The Land of Peace

Note: Sensitive themes, suicide, violence.

Forbidden Fruit  

As his lips enveloped mine, I must think back. When I do cast my mind to memories, I find I was my own hero. I was the captain of my own battles and led myself to a victorious end. I defeated my plight for love and loneliness no longer lurks near my chamber. I have poisoned myself on purpose, eating the formidable fruit of love and now for my sins I am chained to him forever. The death of love.  

Land of Final Peace  

As I roamed the garden, I was aware of the tree so beautiful and pure, the delights of companionship held in its branches. The colour of its fruit shone bright enticing us, enrapturing us with its faint glow that shone both morning and night. Many of us, all single in a land that commanded us to be, looked upon the tree every day with longing eyes, it stood in the centre of the garden for us to admire. The sacrifice for eating its fruit, our ultimate end on the planet now known for killing people in love.  

The doctrine of the Land of Final Peace was recited to us daily by the Watchers, those responsible for keeping love away from the land. The land was a place in which we begged for forgiveness, our past grievances, the way we treated the world and all that was within it. It should be named the Land of Lamentation. A land solely rooted in the past with no thought for future. This is where life ended for humankind.  

We saw with our own eyes what would happen, what happened to those who confessed their love, to have eaten the fruit. For love we have burned at the stake and the smell of the burning flesh is a constant reminder, forced way past our cerebrum, down into our scared searching souls, that we shall not commit our hearts to another soul.  

Fending attraction was one of trial and error in the land. The Watchers made us quote the mantra every single day;

“To never love deep enough, to never return affection, to consummate the bond of friendship and never beyond the realm that offers affections towards one another.” 

They would beat it into us. We could not look into any human eyes with longing. It was forbidden. Watchers were everywhere. Watching you. Making sure you were paying your penance. We had made the world evil. That’s what they told us. I have the scars to prove it. We were beaten like Israelites in the land of Egypt.  

We were adorned with clothes that held no significance other than to clothe our backs and keep us from the temptations of the flesh. The only thing that wasn’t covered was our faces. Our bodies drowned in the harsh woollen fabrics, leaving nothing for the eyes, the weak eyes that so easily ensnared us into folly when enraptured by the unique silhouette of another human being. The Watchers wore red. Some people thought it was cliché symbolism, the colour that signalled love was now seen as a warning. I think of it differently. The red marked the blood that was on their hands. No matter how much they tried, the thick dry blood of the innocent would brand their palms and prove them guilty.  

We were re-sculpted; a new form of clay moulded by a new potter. We were new creations, cold and vile, morbid minded, knowing death is never truly that far of a distance, a journey we must face as our one and only goal. The final curtain’s noose that hung around our necks, our bodies not putting up a fight, welcoming it as a rite of passage. We were trained to think this way and the more someone tells you something the more you think it’s true. They told us in death then and only then can we truly be free.  

Then why do we live on? Many stricken hearts depleted of any love took the matter into their own hands. The Watchers called them Cowards. Too selfish to hold up their own sins. They told us to wear it, like a crown of thorns which would be replaced, an imperishable crown of beauty in the Afterlife. A crown that could never be removed, eternally knighted to royalty for seeing our own sinful lives through to the bitter end. We were not to end it.  It was to end us.  

Encounter  

I remember the day I encountered him. It was my day to collect the fruit and vegetables for our dinner, enough for the hundreds that were left. Watchers even observed our interactions around the table. It felt more suffocating to be watched there. Conversations were at were short and lifeless; nothing that would sound harsh and sinful to a Watcher’s ears. The silence was deafening, and fear was visible in everyone who partook of their meal. 

Maybe that’s why I liked the garden. It appears to be the only place where life is not shunned. It is made and cultivated to grow, encouraged to. I let my mind wander, something a Watcher can never beat me for. I dream of meeting someone tasting the forbidden fruit with me, one that contained the joys of love lost. To think of something other than my sins. To believe I have served enough time wallowing and live with someone who would love and care for me deeply. I tried not to think about it too much. It could get me depressed and make me the Coward I sometimes wanted so desperately to be.  

