Mother's Nest

The tie around my throat hangs loosely before I fasten it, the tightness makes me recall a hangman's noose. Fitting for a funeral; at least it's not mine, not for tonight. My gloved hands quiver slightly to my suit jacket, neatening up the crooked collar, the black only making me appear even more pale. The man in my reflection stares back at me with a grim visage; I retaliate by trying to form a reluctant smile; it just needs to fool them for tonight.

I take small steps on the velvety rug below me and trace my fingers over the mirror's side. The golden metal's chill piercing through the material on my hands till I find the latches, and then a "click" is followed by another and another. It sends off a painful sound as it creaks open; I pause before pushing it all the way to the side.

The entrails of the hidden compartment lie bare to me once again. Within is a single item, a mask of shame I wear on these occasions. It resembles a crow's head, stopping just before where my mouth should be. I place it on my face, the feathery exterior tickling my cheeks slightly.

My image appears uglier than before as I catch a glimpse of my form before heading to my door. A breath of tension escapes my lungs as I move the heavy oak and recall her standing in the hallway.

"I won't do it, I promise" Her words wavered, eyes darting away from mine. "But don't you think mother would be disappointed in me?" I remember the harsh grip I had given to her arms. "Mother believes you to be cattle; there is no honor in monsters like her."

"Though doesn't a shepherd guide its sheep to safety, perhaps this is simply my calling? I shouldn't forsake her kindness"

"You are not a sheep; you are my sister!" I try softening the rage in my tone, not to alarm her, though the seriousness of the situation causes me to tense. "I love you, Cathy." I speak slowly, draping my arms around her and pulling her in tight. "I'm going to get you out of this slaughterhouse. Tomorrow night, we'll escape, you and me."

My shoulder is amiss from the weight of her face, pressed against me. My hands wishing to curl itself into her fair hair, to make her never leave my side, to keep her safe.

Her expression of doubt fades away from my eyes, and I drag my legs down the corridor, decorated in paintings depicting ashy, winged beasts. Some soar above my head, watching my every move with their still inky orbs, and others, I shy my view away from; blatant displays of grotesque violence, alas seen as righteous, there is nothing of the sort. Fowls digging their sharp-ended mouths into snow white woolly victims, pulling at their tendons, and leaving nothing but an empty carcass. Their empty eyes follow me too, and my mouth tastes sour.

Ahead is the worst of the lot, my eyes scanning the singular portrait at the end of the main hall. This one depicts a poor sap, mounted with a boar's head, picked on by the flock. Instinct acts before me, and I trace my Adam's apple, appreciating the flow of air through it.

"Luke" My name startles me, although I try my best not to give off the impression to the man whose hand snakes to my shoulder. "We were looking for you, daydreaming again, aye?" He lets out a stale laugh beside me that I match, and now I start wearing two masks in front of him by my smile.

"Yeah, sorry my mind wandered a bit; guess I'm still half-asleep." He pats me gently, though I don't mistake it as kindness. He leans over me slightly, beside my face, looking ahead at the monstrosity. His mask is nearly touching mine, and I fear that he can tell the squint under my veil. "Ah, I suppose mine would wander too; these paintings are stunning, aren't they?"

His spit gets caught in his white speckled beard, and some lands onto my side; my face leaned slightly to the right to dodge some projectiles. "Shows those 'pigs'; we don't tolerate back-stabbers." His face stops inches from mine, and for a moment, I worry that he knows. "You a piggy, Luke?"

My mouth drops, my body gets rooted to the tiles, although before I begin stuttering, he shakes me with both his scaly hands and lets out a low bellow. "Haha, I kid." pushing past me roughly and throwing his hands in the still air. "Lukey-poo, you take things much too seriously, after all I raised my son better."

"I never enjoy your jokes." Relief floods my body as does irritation; I mustn't forget this little shit loves pulling my strings. "And I'm not your son; you're my caretaker; that's all we are."

His red cheeks lower to a mock frown. "All these years taking care of you and your lil sis and I'm not considered family yet, you're tough to love." Love? Should have left us dead in the snow, the day you found us, is what I bite my tongue from saying.

He swats his long-nailed finger at me and starts moving, beckoning me to follow. "Augh, you were so cute in the past Luke, I still remember how much you refused to eat dinner the first time. Had to force open that jug of yours; hate turned into love after a while; same for us, I hope."

"I don't hate you, Samson" The lie stings me faintly, and there is no love involved; after that day, I was poisoned with the craving, as most were, the curse we bear. The broth filling my mouth, choking me slightly and trying to resist his grip, the meaty cubes getting caught in my teeth. I shake my head, trying to forget; alas, my mouth waters at the thought.

