Jacob's Sinn

I walk slowly, contemplating the sound of my footsteps. They echo on the deathly empty street, bounce off the closed windows and return to my ears twisted and deformed. My footsteps are the only sign of life in this grey ghost town tonight. During the daytime people scurry to work like rats, but the moon sees no one. It is almost past curfew, and no one wants to be out after curfew.

My left boot stumbles over a common crack in the broken sidewalk and I trip, landing hard on my hands.

“Shit.” I pull myself onto one knee and while dusting off my coat realize that my right hand is bleeding. The deep red of life is a color I have not seen in some time. I take half a second to admire its passionate beauty before wrapping my palm in a grey bandana that usually covers my mouth from the putrid air of this city.

I am about to continue my robotic pace when a soft cry encroaches from the sanctuary of a dark alley to my right. It begs my attention. I recall my dead mother saying in a high-pitched squeal, “Jacob! Get away from that! Curiosity killed the cat you know!”

Well, I’m one of the few who are stupid enough to be curious these days; cats beware. I walk cautiously into the dark alley trying to find the source of the soft disturbance. The once small whimper evolves into a desperate sobbing, and the alley crumbles with remorse for its hidden victim.

Huddling in a corner by a grey trash can and clutching a dirty bag to her chest, I find a young girl with tussled blonde hair. Her eyes are pressed shut as if to delete the world, yet water streams from them. Scraps of a red satin cling to her sweat stained supple skin and she is barefoot. Even covered in soot she is beyond beautiful. Like the ocean to a sailor, she beckons me. My filthy siren of a Goddess.

I know instinctively that curfew is almost upon us and it is nearly a mile to my shabby apartment. I must get her inside and safe before they make their rounds. I try to pull her to her feet and consol her. She fights me off, pushing me away with her grubby manicured hands. Hiding her face in her palms and leaving streaks of black war paint on her cheeks, she continues to sob when I try to whisper to her that curfew is near. I cannot waste any time. I scoop her and her dirty satin bag up into my arms and begin the run to my place. She, exhausted and defeated, isn’t fighting me anymore. Halfway to safety she goes limp in my arms.

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A sinless 14-year-old girl tried to hold back tears as the auctioneer pushed her to the front of the stage. Her bare feet tempted splinters from the wooden platform, and she wore rags that did little to hide her shame.

“Small blonde beauty! Orphaned at her father’s death! Up for bidding! Any takers? Any takers? Come one, come all! See how she shivers! Innocence is never more precious than when it is for sale! Come one, come all! Any bidders? Any bidders? Ah yes, you sir in the front! One hundred credits? Ha! I think we can do better than that for this pretty little angel!” The rough hands of the auctioneer jostled the pretty blonde locks of the cowering girl. “She is too tempting to work the fields is she not? Hahaha! Ah yes, you madam! Two hundred! Do I hear three hundred? Anybody three hundred? Yes, you sir…” The auction continued but the girl could barely hear any of it. Her heart was beating so fast it overthrew her eardrums. Everything around her sounded muffled and numb.

The bidding topped out at 4,800 credits, about three years worth of pay for the average man. Afterward she was carried off the stage, partly because she could not muster the courage to walk and partly because it made for a good show. She was then tossed into a black car with three other girls.

These were the prettiest girls at the auction that week; they were the luckiest as well. Instead of being sold as laborers in a field, factory, or cheap whore house, they were to be sent off to a brothel that caters exclusively to the rich and royal. The four girls were chained together by their thin, breakable wrists. Their silent tears joined together in comradery on the leather seats beneath them, as they were shipped away to their new prison.

When the drive ended a robust woman with thick hairy arms and graying red hair, named Aria, pulled the four girls out of the car and lined them up in the gravel drive. Squinting in the light of the sunset, they stood gawking up at a multistory, red brick fortress. It was clad with daunting iron bars on the windows and a elegant sign on the huge double doors before them that read “La Mariposa”. This building sat in the middle of a fifty-acre grassy field with a seven-foot grey stone wall as trimming along the edge. It was a plantation of lust.

The car sped away, flinging gravel like tiny bullets at the girls’ bare skin. The blonde tried to stand the straightest and not cringe; she was last in line and the shortest. The new girls shivered in unison and stared at Aria, with doe eyes, as she explained to them their new meaning in life.

“Congratulations. You are now all nothing but property. You are The Master’s property to be exact. You try to escape, and he will have you shot. You will be given red uniforms that you are to wear every day. These will state you’re rank as slave in this household. Part of this uniform will be your collars. You must never take off your collar. Your collar is your life, it displays your name. Without your name you are worthless. Worthless things are not good property and will be punished. I will issue you your names now.”

