aftermath

short story

short story single hyena standing proud and inquisitive
Hyena Raiders
by
Jerome Newsome
When the bees disappeared, everything started to die. Nobody took it seriously until it affected their everyday lives. Once food and water shortages hit America, people started panicking. The president lied about how devastating the situation was. While he gave a speech of lies, people were getting killed in Norway for attempting to rob the seed vaults. Some people accepted the madness as punishment for their parasitic relationship with Earth. As a result, soldiers searched houses that hid its owners’ choice of suicide. They found people dangling from ceiling fans, which sometimes were on, putting the corpses into a spin cycle. Most of the time, you did not have to enter the house. You could tell by the smell.
     When I used to go on scavenging missions, I made bets with other scavengers. We did not bet money. Currency, as far as I know, died with modern life. China bombed itself, not wanting to let its people suffer through extinction. I found that funny, since they prided themselves on working nonstop, ripping off America with artificial honey. Did they forget about the sweatshops? Did they forget about running their country with communism? Honestly, I like this new world, where isms are dead. Capitalism burned every night on camp fires. Money is a great replacement for wood, since trees are scarce. Socialism and communism decomposed in some part of the Freedom Desert, that is what we called America now. In this brutal climate, we betted food, clothes, guns, and clean water on whether or not we could guess right, by the smell, how the person killed him or herself in the house.
     The best thing you could bet is a rare animal. As it so happens, I’m a passionate collector. I have seven hyenas. Four males. Three females. In the Freedom Desert, a Rolls Royce could not get you power and fame. None of that high luxury crap got you anything. For the most part, it got swallowed up by sand. On many occasions, I came across people who used their dried and ashy hands to dig for their past lives. They cared about watches and clothes more than water. When you see things like that, you realize what real freedom is. Animals gave me freedom. Before the catastrophe, I smuggled animals into the United States. That was how I made my living. And, when I saw the signs of collapse, I began smuggling animals for myself, rather than money. For some reason, I felt obligated to save them. They made more sense to me than people. They are innocent. When the bees disappeared, everything started to die. Nobody took it seriously until it affected their everyday lives. Once food and water shortages hit America, people started panicking. The president lied about how devastating the situation was. While he gave a speech of lies, people were getting killed in Norway for attempting to rob the seed vaults. Some people accepted the madness as punishment for their parasitic relationship with Earth. As a result, soldiers searched houses that hid its owners’ choice of suicide. They found people dangling from ceiling fans, which sometimes were on, putting the corpses into a spin cycle. Most of the time, you did not have to enter the house. You could tell by the smell.
     When I used to go on scavenging missions, I made bets with other scavengers. We did not bet money. Currency, as far as I know, died with modern life. China bombed itself, not wanting to let its people suffer through extinction. I found that funny, since they prided themselves on working nonstop, ripping off America with artificial honey. Did they forget about the sweatshops? Did they forget about running their country with communism? Honestly, I like this new world, where isms are dead. Capitalism burned every night on camp fires. Money is a great replacement for wood, since trees are scarce. Socialism and communism decomposed in some part of the Freedom Desert, that is what we called America now. In this brutal climate, we betted food, clothes, guns, and clean water on whether or not we could guess right, by the smell, how the person killed him or herself in the house. When the bees disappeared, everything started to die. Nobody took it seriously until it affected their everyday lives. Once food and water shortages hit America, people started panicking. The president lied about how devastating the situation was. While he gave a speech of lies, people were getting killed in Norway for attempting to rob the seed vaults. Some people accepted the madness as punishment for their parasitic relationship with Earth. As a result, soldiers searched houses that hid its owners’ choice of suicide. They found people dangling from ceiling fans, which sometimes were on, putting the corpses into a spin cycle. Most of the time, you did not have to enter the house. You could tell by the smell.
     When I used to go on scavenging missions, I made bets with other scavengers. We did not bet money. Currency, as far as I know, died with modern life. China bombed itself, not wanting to let its people suffer through extinction. I found that funny, since they prided themselves on working nonstop, ripping off America with artificial honey. Did they forget about the sweatshops? Did they forget about running their country with communism? Honestly, I like this new world, where isms are dead. Capitalism burned every night on camp fires. Money is a great replacement for wood, since trees are scarce. Socialism and communism decomposed in some part of the Freedom Desert, that is what we called America now. In this brutal climate, we betted food, clothes, guns, and clean water on whether or not we could guess right, by the smell, how the person killed him or herself in the house.