"Sure, you don't, boy." He gives off a gruntled cough, and we gradually head down to the 1st floor, the wooden stairs creaking, putting me at unease. I watch over the splintered railing to the open floor, leading to the dining hall. Many of the others start flocking into the room, all dolled up for the night; laughter can be heard, and you'd almost believe it was a normal gathering.

"You said your farewells yet? To Catherine, I mean" Samson shoves a hand in my way and stares up at me, seemingly worried, which is a new look on him. "Not yet; I'll tell her at dinner sometime; it's only happening at next week's supper."

It concerns me the sudden topic of Cathy when she's not the lamb this night; does the old man actually worry about her death? Well, maybe he should; the idea of him feeling guilt causes a genuine smirk to cross my face. I have no worries; soon, I'll never stress over his distasteful mug.

"Besides that, who was chosen this time?" I shove past him heading further down; I savor the unbalance he has for a moment. He takes a second to recall the name. "Sister Marie." He says abruptly and catches up to me. "It's a big honor to be chosen... You should be proud of your sister."

Fuck that, I can't be much proud of her if she's gone. "Yes, I am, really." I mumble, shoving my hands in the suit's pockets. "Yeah, I am too; she was a good girl, much better than this trouble maker." He tries to rattle me a bit as we get to the big doors, but I can tell that it's bothering him.

Good. "Enjoy dinner, Samson." I parted from him and quickly started mingling with the others as an excuse not to speak with him anymore; it also saves me from any suspicion. Slowly, I see his meek form get drowned out by a sea of bird masks.

"I'm hungry as all hell; where's the food?" Grunts Jacklyn in the crowd, that man's belly already explains his appetite; when I was small, I wondered if he'd explode like a pinata; unfortunately, didn't happen.

"Our lamb is having cold feet tonight, but don't worry." Her voice interjects; the sound she makes is smooth as silk, calming the ravenous crowd even I fall for her charms. "We're getting her prepared, but for now, sit." Everyone sensing the sternness in her tone goes in an orderly rush to sit in their assigned seats.

I mold myself into my chair, not the comfiest in terms of support nor does the previous memories in this dining hall help.

Flashbacks involuntarily welcome themselves back to me. The first time we sat here, me and Cathy, we were starving; they knew too, since they locked us up without food, they did it thinking it would make stomaching it easier. We were weak after surviving a wild snow storm that hit us while camping, which Samson found us in. Saved us, that's what he said. Our parents weren't lucky like we were; he found them later, frozen under all the ice, and got an idea.

I was a sharp kid, knew what was in the food, and refused to eat, but he forced it down, and then their ideals. Covered my ears against it all, but Cathy, she was maybe 6 at the time, an easy target to fool. She started worshipping the same god they did and their false prophet, the mother.

At least she has enough sense to listen to me not to die.

'Mother' steps forward on her platform in front of the long hardwood table we all stayed seated at. "Lovely, I see all of my kids are begging to be fed; what type of mother am I for making you wait?" They all jump to favor her. "Mother! We can wait a bit more; we're merely excited." one croaks. "No worries, mother; I just worried Jacklyn had eaten it all already." Erupts another, causing giggles which Jacklyn quickly hushes.

"Now, now there is no need to get mean." She says despite enjoying the commotion, and soon I see her eyes snap to the side where the kitchen is. The sound of metal trays clanking echo through the hallway. "Seems supper shall be served." She lowers herself to the table and takes a seat in her large wooden chair, engraved with a gigantic crow on the backrest.

The chefs, wearing white bird masks and attire, enter and place our bowls in front of us with a hop in their steps. They flash everyone with a grin, and move to their own seats along the sides closest to mother. I bow my head, watching the chunks float in the soup; the smell triggers my nose and a rumbling in my stomach that makes me wish to feel sick.

But I don't, I'm sorry Marie.

Mother's glass rings as she clashes her knife against it. "My children, tonight I ask of you all to enjoy yourselves as our God would intend, bask in the flesh she has selected, and find yourself stronger than before, rejuvenated in her rituals." She rings it a second time. "You may eat."

I start digging in, hating that a part of me enjoys the taste. I stare at Marie's empty seat and feel somber; she was almost the same age as my sister. I wonder what Cathy is looking like right now; I know she and Marie were close. I wander my eyes to her seat, and it's empty too? Shit, did she close herself off in her room after our argument or was it that it's Marie's turn?

