Dance of the Impures

  I look in the glass mirror. My face is caked in makeup. I have light pink eye shadow on and silver jewels glued to the edges of my eyes. My eyes feel heavy because of the thick lashes stuck on my eyelids. Earlier my stylist insisted on dying my eyebrows a hue of dark red, but there was no way I’d let her do that to me. My hair is up in some sort of a french twist. Don’t get me wrong, it all seems lovely. Just not like Cathy, more like Catherine. Back home my hair was confined to ponytails, not like I considered doing anything else with it. Normally, I dressed in t-shirts a size too small for me and jeans so dirty you couldn’t tell what their initial color was. That was who Cathy was. Now I’m in a fire red dress. It's embroidered with sequins colored to match my dress. The layers of fabric are stitched together, in such fashion, it would be hard to think I was anything other than a flower. A red rose to be exact.

“You, my dear, you look exquisite!” my stylist smiles, nodding in approval. I wonder if she even bothered to learn my name, to learn any of her lab rats names. In her hands, is the final piece to my Red Rose Ensemble, as she called it. She’s holding a crown made of flowers. Red roses. She must know I’m staring at it because she starts to talk. Again. 

“You’ll be gorgeous with this! People will truly know you’re a red rose!” 

Why do these people speak in such high pitched voices? Why do all their sentences go up? Today is the perfect day to let out all my hate for these people, I will after all, never see them after tonight’s dance. She places the crown on my head, wedging it in between the french twists. She beams, content with her work. I’m about to snap at her for being so happy about the mess she made of me, but her last sentence stops me.

“Don’t let them strip you of your thorns.” She stares at me and I stare back, more intensely than I’d intended. In her eyes, I can make out golden flakes. Subtle, but still there. As she closes the door, I rip the crown from my hair, tossing it to the floor and free my hair of the sticky sprays and gels she used to form a french twist. 

I will not let them change me. They already took my family away, all of our families for that matter. I have no family, not even a sister to console me or a brother to protect from his nightmares. No one. No one except Alex, but tonight, they would take me away from him too.

I’ve known Alex since I was thrown into the orphanage. Actually, I’d known his sister, Isabelle first. Isabelle was a year younger than us and often made Alex blush with her remarks of me. Not like I’d bother marrying or having children, They'd just be taken away from wherever I was and put here. Even so, I doubt Alex viewed me as more than a friend, he was just an easily flustered guy. A very good-looking easily flustered guy. If he wanted a wife, it really shouldn’t be that hard for him. He has tanned olive skin, black hair and blue eyes. If he gets to be an Angel, his personality will fit his looks just fine.

Which brings me back to the horrors of tonight. A week ago, on the first day of Spring, all sixteen-year-olds living in the lower parts of Arelle were sent an invitation to the Dance. It really isn’t an invitation nor a Dance. The invitation isn’t even an invitation, this Dance is mandatory. Tonight is the Dance. While all the “pure” citizens dance in their Spring themed costumes, us “impure” sixteen-year-olds will be drawn to a stage in front of the whole crowd. It wasn’t even our fault we’re “impure”. Centuries ago the Angel and the Demon had an offspring. The offspring was one of our very great ancestors. And slowly, the chain of us “impures” began to grow, until the government decided it was time to get rid of us, by putting us into either the Angelic territory or the Demonic territory based on our personality. If you try lying to get into Angelics, you are immediately banished to the Demonic territory for your sin. It’s pretty simple, either you enjoy your time in heaven or you rot in hell. It all comes down to how you answer the Sorter’s questions.

 The past few days have been wonderful, until today. In the higher parts of Arelle, there’s food at the press of a button, hot water showers and clothing made of soft materials like velvet and lace. Back home we don’t have any of that. If we wanted food we had to work for money every day and night. For bathing, we could forget about the hot water. If we ever wanted hot water it had to be boiled. To get it cold enough to bathe in we had to place in a cool area, away from the scorching rays of sunlight. We never even had showers. Usually, we would just fill a small tub, no bigger than a wooden barrel, with ice-cold water. For now, it isn’t the time to worry about things I’d never experience again. 

It’s almost seven o’clock and the Dance starts in less than a few minutes. I was supposed to be downstairs, getting ready to go on stage ten minutes ago. I try to run, as fast as I can with heels no less than seven inches. The tips of my heels catch onto an unkind part of the velvet rug and twists my ankle on an odd angle. Then I fall to my knees. Ouch. The worst I’m hoping for is a minor bruise on my knees, but I know I’ll be facing some ankle injury. I try to balance myself on my good leg while leaning on a door for support. As soon as I put just the slightest amount of pressure onto my bad leg, I let out a yelp. Then Alex appears out of the door.

 I lose the balance I was trying so hard to gain and fall into Alex’s forearms.

 “Cathy?” Alex laughs, turning a hot red. I could not be more glad Isabelle wasn’t with us right now.

 “Shouldn’t you be down there already?” I question, still in Alex’s embrace.

 “I was trying to get out of wearing this,” he frowns, pointing up to the flower crown made of daisies placed carefully on his head. I can’t help but smile.

 “You’re lucky they didn’t do anything too extreme to you. I expected more wicked red eyeliner and a pink tint to your face to match that dress.”

“You’d be surprised, they tried dying my eyebrows” I begin. I pause and knock off his daisy crown. “I took off mine right after my stylist left.”

“Of course you did Cathy,” he says, trying to stabilize me on my feet. I let out a quick whimper and as soon as he realizes, he gives me his arm.

“Shall we?” he asks, glancing at my bad leg. 

I take his left arm in my right. “We shall,” I say, returning his glance. 