     We are not.
      Outside of our refurbished mansion, Crazy Reagan and Two-Faced Hillary enjoyed a cigarette. For breakfast, I preferred a five-year-old cigar. The smoke floated over the balcony, giving a tour of the expansive yard, broken into spots for specific animals. Tigers roamed the southwest side, enjoying bountiful supplies of meat and water. Elephants bathed in waterholes, especially made for them, on the eastside. Red pandas made their home in trees near the middle, not that far from sloths dangling through their own piece of territory. As for the hyenas, they roamed freely, serving as wild guards who watched over every acre. Not one of them bit anybody I didn’t command them to. Before I built up this place, I roamed these ruins with seven hyenas behind me. They always had my back. And I always have theirs, along with the other animals here. The same thing applies to my people.
     The horn rang. Some new visitors must be approaching our gates. After finishing my cigar, I walked downstairs with two hyenas following me. It took so long to find the exit to this place. The kitchen is about the size of an apartment. Only restaurants need that type of kitchen. Rich people were showoffs in need of worship. To some extent, I should thank the former owner for being that way. Now Maniac Benjamin and Independent Ross can create healthy meals, to the best of their abilities, with the available resources. One of my hyenas lounged around the kitchen, enjoying the smell of food.
     “Savage Abe, lunch is almost ready,” they said.
      “Good. I should hurry up and take care of this then. Calypso, let’s go.”
      She followed behind me. Every one of my hyenas have a mythological name. I’m a nerd for mythology. My mother took me to the library daily to get books on them. Reading became a huge part of my childhood. With no television, video games, or cellphones, I read to keep myself from boredom. Rarely did I venture outside because of how dangerous it was. Poverty comes with dangers, after all. And I definitely fit into the poor category. When I did venture outside, gangs tried to forcibly recruit me. It always ended with me fighting to stay free from becoming somebody’s lacky. That became the narrative of my whole life, up until the destruction of civil life. Red pandas watched me from trees. They are beautiful creatures. Most of humanity took this creature for granted. How many of them understood that red pandas are more related to foxes and racoons than pandas? How many cared? Not many. And that is why we are no longer a population of seven billion.
      Racist Jefferson brought up the horse carriage. We rode it to the gate, while my hyenas met us there. Two women and one man stood at the gate. They have on tattered clothes that reminded me of what middle class people wore. Surprisingly, both of the women have on lipstick. How long did it take them to find some? Probably not that long. Abandoned makeup stores can be found everywhere. Terrible Roosevelt and Paranoid Palin stood behind them. They carried AR15s. As I stepped off the carriage, the woman with dirty blonde hair stared at my hyenas. Her shaking lips and fingers portrayed fear. The other woman, with short, black hair, tried to hide her fear. It showed through the goosebumps erecting on her skin, along with the way she gazed at me. She doesn’t look like the type who preferred men. Could the blonde woman be her girlfriend? Maybe. Instead of terrified, the man seemed fascinated. He has a face of about forty or more.
      “What can I do for you all?”
      “I can’t speak for them, but I can speak for myself. I was a scientist before everything happened. I want to join your ranks and rebuild,” the man said.
      “We’re not rebuilding. The old ways didn’t work. We’re not here to put humans on top again. We’re adapting and saving these animals. Besides, I have scientists, ones who know how important it is to limit science. If I did allow you to join, would you go through the initiation?”
      “I will do no such thing!”
      “Then, I guess you didn’t come to donate either.”
      “We came to donate,” the women said.
      While the man appeared shocked, I told Crazy Reagan and Two-Faced Hilary to open the gates. My hyenas sniffed the women who came in. It made them scared to take another step. When the gates closed, the man begged for entry. At the last moment, before I loaded the carriage, he yelled, “I’ll go through the initiation!”
      “Let him through.”
      After loading up the carriage, I sat in the back, with our new guests. Instead of sitting beside them, I sat across from them, gathering every piece of information from their body language. Clearly, intimidation has set in. I’m not a puny guy. I’m what made these crackers cross the street, back when racism existed. Now the tables have turned. They come to the black man for meaning, the first animal who succumbed to their abuses. My mother obtained a picture of our great, great, great, great grandfather. He was born a slave, but did not die one. He could read and write. My family passed down his letters from generation to generation. I read the ones my mother had. They gave me a nuanced depiction of slavery. It explained why I’m muscular and tall. Slave masters made their best slaves breed, passing down powerful genes into the child, who was expected to outshine his or her parents. That led to the destruction of slavery.