I better go get her before mother gets upset about her absence; I don't need heat on us on the night we get out of here. I open my mouth to excuse myself before I hear heels clicking on the wooden planks. "Mother, I'm sorry I'm late!" I listen carefully to the voice; it doesn't sound like Cathy.

Moreover, out appears someone I didn't expect, because she was supposed to be dead and chopped up into a bowl. Marie stomps her way into the hall, stopping at her seat, makeup a mess as it seems like she'd been crying for awhile. "I'm sorry, mother; I found it hard to come today. It's just.."

Mother waves her hands for Marie to come closer; she holds her head and kisses it as the girl falls to the floor. "It is okay, my child; I know you'll miss her, but she had been a good follower; I am thankful she came to me earlier. She's now with a higher power."

What in the hells is happening.

"Where is Cathy?" I speak out, and everyone seems bewildered by my statement. They all go silent, and a sudden realization hits me. "What do you think we're eating?" speaks mother.

I drop my spoon; it clatters against the floor, and I grab my throat. I feel bile well up, and I abruptly stand up to go throw-up. although when I do, the surrounding members grab me and pull me down, a large hand covers my mouth, and I look up to see Samson. Tears stream down my cheeks before I can stop them, and all I can do is scream. My sister is dead.

"No, keep it in." Mother speaks, moving between chairs that've been scattered about. "That's one of the last meals you'll eat." I struggle under their grips and shout, but all that comes out are muffles.

"Your sister was a sweet thing, really." She says dipping her finger in the soup and slurping it up with a smack of her lips. "Told me all about your plans to abandon your family, that you were a 'pig'. So I rewarded her by making her meet her true purpose sooner. If it's anything, she died happy."

"Fuck you!" I managed to scream out amongst his fingers. "You're monsters, all of you."

She ignores my rants and plays with the tie around my neck and pulls it tighter. "You know why we call traitors pigs? Cause just like us crows, they enjoy the taste, but shamefully, you lie to yourself that you hate it, but you love it. Indulging in sickly ways without honoring the practice leads to disrespecting her."

I try to maneuver my way out, shifting side to side before staring up to Samson. I swear I see him crying too, although it's too late to question as he grabs the metal saltshaker on the table and hits me, hard.

After that, all I see is pitch black, and there's a horrid smell coming from around my face.

My body feels limp; I try moving my hands but find them tied together. I pull but to no avail. Why try in the first place? She's gone, the one thing that kept me going. I didn't care if I died; it's true, I'm a pig; I'll live in the filth that are my sins I've committed in this house.

Although I thought if I could take care of her, maybe I could forgive myself; she was young; she still could have been saved; or did I just not see her change right before me?

I refused to; all I saw was my little sister.

I merge with the silence in the room, taking in my thoughts, waiting to die. I hear rats scurry to my ankles and feel them nibble at my flesh. I don't move, at least I'm useful to another being in some way.

My ears perk up at another sound, heavy footsteps. They've finally come. They stop before me; their loud breathing is the only sound left. I look up knowing our eyes won't meet and wait. The man before me lets out a grunt as he tosses an object above his head and then comes down with a hefty swing.

And tears through the rope around my wrists. I find myself surprised and able to see once he rips off what was blinding me; the pig's head bounces against the concrete ground with a sickly squelch. I stare up and see a familiar face, Samson with an axe.

Before I can question what he's doing, he grabs my arm and pulls me up with his strength. We rush through the building, and I notice the darkness coming from outside the windows. Everyone must be asleep by now.

"What are you...doing?" I say with rushed breaths as we stumble through the halls until he opens the main door and tosses me outside. Snow cushions my fall, and an axe lands by my side.

"Alright then, go off; I always knew you hated me saving you, so go back to the snow." He says stressed as he keeps a look out by the door.

"What are you doing? You know they'll kill you for this" I scan his face, and all I can find is sincerity; his brow seems to soften as he walks a bit further from the home. "I know."

"I watched you grow up; I know I... was never a father to you; far from it, but it killed me knowing what was going to happen tonight." He coughs slightly on his words, but I find myself getting a fiery feeling in my gut.

"So you grew a conscious?" I shout, standing up while holding myself, braving the snow.

"I did, I'm not a good man, and I don't expect forgiveness." He declares out into the howling wind. "My mind was twisted by her; I'll die in this house, but I won't let you."

"I'm sorry Luke..and to you Cathy." He grabs the doors, and I try to chase him inside, although it's too late as he slams them together. I bang on the door, screaming out.

and eventually find myself disappearing into the snow,

trying to forget it all and learn to live without you.