The man was alone which was not unusual, most men would roam alone in the garden looking solemn and forlorn. His face was the picture of placid kindness and tenderness. It made my heart feel like the beaches I used to walk on. I pictured his face with me on a beach. Him swinging me around near the tide, which awaited its debut to cover the ocean floor. Then, my mind went blurry, for love when forgotten is no longer available to feel as readily as it was before. It was something though. A slow stirring in my spirit. Something that hadn’t stirred in me for a while.  

I know when he looked at me both of us felt love, despite being unable to name it. We were so far removed from the emotion that it felt unnatural and uncertain. We were dumfounded, the emotion grounded us on the spot and our eyes met, indeed it was love at first sight and love made us stare at each other.  

The Watcher noticed the intensity and we had nowhere to hide. 

I quickly averted my gaze; I carried on picking the oranges for the citrus salad. That was what I should have been doing. Not letting my eyes draw on their wicked behaviour. 

 “You! Head down,” the Watcher pointed to the man and he quickly obeyed.  

“You come here.” 

I pray for it to be someone else. It is highly unlikely, but I draw from the hope buried deep inside of me. I go hard at work. I am solely focused on collecting oranges. I am solely focused on getting the juiciest oranges that will pair well with the cottage cheese, the freshly picked cress, handpicked bitter pomegranate seeds and nutty, buttery beans. I must do my part. I will collect the best oranges. My life depended upon it.   

The Watcher was now inches from me, hanging over me like a cloud. The sun that had been melting my back as I worked was replaced with the dark foreboding shadow of the Watcher.    

“Did you not hear me talking to you . . . you heathen.”  

I was shocked to my very core, I jumped, scratching myself violently on one of the thistles sticking out of the tree. The blood splurged out from my right arm, thick and red, dripping slowly, drenching the ground underneath.  

The Watcher was unapologetic, unmoved by my current distresses.   

“You should be more careful. Aren’t you collecting the oranges for today’s supper?”   

The blood was still spilling and I always wondered why. It wasn't deep but the blood was gushing and trickling. It was the adrenaline perhaps. An assigned fate. 

“I can help her. I am the new doctor here.” 

The man came into my view, but I knew better than to gaze at him. My head stayed stooped low, embarrassed of how excited I was, that he was coming to my rescue for the smallest cut on my arm.   

“Come and show your proof,” said the Watcher quickly.  

The man came and walked towards me and now he was close. Too close. My heart was pounding. I prayed for him to have all his documents.  

The Watcher snatched the papers he retrieved from his pockets. He studied them and it felt as if the entirety of life spurred into meaning for this moment. He looked and squinted as though he wasn't just reading one line, but every letter and syllable. He muttered the words under his breath slowly and measured. I held my breath, as if that would speed up time. Nothing seemed to matter. Only the moment.  

Finally, in a sudden movement, the papers were planted hard on his chest moving him backwards. It didn't alarm him nor cause the man to be angry I noticed. He was still calm, centred.  

“You have exactly ten minutes to sort her and get her back. Any longer and I will incur something of the worst nature has occurred.” 

“I can assure you . . .” the man began. 

“You won’t have to assure me of nothing if you arrive in ten minutes. Now off you go and be quick. It is not a life-threatening injury.”  

The Moment  

We both thanked the Watcher and headed in the way of the doctor’s hall. I then remembered what happened to the other doctor. The one this man had replaced. The last doctor had burned at the stake for a woman he had loved.  It was a common thing for doctors, to fall in love with their patients. I can assume that would make all the sense in the world. The doctor was seen as a saviour, someone who had helped. Any form of care in this land, even the slightest care, could bring the most forceful of passions. That wasn’t me. I felt something at our first encounter. Before he was the doctor, he was a man, the man I met that felt like the beach.  

“Are you okay?” He said. 

“Yes I am.” 

We tried to make conversation, but we knew it could be futile. We made it basic, aware  of the Watchers patrolling the area.  

“My name is David.”  

“David,” I say out loud. I let the name fog my mind.  