      The same process destroyed our old way of living. Everyone wanted too much efficiency. Walking took too long, so we made cars. Small roads made it hard to use them, so we created interstates and highways. When cars became too common, we made airplanes to lessen the time it took to get to places. We wanted cities instead of villages. We wanted processed foods, rather than grow our own. It took too long to farm. Nothing was good enough for us. The more modern we became, the more Earth suffered. In a sense, we are Earth’s spoiled brats. Earth didn’t want to chastise us, but we wouldn’t listen to her warnings. So, like a great parent, she took out her rod and whooped our asses. My initiation is about human chastisement.
      As the carriage stopped, I asked them their names. The black-haired woman goes by Heather. Dakota is the name of the blonde. And the scientist’s name is Weston. Their names showed up on nametags of corpses during my scavenging days. Every one of them was white too. Crazy Reagan held the door open. Our guests went in first. They are amazed at the gigantic guts of the mansion. Raiders with AK47s strapped on their backs enjoyed various fruits, while leaning on specific parts of the lobby. Ripped pieces of the American flag absorbed the sweat from their faces. That upset Weston. I saw it in his face. He will learn. Otherwise, he will not survive the initiation.
      Crazy Reagan pulled out seats at the dining room table for our guests. I sat in a chair at the end. Calypso and Medusa sat beside me.
      “Would you like to bathe before eating? There are clothes in the wardrobes upstairs.”
      “I’m fine,” Weston said.
      “I would like to,” Dakota said.
      “Me too,” Heather said.
      “Two-Faced Hillary, would you please take care of them?”
      “Sure.”
      While she took Heather and Dakota upstairs, I could see curiosity in Weston’s face. He wanted to ask me something. My reputation is well known throughout the Freedom Desert. It would not be surprising.
      “Why did you call her Two-Faced Hillary? That can’t be her real name.”
      “Who decides if it’s real or not? We don’t keep a census anymore. What we do is remind ourselves of America’s mistakes and its successes, through our names.”
      “Is that why you won’t rebuild America, because of its mistakes?”
      “One of its numerous mistakes made that impossible.”
      “What is that?” Weston asked.
      “It didn’t provide freedom.”
      “How so?”
      “Capitalism was evil. Everybody said a free market system is the way to go. Everybody would get a chance to get rich or go broke. What happens when a company can get bailed out by the government? That happened numerous times, Weston. Let’s not dwell on that. Let’s discuss how technology made capitalism even more unfair. Hackers can take your identity, everything you ever worked for, with just your name and email. Or let’s talk about credit card fraud. If you succumb to any frauds or scams, there is no guarantee the government will reimburse you. That means, what you spent years earning, is forever lost,” I explained.
      “Still, it was the best system for everyone.”
      “It was the best for you. You were born with a winning hand. Other people had to take a losing hand and find ways to trade away its bad cards for good ones. As you know, freedom isn’t a simple term. It entails financial freedom, mental freedom, religious freedom, and much more. America provided some freedoms, but not all of them. They destroyed what I like to call natural freedom, meaning the freedom of life forms, other than human beings, to continue their fight for survival in their environments. Wherever capitalism and selfishness exist, you will not have complete freedom.”
      Weston fixed his mouth to respond, but would not say anything. He knows that I’m right. Two-Faced Hillary brought our guests down. Heather and Dakota seemed to have delved into the makeup. They have on lipstick, foundation, and eyeliner. They wore dresses that costed thousands, before everything changed. Diamonds and pearls dangled on their necks. The Heather and Dakota from before no longer existed. I’m eager to meet the new ones.

At five in the morning, Weston’s initiation began. He stood in the basement, surrounded by objects from the past. Classic paintings rested on old furniture, with a blanket of dust on them. They would have gone for millions in an auction. Two-Faced Hillary brought up two old, sturdy chairs. Crazy Reagan forced Weston into the chair, which made him panic somewhat. He asked questions and yelled out curses. Ropes were tied around his hands and legs, leaving him immobilized. Now I can begin.
      “Relax, Weston. This is the first part of your transformation.”
      Of course, Weston could not relax, after watching Two-Faced Hillary hand me a cage. And, in that cage, a black widow spider hid in the shadows, but could not hide the red mark of death. I sat in the chair, across from him.