Their names became Paki, Quil, Rhea and Sinn that day.

Rhea disappeared first out of the four. It was rumored amongst the mansion that she had bit the master when he leaned down to kiss her. It was also rumored that she neglected to do her assigned chores properly. Whatever the reason, the group of four was down to three within only a month of entering the La Mariposa. Paki, Quil and Sinn learned from this. They watched the older slaves and behaved as they did.

Every week a new shipment of girls arrived at the mansion, but most of the new recruits didn’t last long. Aria eventually began to take pride in how much the clients and Master enjoyed Sinn. Her presence would add a stunning air of absolute obedience to every event. She absolutely never showed joy, never smiled and only spoke when spoken to. She had learned how to survive, but survival was not enough after time. Sinn, however reserved she might behave, began to nurture a burning ember of desire deep in her heart. Everyone wished to be free but she also longed for love.

Four years after their arrival, the original pack of four was down to two and it was no rumor why. Paki tried to escape. Everyone had known that she was planning it. She would whisper about it in her sleep every night till it nearly drove all the other girls mad with worry.

The night she escaped some of the girls watched from the top bedroom windows as their clients lay asleep. Sinn saw her run down the field in her red uniform, heels and collar. Paki was a bull’s eye that had been catapulted across the grassy field. She made it to the wall, and everyone held their breath silently hoping she would be the statistic that disproved all the odds. Over that wall was the small town they all new about. Over that wall was civilized society. If she could just get over that wall, all of life would be waiting for her on the other side.

Three shots rang out and Paki fell off the grey wall leaving it splattered with red. Two men walked casually from the mansion toward her body. They were smoking cigarettes and strutting like hunters, guns slung over their shoulders. One of the men fired a shot into Paki’s skull when they reached her. Then they both dragged her body by the ankles to the house; still smoking, still laughing. Sinn knew then that she had to find an escape.

Six months after Paki died on the wall. Sinn had become the favorite pretty lady of the house. The Master requested her almost every evening and every evening she secretly spit in his wine. He fell in love with her almost as quickly as he fell asleep afterwards. This was not the love Sinn wanted and she cordially refused to smile. The Master offered her diamonds and rubies to smile but she never did. He with held her food and punished her at times when his anger over took him but still she refused resilient.

“I don’t remember how to smile sir, I’m sorry Master.”

Aria saw this and felt pity for Sinn. One evening Aria came to the Master’s bedroom. She opened the heavy wooden door, without knocking, and awoke the slave sleeping at the foot of the bed. After the door to the bedroom was safely closed and they could hear the Master snoring on the other side, Aria handed Sinn a bag containing all of the small items she had collected over the years. Sinn stared up at the women who had been terrifying to her for so long and mouthed why?

“For your strength and diligence, I will grant you what you want most,” Aria whispered. Then it happened. Sinn smiled. It was so magnificent that if the Master had seen it, he would have gone blind from her beauty.

While all the other slaves and clients slumbered in bed Aria and Sinn left the house together. Sinn’s red outfit was hidden under a burlap sack, her heels and collar where carefully hidden in the bag. Aria led her across the field to a secret door in the wall. Opening the door swiftly, she hurried Sinn though it and slammed it shut. Aria leaned up against it briefly and prayed that the Master loved Sinn so much he would not kill her if she were caught.

Sinn pressed against the other side of the door and felt the evening air tickle her bare arms. Then, with one deep breath like an Olympic swimmer, she pushed off the wall and began to run through the darkness. Sinn had no idea where she was running. Barefoot she bounded over trash and attempted not to damage her feet too badly, she didn’t want to give them a trail of blood to follow. Her heart thumped in her chest. She ran as fast as she could down the streets of what she assumed was the same society she left behind at fourteen years old. It seemed so different now, had she been gone that long? She swallowed back tears and kept running.

Sinn finally fell onto her knees in a dark alley. She could run no more. Huddled down on all fours she began to cough up blood into the dirt. This air hurt her lungs; it didn’t feel the same as the air in the mansion. She cradled up next to a trash can and finally cried five years worth of tears.

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Click, click, click. My fingertips beat out a rhythm on the keyboard. I, Jacob, am a writer. I have been a writer almost all my life; it is an awfully bad thing to be these days. People who write have ideas; ideas threaten established ways. A person can be punished for whispering against the government, let alone writing against it.

The beautiful lady I found two nights ago is asleep on my shamble of a bed. I hope that she is warm. I only own three blankets and it gets below freezing at night. Her angelic breast rises and falls with every long struggling breathe she takes. I pause my typing at every silence for fear that her breathing will not start again. She might as well be exhaling gold dust from her ruby lips. She radiates color into my grey world.

