Exiled

      Warm hands slip into Mary’s cold and clammy ones, awakening her from her trance. She has been staring forlornly at the passer-by’s down below for hours now, wondering how easy it could have been for her had the accident not occurred. Pulling her attention away from the carts, she stares at the small child beside her.

           An exact replica of her, the child has blonde, wispy hair, blue eyes the size of saucers and a petite face, always adorned with a smile. The only thing that differs from them is the rosy tint on the child’s cheeks, as Mary lost all of her colour when the accident happened. Ever since, she has remained cold, almost like an ice cube.

           The child stares up at her with admiring eyes. “Where are we going today?” She asks Mary, her voice as sweet as honey.

           Looking back out over the horizon, Mary surveys her surroundings. Standing on the cliff, there isn’t too much to see; however, you get the best view of the sun here. Even though the sun is only just rising – portrayed by the pink and orange hues – the town below them is buzzing with life. Early birds getting the worm, as her mother would have said. Many people are commuting to work already, or getting their morning shop in, or even having breakfast with their friends… oh, to have the freedom.

           Of course, Mary knew it was all her fault, but it still stung her anyway.

           “We aren’t doing anything, child,” Mary tells her firmly, before letting go of her hand. “You are going to go back down to the town, and that is where you are going to stay. If anyone was to find you here, goodness knows what they would do to you.”

           “Come down with me,” the child pleads with Mary, who remains stoic. It’s those eyes, Mary thinks. The painfully innocent, unknowing eyes that watch her, delving deep into her soul. Shaking her head sadly, she sits upon the edge of the cliff, feet dangling over the edge. Mary loves to do this; the feel of the wind as it soars through her body… it’s the only time she feels free.

           “I cannot return,” Mary tells the child once again. “You know this, child. I have been exiled.”

           “But why?” The child’s lip begins to quiver, and Mary’s heart plummets to the floor. Her head begins to pound, the child’s words a hammer against her brain. Suddenly, all the sounds in the world can be heard in her ears, making the pressure in her head intolerable. The sound of cars horn’s being honked, the twitter of birds as they sing their morning song, the hum of the public nattering away at each other… Mary can’t take it anymore.

           She springs to her feet, swaying slightly, dangerously close to the edge. Whilst the child hadn’t meant to, she’d struck a nerve in Mary, one that she couldn’t seem to switch off today. She paces in a circle for what seems like an eternity, until she turns around and faces the child.

           “I can’t tell you why I can’t return to my home, child,” Mary explains to her, as the noise in her head subsides a little. “It’s too dangerous for you.”

           “Did you do something bad?”

           Something bad. Something bad? Mary ponders this question. Morally, she supposes that she had done a bad thing, but in her eyes, Mary doesn’t see it as a bad thing; she sees it as a blessing.

           “Of course not,” Mary replies simply.

This answer results in the noise returning. They are swarming around her head like agitated bees, and Mary feels that her head may explode. She half expects her face to be turning as red as a tomato (if she had any colour left) and that steam will start billowing from her ears. A little voice inside her is screeching, almost splitting her head in two. ‘Tell her!’ It’s circling in her brain, until Mary has finally had enough, unable to withstand the pain any longer.

“Child!” She shouts, making her jump. Apologetic, she clasps her head as the noise begins to dissipate again. “Aye, I did do something bad. Quite terrible indeed. In fact, if I tell you, you must promise not to think any worse of me.”

The child nods solemnly. Bless her heart.

“Well. It all started on a Tuesday night. It was raining – as it always does in every story ending in misfortune – and my friend, Ellen Peters, had invited me over for dinner that night. With no partner, and certainly no family I wanted to spend the night with, I gladly accepted. I went to the market simply hours before, expecting there to be a rush, with mad queues. There wasn’t. So, after I picked up some juicy plums and the finest bottle of wine I could afford, I travelled to Ellen’s house. A bit early, mind you, but I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded… but I guess I’ll never know if she minded or not.

You see, when I got there, Natasha was nowhere to be found. I checked everywhere: all over the house, in the garden, I even asked her neighbours if they had seen her – to which they told me they hadn’t seen her since yesterday. I thought it rather odd, seeing as she prides herself on her garden, and tends to it every morning. How could she have missed it that morning?

The answer was that she couldn’t do it from the basement, where she had been stored. As soon as I walked into the house through the back entrance, I could smell rotten meat, almost like beef had been simmering under the sun’s warmth for the day. I followed the stench to the basement, and there she was. Butchered like a pig, my mother had described it. It was a truly awful sight.” Mary takes a deep breath of the polluted air, trying to calm herself down. She could feel a wave of sadness and self-pity washing over her, but she doesn’t want to get into that frame of mind again. “When her husband, Mark, came home, I was astounded to see he wasn’t surprised. He said that she was asking for it, inviting all and sundry to his house for dinner – meaning me, of course. I was alarmed at how calm he was, and then it hit me: he was the one who had killed her. Out of jealously, no doubt.

I ran to the Police straight away, and informed them of what had happened. Being a woman, I wasn’t taken seriously, and they laughed me off. It was an outrage, and a dishonour, to my friend Helen. As Mark was a well-known politician, I knew I had no chance of them favouring me, or justice, anyway, so I did what I thought was best.

I killed him.

I took a knife to his throat, exactly the same way he did to his wife. And I watched him struggle for air, enjoying every single bit of it, enjoying the revenge I was receiving for Ellen. An eye for an eye, my mother always said. Unfortunately for me, the Police showed up too soon after, and shot me right on the spot. I died next to that filthy man. Three people dead, all preventable. And what’s worse, when I finally reached Ellen in the afterlife, she was furious with me for killing her husband. And so, by killing him, I lost, quite literally everything. So you see? It wasn’t worth it in the end.”

“Miss Mary, that awful man deserved it!” The child sympathises, as Mary shakes her head sadly. “He got what was coming for him!”

“Maybe. Maybe not. My dear child, violence is not the answer. I know that now, and so I want you to promise me this: you won’t ever stoop to the level I did. You have a chance to make this right, and I want you to take it. Can you do that for me?”

The child nods, and a minute feeling of warmth spreads through Mary.

“Good girl. Now go on, be on your way. You don’t want them to find you up here, or they’ll exile you too.”

The girl begins to walk away, when she turns back around. “You really can’t ever come back?”

“No, my dear. My sins have brought me a curse, which means I can’t return to the town. Even though no one can see me, I physically can’t step foot in it anymore.”

“How come I can see you, Miss Mary?” She questions her.

Clever girl. “All in good time child. You’ll understand one day.”

“Okay. Goodbye Mary,” the child waves, and begins to skip off down the path leading to the town below.

“Goodbye child,” Mary responds dismally, watching with melancholic eyes as she waves goodbye to her past self, hoping that she can now prevent the same events from occurring to the child.