      “Can you believe something so small has venom fifteen times stronger than a rattlesnake?”
      “Yes, I can. It has been proven. Please, untie me now.”
      “This spider can kill creatures ten times her size. People are similar to her. We think our noggins make us so much better than everything. We’re so arrogant about it that we believe we’re not animals. The truth is that we are. But we’re not humble animals. We haven’t accepted that we’re one trick ponies, like the black widow. If she didn’t have extraordinary venom, chances are that she wouldn’t survive. And she wouldn’t have become one of the most dangerous creatures on our planet. Unlike us, the black widow doesn’t need to be reminded of that. Sadly, we must be reminded, time and time again, that we aren’t at the top of the food chain,” I explained.
      Weston’s eyes opened wide. He watched me open the cage and allow the black widow to crawl onto my hand. It unnerved him that I didn’t use tongs or gloves. This gave me brief pleasure. Back then, so many people were afraid of spiders. Their fear led to someone squishing or spraying them with a strong bug spray. They delighted in robbing spiders of their lives. What happens when a spider takes your life? In those final minutes, you realize what made them scary. Their eight eyes watch you experience how useless you are without consciousness. The black widow crawled to my wrist and rested there.
      “When I was an animal smuggler, I traveled illegally to various countries, in search of specific animals. I’ve been in all types of climates. Every climate has different wildlife. In this line of business, the wildlife killed you more than bullets. During one smuggling job, I was bit by this black widow that you see on my wrist. She almost killed me, but I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t accept that a spider, not a lion or bear, nearly took my life. The experience changed me forever. I realized how dumb and lost we are. Humans want to badly prove they are not animals who have a niche in the food chain. They want to make the rules of nature, instead of following them. To find yourself, Weston, you must be humbled.”
      Crazy Reagan and Two-Faced Hillary rolled up his jeans. He fought. Three of my past initiates did too. Surprisingly, it is not a common reaction. The Freedom Desert changed people. For most of them, it provided a wakeup call. They understood how unprepared technology made them. After the collapse of modern life, most people died from not having survival skills. None of them could make a campfire. Building shelter from the wilderness is a nonexistent skill for almost everyone. Nobody knows how to utilize ropes. Most importantly, majority of the people who survived America’s destruction have no knowledge of how long they can go without food, air, water, or a regulated body temperature. In the past, their phones told them everything. When internet died out, it became clear just how screwed everybody was.
      People forgot about common sense. They drank salt water, finding out the hard way how much it increases your dehydration. Desperate for food, people sprinted to any settlements they could find, not understanding that everything has reset. The impoverished can become the rich. The powerless can now become the powerful. And maniacs can cause chaos without punishment. Many bodies, filled with bullets and empty bellies, are cooking in the dark brown sands of Freedom Desert. Vultures tend to wait on powerlines, watching their food get nice and crispy. Sometimes, it takes you by surprise, especially the first time you come across it. The experienced scavengers considered these danger zones. That meant hostile groups are nearby. One group was foolish enough to try me. Everybody became a new corpse, for the sun to cook, for the vultures and my hyenas to eat. Bon appétit, I remember saying, while helping myself to a can of pork and beans.
      The dangers of Freedom Desert prepared initiates for this moment. They understood the fakeness of their old lives. Some of them realized how pussy most of humanity was. Nobody had the balls to live in bear and deer territory. The earliest nomads would have been ashamed. They lived alongside saber tooth tigers. In the modern world, people could barely live with cats and dogs. What a shame. Why did we sacrifice so much for a larger cranium? Nowadays, random people came to my territory for answers to questions like this. Stories about me are spread around this quagmire of America. It gave them some type of hope that I could make everything clear. Other people, similar to Weston, came here with the fantasy of making a new America. Fantasies are excuses people make to not adapt and rise above. To survive, Weston must understand that.
      “I don’t want to go through with it anymore!”
      “Then you want to die?”
      “No, I don’t.”
      “That’s the price for backing out. Never commit to anything you’re not willing to stick through.”
      Crazy Reagan put a towel in Weston’s mouth. I placed the black widow on his white, naked calf. She bit him. While he grimaced and teared up, I put her back in the cage. The towel was removed. I stared at him. He wanted to punch me. When he spat at me, I caught it in my hand. Two-Faced Hillary punched him in the jaw.