I write mainly under the cover of darkness, transcribing rumors, and myths of the day. I work in the daytime at Super Store Factory. Everyone works there and it is where we purchase everything. The place reeks of bleach and obedience. I brought her a light blue dress yesterday; it was a risk I shouldn’t have taken. Blue was much more expensive than grey. If someone had noticed me buying a dress, while not having a wife, I’d be up for public examination. That type of humiliation is brutal.

A sharp gasping inhale accented with the opening of wide blue eyes scatters my thoughts.

I jump back from my computer and fall off my chair onto the wooden floor with a crash.

“You’re awake,” I whisper as I rush closer to her.

“Where am I? Who are you? Is the Master here?” Her voice escalates in volume till she is near shouting.

“Shhh! Shhh! I can’t let anyone hear you and these walls are very thin.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T LET ANYO-“ I clap my hand over her mouth, perhaps not the nicest gesture but I can’t let me or her get caught.

“Look, I’ll explain everything. Just please, please stop yelling.”

I kneel beside the lady and tell her how I found her in the alley sobbing and sooty. I tell her that she is in my apartment and she is safe for now. I tell her how I can’t get caught with her or I will lose what little life I have. I tell her how I didn’t have the courage to change her clothing for her but I bought her this dress. I tell her my name and that she may leave right now and report me if she likes. I am only trying to help her.

Her eyes sparkle as she accepts the dress, leans down, and whispers

“You can call me Sinn.” Sinn, what a beautiful name.

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Fall soon turned to winter and Sinn never left the shabby apartment. She patiently waited every night for Jacob to come home. She sat on his bed and wandered around the apartment day in and day out. She was happy to be free from her collar. Jacob, though ever poor, brought her home gifts in the form of murderous, adventurous, and love-filled stories. She’d lie on his bed and listen to him tell her stories every night. When he was done, and ready for sleep, she’d beg him for more till he laughed and obliged.

One night, in the dead of winter, Jacob was telling Sinn a beautiful love story when she leaned forward and kissed him. He was so startled he forgot the story altogether. She then slid her soft legs out from underneath the worn blankets she was wrapped in and walked to the center of the room. Sinn was silhouetted in the blue glow of the computer screen. Not facing Jacob, she tenderly unstrapped her light blue dress and let it fall to the floor. Sinn’s soft curves were outlined in light and Jacob was frozen with excitement. He had to remind himself to breath. She turned to him and bashfully crossed her arms. Sinn let a light laugh escape from her lips as she looked down at the floor. She blushed at his excitement and her golden hair fell over half of her face. Then Sinn smiled and all was perfect in Jacobs world. She pulled him up onto her ruby lips for another kiss and the rest of the grey world melted away.

In the spring he brought her flowers which, although they seemed grey outside, came to life in her delicate fingertips. He gave her everything she wanted. Sinn had longed for five years for the bliss he gave her and now had no regrets to offer any god. Finally free, she slept well in his arms at night and didn’t care if she ever woke up.

On the night of their one-year anniversary, Sinn kissed a sleeping Jacob on the cheek and quietly stuck out of the apartment. She walked boldly through the autumn air with her face covered. She knew where the shops were and reassured herself that she wouldn’t be long. Sinn had brought her bag with her to sell some of expensive items from her slave years, and buy a gift for her love. Blissful and content, she ventured off into the moonlight.

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I awake slowly. My eyes blink, struggling to decipher my dreams. I reach to my side for Sinn but grab empty blankets. I sit up quickly and look around the empty apartment. It is lifeless, dull and grey. Leaping out of our bed I dig around the apartment pointlessly, there is no where that she could hide. Her bag is gone. Why would she hide? Where would she go? She was safe. Where is she? Flinging on my coat and boots, I lunge for the door.

The sunlight taunts me. I can feel my feet running, hitting the grey cement hard, yet I can hear nothing but my heart. My eyes dart everywhere searching for a glimpse of her golden hair. She is nowhere; there is no color around me, no passion. She left me in this grey world without her touch, without a word.

Out of breath, I pause at the alley where I first found her and I spit on to the ground in disgust. How could I lose her so easily? I spot her bag in the against the bricks a few feet away and stand at attention.

“Sinn..” The bag’s precious contents are flung about in the dust. Necklaces of rubies and satin cloth discarded like cigarette butts. She has to be alive; she has to. My eyes leak pain as I scoop them up one by one, clutching them to my chest. Another necklace of silver and a small rotten dried rose: these are all meaningless without her to cherish them. How can I find her? I need her back. She is my life.

I fall to my knees and pick up one of her shoes, so small and dainty. I flip the shoe over and run my fingers over the etching on the bottom.

Sinnderella, my love. I will find you. I promise.