 As we descend down the stairs, Alex half supporting me and half carrying me, I catch glimpses of guests. Every year, the Dance is Spring themed and every year, the clothing gets more ridiculous. This year, I can see women dressed as pixies and fairies, while men are dressed as rabbits and deer. I let out a laugh and Alex just stares at me, questioning me. I shake my head as if it was nothing. The trace of my laughter disappears when I see the other “impure” sixteen-year-olds and remember why I’m really here. 

 We make our way over to them and a woman asks for our names. We give our names to her and she starts scolding us on our punctuality. I don’t think Alex or I were paying any attention to her lecture because her skin is dyed a distracting bright orange to match her equally as distracting bright yellow ballroom gown. She gives us a number and tells us to get in place. I’m number five and Alex is number two. We’re sorted by our first names since we don’t have last names. The government thought we might try to find our families with that sort of information. Alex helps me get to my designated area and finds me a chair to sit on.

 “Bye Alex,” I say, knowing this might as well be the last time I’d see him. 

 He doesn’t reply, he just gives me a longing stare. The way a citizen of the higher parts of Arelle looked at jewelry. I hug him, knowing he wouldn’t take action first. 

“I’ll miss y-” I start. Before I finish, he grabs my face in his hands and his lips are on mine. His lips are soft and sweet. He tastes of mint flavored macarons and spring, but I have to pull away. This will only leave me broken when we’re separated, I don’t even plan on getting married wherever I’m going. I summon any ounce of strength left in me and push him away. He looks at me, hurt. 

“I’ll miss you too,” he incoherently whispers, wiping at his mouth. He leaves me and saunters over to area two. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Isabelle glaring at me. 

I don’t even bother listening to the introduction of the Dance. I notice the citizens have stopped dancing to listen to the speech, but that’s about all I can take in. Alex, the guy I’ve known since I was nine had kissed me. The guy who could have anyone else had kissed me, Cathy. No, I’m not Cathy tonight. Alex kissed Catherine. What did I feel towards Alex? Were we friends? No, we’re more than that. Best friends? Yes, of course, but where do I draw the line between best friends and lovers?

 I look up, away from my hands, and realize Alex had been sorted into Angelics. I allow myself a raise of the corners of my lips. It was always clear Alex would be an Angelic, his selfless and obedient characteristics. Then I think of myself. I am reckless. I don’t listen to instructions. Just earlier, I untangled the french twist and tore off my crown and Alex’s. I am most definitely not an Angelic. They could dress me up to look like Catherine all they want, but I’m Cathy. The girl who’s going to be separated from her best friend-lover forever. Just as I wrap up my thoughts, they move onto the third person.

She’s dressed as a lily. It’s almost the same design as mine, just simpler and less striking of a color. She has the same crown as everyone else. The same jewels on the corners of her eyes as mine. Her hair is a dark shade of brown, twisted into two braids running along her shoulders. Her eyebrows, however, are a light shade of yellow, colored to match her dress. Then I remember what my stylist said. 

“Don't let them strip you of your thorns.”

After a while of waiting, I hear the announcer call Catherine. The crowd greets me with a soft applaud and I limp onto the stage. These dumb, oblivious people. They don’t even know where I’ll be going, who I’d be losing. I can see Alex, to my left, a stone-cold expression stamped onto his face. I never thought someone could be so close to me yet feel so far. He could be right next to me, but he could feel as though he was in another dimension. The Sorter holds out his hand, waiting for me to shake it. I push it away and cast a glare in his direction. He flushes a deep red, the same shade Alex was earlier tonight. The crowd laughs in response.

“I think we all know where this one is going!” he says, under a forced grin. “Demonic!”

I can hear the snarl in his voice, the need to make my life terrible after embarrassing him in front of his people. He points to my right, expecting me to go stand next to girl number three on the black platform. 

I grab the microphone in his hand. “No.” I declare, “and my name is not Catherine. My name is Cathy.” I drop the microphone and I book it for the fire exit. 

Outside, a storm is brewing, but I have no other choice. If I return, I'll be sent to prison for sure. Might as well take my chances. I strip off my heels, as it makes it harder for me to run in them and because of what happened earlier. In my bare feet, I run as far as I can, with my ankle. Eventually, I can’t take it anymore and reach a river in the middle of the woods. I collapse onto the cold, wet soil.

Behind me, I can hear shots being fired and missing. And footsteps. The calming thud of footsteps. Alex’s footsteps.

“You came,” I falter.

“Of course I came,” he breathes, hands on the side of his hips. 

He bends down, touching my ankle. “This was a terrible decision.”

“If I didn’t do this we’d be separated.”

“I know.”

Before I know it, I’m kissing him. This time it was different. His lips were still soft, but they grew more passionate, exploring new places every time. My hands make their way up to his neck and he flinches. I pull back and look at my hands. My hands are covered in bright red blood.

“I found them!” a male voice exclaims. He takes out his bow and before I know it he shoots, aimed towards Alex.

“No!” I cry, trying to step in between the flying arrow and Alex. Alex is too strong and he’s pushing me behind him, but it’s clear, he too is scared.

Then the arrow met Alex.

Of course, none of the shots hit me. Alex was behind me, trying to protect me. He’s gone now. Gone because I made a stupid choice, just so I could what? Where would I run off to? Would I find an island I could live on with Alex? One far, far away from here, but how far could I even go with my ankle? 

I try to make out the man’s conversation over the rain pour.

“Why’d you kill the Angelic?”

“Couldn’t you tell? They were-” I stop trying to listen and brush my hand over Alex’s blue eyes still fresh with terror.

They had done it. Stripped me of my very last thorne. My very last hope of defense. Alex.