      “That’s disrespectful Weston, especially when you sought me out. But, it’s even more disrespectful, when you didn’t realize I have this.”
      Weston stared at the needle full of anti-venom, now dirtied with his spit. His muscles started to spasm. Sweat started peeling off him.
      “I’m sorry. Can you just give me the cure?”
      “If I was a bear, could you apologize without getting mauled? This isn’t about apologies. This is about humbling you. What would you do if this anti-venom didn’t exist? You would have to tough it out, or find another way of treating it. In the woods, you have no time to make laboratories. You just have your physical and mental abilities.”
      “My head hurts. Please, Savage Abe.”
      “Don’t beg. It won’t stop being hot because of your begging. You drove around in cars, ignoring how hot it made your environment. So, deal with it. This is what we all created, Weston. We created this shithole because we don’t want to live with the spiders. We don’t want to hunt like the lions, cheetahs, and tigers. We want to eat a bag of chips and watch TV. That world is dead. It’s not ever coming back.”
      “I can’t breathe.”
      “You can’t bring America back. It died for a reason, like everything else did. Say America is dead. Release yourself from your old life, Weston. Make it back into memories and obliterate it as hopes.”
      “America... America is... America is dead.”
      I stabbed the needle into his quad, while watching his spirit crawl back into his body. “You’re onto a good start, Weston.”

Days went by as Weston recuperated. During that interval of time, I explained to Heather and Dakota their choice of donation guaranteed them survival. Two-Faced Hillary went over the type of donation packages available. She left out one option, since they want to live. They did not fit the appearance of people who wanted to feed their bodies to the tigers or hyenas. Many stragglers who came here chose that option. Surviving is a dangerous force. It mentally and physically exhausts you. Some people wanted my hyenas to eat them because of guilt. Everybody feels that, at some point. The Freedom Desert makes you.
      On one of my last scavenging missions, I saw the animals we chose. Rusted factories and decaying buildings drooped within the sand, no longer hunting for its green meat. Skeletons trapped in construction equipment reminded passersby of humanity’s dedication to its bestial edifices. Banks, that seemed immortal, sundried in its sandy grave. They once made parasitic relationships with people around the world, which kept them alive. Every artificial animal, created by us, has mostly died out. It happened too late. Crazy Reagan brought Weston into the backyard for the second part of his initiation. He saw hyenas lounging in the grass. Some of them swam in the pool, keeping themselves cool.
      “What’s next?”
      “I like it, Weston. You’re changing for the better. For this portion, you must battle a hyena, with nothing but your hands, for a minute.”
      “You can’t be serious. I’m at a disadvantage. Evolution didn’t provide me with strong jaws and claws.”
      “Hyenas can’t build guns and bombs that can wipe them out in a matter of seconds. They didn’t complain about that. Why should you? Considering what we have done to their home, this is a fair fight. I’m tired of humans sprinting away from their nature. You’re an animal, Weston. Get it through your fucking skull that you’re not the most evolved species. Stop running away from nature’s justice. Humble yourself!”
      My soldiers created a large circle around us. Weston stared at Calypso, convinced that she will be his opponent. That could not be more wrong. Even though I doubt her sustaining any injuries, I will not risk the opportunity to increase the hyena population. Birth is already risky business for hyenas and it is quite possible I have the last female hyenas on this accursed planet. While patting her head, I called Ares, my largest hyena. The crowd split open, making space for a muscular, war-ready beast. When it closed off, the shadows completely covered us once again. Death is present with us. I said that before robbing a smuggler group of their rhinos. You won’t see him with the scythe and black cloak. However, it doesn’t mean he isn’t there, itching to collect your soul early. In this yard, initiates died before the time was up. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.
      “Ares will be your opponent. I have a stopwatch set for a minute. Are you ready, Weston? Are you prepared to survive, through humbling yourself?”
      “It’s not like I have a choice.”
      “You had a choice. And you made it. Now stand by it. Begin!”
      Ares sprinted towards Weston, aggression gurgling in his throat. Weston sprinted towards the crowd, yelling and fighting for them to move. They pushed him right into Ares, who bit down on his leg. You could hear the crunch as his jaws slammed shut. It made Weston grimace, eventually causing him to scream. The pain is temporary. It is only for teaching. Ares swung him around, not releasing his grip. In a fair fight, this is how we match up. We are thrown around, beat badly, and sometimes killed. How dare we build weapons and think it makes us better? Humans are pussy. We will never match up to other animals physically. Therefore, everybody left on Earth should humble themselves. Accept the truth that you are not superior to every animal. If you don’t accept the truth, then, someday, you will be forced to.