“Your name?”

“Rose.” I suppose he is letting fog into his mind too. I can only assume.  

“Rose,” he too says out loud.  

Nothing more is said until we make it to the doctor’s hall. 

“I wanted to check your pulse,” he says as he’s felt for my right arm. We are now seated in the doctor's clinic, a small room with two chairs and technical equipment stored neatly on shelves.   

I let him hold my arm and I can’t say without the feeling of exhilaration. I was craving it. Seeking it. I had finally found someone and I was going to reverence this moment and mark it forever if this was the only time. 

He too was trembling. His face was anxious and within the beads of sweat the emotions of fear was marked and etched around his face.  

“I am . . . I think beginning to lose control of everything . . . I can’t seem to. . .” 

He was piecing the English language, trying to gain use of it but failing. The English language was failing him. It always failed when love was involved.  

I too, had become mute. Mute to my surroundings and everything that remained. My mind was centred and tunnel visioned. David. The fog was still there misting emotions of reason and sense.  

“I want to meet you by the tree tonight. I want to . . .” 

A watcher swooped by.  

We became aware of time and space again. We needed to be back.  

We nodded. We were to meet by the tree knowing it would be our last encounter.  

Time to go  

We bit into the fruits that we both gave each other. The tastiest of fruits and a signed declaration of love. It was 11:45pm, at 12pm our sin would be known. We would wait here. We had planned to stay together and that would mean the death of us.  A confession of love and a bite from the fruit of love, enough to kill us at the stake and throw our carcasses out of the land’s boundaries, where they would bless our bodies to hell.  

We held hands as we laid down on the soft mattress of grass, to the twinkling of the stars that were bright and filled the night. This was the first time I recognised the night as an individual, the individual who would leave us and beckon us to the other person of the Day. Day would lead us to death.  

11:47pm  

Nothing was to happen. The thoughts of having any intimacy so deep would throw us into a state of confusion. We were content to think of the things that could have been. The love that would have held us until the colour of our hair matched the grey clouds and are steps became infant like, until we were bedridden holding hands, like we are now, contented by the life we lived and the people we shared it with.   

11:47pm  

We sat up right, looking at each other, inches away, smiling at each other, lightening the mood and cooling our anxieties.  

11:48pm  

“I made you something.” 

He pulled out a wooden bark, thinly designed and carved into a never-ending ring. I thanked him and I placed it tightly near the end of my forefinger. It feels as if I have changed something. Something has changed. I am the wife of David.   

11:49pm  

Silence  

11:50pm  

I close my eyes and let the breeze hit my face.  

11:51pm 

I see tears remain in David’s eyes and the emotions choke me, my throat ceases, and I shed a tear. 

11:52pm  

David is very good at naming the stars and if we had time maybe I would have been too, and our children and our children’s children. We will never know.  

11:53pm  

David used to have two older siblings. They had died long before he was born. He grew up an only child and spent most of his life learning medicine.  

11:54pm 

I tell him I was a devout Catholic before I found God for myself. My Catholic parents disowned me. All of them passed away during the battle to fight against the New World Order. The one that made love disappear. They fought the good fight, but they could never forgive me. Now love was nowhere to be seen.  

11:55pm  

 None of us would have wanted pets. 

11:56pm  

I feel as though I would like to see my son begin life in this world. We will never know. I will never know if I am to have a son.

11:57pm  

“I love you David.”  

11:58pm  

Silence 

11:59pm  

“I love you Rose.” 

David pushes close to me and holds me in a warm. I am taken in shock. I crumble, crying into his broad and muscular shoulders. Tears form a wet patch on his shirt. We hug tightly. We never want to separate. Love clings to us like the unsatiable connection of a magnetic force. I have never felt so intertwined with anyone.  

12:00pm  

The Watchers have come to take us. It is like the Garden of Gethsemane. They have come with spades and axes, ready to take us, scare us away by force to the stake. We grip hands. We vowed to kiss being burnt in flames. Our first kiss. Our last kiss. We were ready, to be burnt for love.