the threads in her head

a dream-

We were sleeping when they came.

Ever since the invasion began we had started sleeping together in the basement. "Safety in numbers." - that's what Father said. But everyone knew the truth was that no one really dared to sleep alone or even in pairs in their own room; no one could stand the thought of being brought away alone. It was a weird distortion of "misery loves company".

On the day Father decided we would all sleep together in the basement, family, servants, and all, we each took a stone and broke almost every window in the house. My heart broke when the first stone crashed against the big picture windows in the living room, and all that was left was jagged shards of glass. But it had to be done. Father said we had to make the house looked as abandoned and as ravaged looking as possible so that the Aztchens would dismiss the house when they walked by. We even broke the locks of the house, though that seemed very counter-intuitive. But no one disobeyed Father's orders.

The dogs were killed too. They were never my dogs, and I was never much attached to them, but their pleas would be a sound I would always remember. The way they whimpered and whined as the men approached them... for their sake I hoped it was quick, though I never would know. I shut my eyes tight and quick when the deed was about to be done - the clenching of the servant's hand across my shoulder told me when the deed was done.

Their carcass were left outside the house, and in time, it became more of a rank smell than dog.

I guess Father was hoping that we would never be disturbed till the war ended, and then everything would be fine again. But that was a wild dream, a wild hope. His plan never worked the way he wanted it to. They came. The Aztchens. They came. I always believed that his plan did work though. It bought us time, time long enough for almost all of us to dare hope again. Time long enough to gain strength. I like to think that a seed of quiet reserve and strength grew in each of our hearts during that time, a strength that gave us calmness when they came.

They came to take the girls. The twins were taken away, along with some servant girls. I awoke when they turned me round, and a cold cold fear gripped my heart, but all was quiet except for the shuffling noises of the soldier's boots. It was quiet, the twins were quiet, so I left my eyes half-open and pretended I was still asleep and dreaming. The soldier who turned me over grunted, and then left me alone.

They were actually about to leave when Amir woke up. He started up and whimpered.

The soldier's actions were quick. He ran, leapt back and over across seemingly sleeping bodies that could not possibly be asleep but lay so still. In a flash of a second the soldier had a vial in his hands. He uncorked it, grasped Amir's head, tilted it back, forced his mouth open, and poured the contents down.

We all knew what it was. Poison. As he gurgled desperately and gasped for air while the dreaded liquid made its way down to his stomach the soldier looked very intently at him until he made no more sound. The minutes that passed by while he choked and sputtered were long, and the cold fear in my heart that had faded when the soldiers left me alone rose again. My eyes were half-open, and fixed. Then he was quiet, and the soldier was satisfied. He stood up and looked round him once, before moving on.

The corpse was left in the house.

.

It was funny.

Amir had never been liked by the womenfolk of the house. He was rude and abusive, used swear loudly and in vain often. Got drunk easily. Was often drunk. The only woman he were nice to were the twins, in an extremely fawning way, and everyone, everyone knew why that was.

The twins detested him, even more than the rest of the womenfolk. Cook often complained about how he was drunk, but Father always kept him. He's an orphan, he would say. "But oh, hardened he is, that little black one, hardened, no heart. Drunk so often," Cook would reply. Still, Father kept him.

He had been excessively bold and arrogant to the twins that day when the Aztchens came however. Perhaps he was just bored, but the twins had picked up their skirts and went off in a huff, extremely fumed. Father soon heard and he got a harsh telling-off. Yet he was still unrepentant, and took his feelings of frustration and resentment on another servant girl, harrasing her till she broke into tears and cried.

The womenfolk were riled, but there was no way to hit back. They gathered together to talk about him, upset and angry, while the more matronly ones held the crying girl by her shoulders and comforted her. In anger Cook had said very vehemently, "I wish the Aztchens would get him, that black one, that no heart one!" The rest agreed, and curses after curses rained on. Almost all agreed a quick death for him was too merciful, and he should die by what the Aztchens were famous for.

Poison.

That very night the Aztchens came, and they took the twins away. And they got him. And all was quiet till next morning.

It happened so fast.

They were kinder when he was dead. "That black one, he could be nice. He got water once when I sprained my leg." But it did not matter anymore, not really. It had happened, that very night.

That. Everything. It was funny.

Somehow.