      “Time’s up!”
      Ares released his grip, causing Weston to roll on the ground. He laid still by my foot, covered in dirt. Subtle breaths filled his gut.
      “One more test to go,” I said.

Weston broke some bones in his leg. His less serious injuries consisted of scratches and bruises. Slave-Trader Washington, the head doctor, patched him up. One hyena caused that much devastation, in only one minute. Before starting the last piece of the initiation, I allowed him to rest for four days. In the meanwhile, I checked on Heather and Dakota. They enjoyed their roles, but haven’t adjusted yet. It makes them feel dirty and cheap. I told them that they keep everyone in equilibrium. The other women are helping them get accommodated. Dakota seemed to like seeing me. She never stopped staring.
      Around trashcans, blazing with fire, people told stories about me. On every corner of Freedom Desert, you would hear a different story, while enjoying some roasted squirrel or rat. Dakota heard the werewolf and vampire stories. In most versions of the stories, I was a slave, who gained freedom from getting bitten by a werewolf or vampire. For them, it explained why I’m immortal. They think I can’t die. I’m glad it’s not true. Death is something I would like to experience. As for the truthful stories, she heard those too. The story of the Greg Foster decapitation kept children awake at night. How did a retired animal smuggler kill one of the most dangerous people in the Freedom Desert? It was simple. My hyenas chumped down on his arms and legs, while I delivered the killing blow with a machete. Though, I must say, Foster showed why he was dangerous.
      Weston’s final test took place at night. He walked with crutches, while Two-Faced Hillary and Crazy Reagan accompanied him. An American flag dangled in the wind. It made him move faster. Memories of his past surged through the stars and banners. He smiled while staring at it, not caring who saw. The dream of reviving America flowed through his exhausted body. After reviving it, he would make it great again.
      “For your final task, Weston, all you must do is burn this flag.”
      “I won’t disrespect my country. People died fighting for that flag.”
      “What did they fight for?”
      “Freedom!”
      “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Then, you’re stupid, Weston. Every soldier didn’t fight for freedom. Some of them fought for individual pursuits. How many soldiers fought because of their love for killing? How many soldiers joined the service because nothing else worked for them? How many recruiters tricked high schoolers into joining the military, just to get paid extra money?”
      “I don’t care,” Weston said.
      “Don’t waste your life over a flag that doesn’t stand for the freedom of everyone and everything. How much innocent blood has been shed, in the name of that flag? I guess America hasn’t done any wrong in your eyes, right?”
      “It wasn’t a perfect country, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be brought back and made better!”
      “Better for who, Weston? You? America was built for white men like you. You thrived there. I didn’t. I made my living by breaking America’s rules. Let me tell you something, Weston. It doesn’t matter what flag it is. Every country was built off evil actions. People were raped, killed, robbed. All in the name of some country. Doesn’t that sound like a wild animal, the one thing we always said we aren’t? Enough about that. Are you sure about your decision, Weston? Because I won’t ask again.”
      Weston nodded.
      In that moment, Weston became something both better and worse than a scientist. He became a person chained to his past and the power it gave him. But, at the same time, he proved himself an individual of specific beliefs and morals. They might have been selfish ideals, but, nonetheless, he is willing to die for them. I can respect that. While unsheathing my machete, I thought about the initiates who limped away, fighting the consequences of their actions. Will he try and do the same? As I came closer, he did not move, just stared up at the flag. Maybe it shielded him from seeing the blade coming. Maybe it shielded him from the pain, as his head rolled to the flag pole. I wiped my blade off and said, “Feed him to the tigers.”
      Once back in the mansion, I observed the immaculate stairs and wall designs. He wanted to revive the rich and poor gap again. Why is almost every initiate so selfish? Down the hallway, I walked into the grandest room available. Paintings made the walls beautiful. Women snuggled in beds, dressed in silk sleepshirts. Some slept completely naked, giving into their natural forms. Black, blonde, brown, and dyed heads of hair turned to gaze at me. I sat on Dakota’s bed. She touched my shoulder, while the other women stared at me, the boogeyman of Freedom Desert. Did they still see me as a monster? Or, have they realized I have a heart, after all?






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