loudly through the empty platform with him trying to get payback by pulling my hair gently. It felt as if the crickets stopped their rhythm and watched as two teens regained their humanity on their home. Only for a moment.

We sat there for a long time afterwards. Our lungs burning with satisfaction and strain. The only thing we hear the ragged sounds we make as we try to catch our breath. I couldn’t help but let out chuckle by our little playful banter. This was something I wasn’t supposed to do on a formal event. But somehow, this was one of the only times I felt alive again. One of the only times I never felt molded into a doll for marriage.

I stared at my dirty hands, feeling that sense of accomplishment and triumph. Something that I wonder if I may or may not find again. I heard him talk again. This time, it was loud and clear, a voice of determination.

“I will not let them stitch us back together.”

I sat there silent letting his words stick inside my mind. I could see he wasn’t joking, wasn’t doing his usual sarcasm. It was real. Everything he said was real.

He reached down into his pocket. He pulled out something metal, it wasn’t handcuffs or the like. It was a beautifully designed, ornate key. One that seemed to hold value. Before I could open my mouth to ask it’s purpose, shouting was heard behind us. The shouting got louder and lights flashed between the dark trees.

I looked back at Lazarus with a hint of worry but his calm face made me curious. He winked mischievously before placing the key back into his pocket.

“You’ll know what it’s for when the time is right. For now, the curtain calls and the stage lights are on.”