Cleverly Flush
Part 1: Butterfly Shoes
My alarm clock goes off, and my hand hits it a few times. I feel the sunbeam through my curtains. A small breeze creeps through the cracks in my window. The smell of old rain falling on the grass fills the room. I hear the last drips of the waterfall from the ceiling to its final resting place in an old pot. It does not rain often. But when it does, it’s going to be an odd day. I hear a yell. “Get up! You have to go to the market!” While I wish I could stay in bed all day, I emerge from the sheets. My feet run across the uneven floorboards as I weave around the graves of raindrops. I go to the vanity that has traveled through generations. I begin to brush my long, golden hair and tie it up with a red string. I love red as it reminds me of the fire we get during winter. I throw on the dress that I wear every day. It is modest and cream in color. It was white when my mother made it for me but has taken a new color. I put on my torn black socks and old fabric boots. I begrudgingly go to the kitchen in my family’s home, where I meet my mother, father, and youngest brother.
“Finally, Rose! We can’t open the shop unless you go to the market. Take your brother to help you,” said my mother with haste in her voice. My brother sat there, stirring his spoon in his bowl of plain oatmeal. My father reaches in his pocket and takes out a small fabric pouch that looks as though mice made it. I grab the money pouch, which is about half full, and look at my parents with confusion on my face.
“This is more than usual. What am I supposed to buy?” I asked inquisitively. Hope began to fill my body. I prayed that I would be allowed to go to the cellar of the bank and purchase a new book. I have read all the books currently at my disposal.
“Today is the day of the ball. You are supposed to go this year. Get the common ingredients for the shop and buy yourself a new pair of shoes.” She responded. Hope turned into sadness, which turned into anger. Instead of buying a new book that will help me escape the reality of this terrible town, I have to buy shoes to impress the man who took my older brother away. I have, well had, an older brother named Joshua. He was the smartest person I knew. He was short for a man and smaller in build.
He had blonde hair like me but with blue eyes instead of silver. He gave me my first book and taught me to read. He told me to dream of leaving this place, and then one day, he was gone. We were eating breakfast when there was a knock on the door. Guards stood out front and asked for Joshua. They said that the king commanded him to work for the palace.
They shoved him into a carriage and drove off without another word. I stood at the door and watched his death sentence head towards the castle. The sky was red with gray clouds. A light mist filled the air as tears streamed down my face.
That is the last time I ever saw him. My family pretends like they do not know why the king commanded his presence. I know why. My brother was smart and read every book, imaginable. He could fix things that most people in town could not. That was why they took him away. The king doesn’t like intelligent people living amongst us villagers. He takes them away and has them work for the kingdom. At least, that’s what they tell us. If all the smartest people are working for the throne, then why do we live in such terrible ruins? No one knows how to build a lasting house. No one knows how to fix the old buildings in town. No one knows how to fix the sewer systems installed long ago. No one knows anything except what is considered basic needs. The technology we once had is no longer in existence. If the smartest work for the king, what are they doing? We see no benefit.
I grab an apple off the table, grab the pouch, and pull my brother out of the house. We walk about half a mile down the only road in town. The road is mostly dirt with some old broken pieces of concrete scattered. The road was once an excellent concrete road, but as time went on, it eroded. Of course, no one in town knew how to fix it.
So, we now have a dirt road with just enough pieces of concrete to make your ride bumpy. We finally reach the shops. On one side of the road is many old buildings lined one by one. The buildings are identical in size and basic in architectural character. Their differences are considerably minor; roofs are caving in for some buildings. Most have shattered windows, and some owners have replaced their windows.
Any paint that was once on the buildings has disappeared like most hope in town. The town is falling apart. However, no one knows how to fix it. If they did, they would not admit it. I had seen pictures of what the town looked like before the new king came to power. My father used to tell me stories of life before terror. It seems like a fairytale that you would read in books. Some cars drove through the town. Actual cars! Some stores sold books on every corner, and a place called school that taught many beautiful things. The roads did not have cracks, and the buildings look new. Children played in the streets. The town is now a skeleton of the lively place that once thrived here.
Across the street from the shops, the market sits. It’s a dusty field with a sea of stained, torn tents. Vendors there mostly sell produce. They are here every day trying to make enough money to live. Most people in town work every day just to put one meal on the table. I am fortunate to get at least two meals a day. All of the vendors show up every day with their usual products. You always know which tent sells what. When a tent does not show up, you do not ask questions. The last tent to not show up was the honey seller. Rumors claim that the kingdom caught him reading, and the palace took him away. However, no one knows for sure what happened.
It doesn’t take us long, but we get the basic things needed for the bakery. No one speaks except to tell you how much you owe them. Small talk doesn’t exist here. We buy what is necessary and leave. As we walk down the street, I notice my little brother seems like he is in a trance.
His head is hanging low with his brown hair strung across his face. He is kicking a rock down the road.
“Josh, what’s wrong?” I asked with concern for him. My younger brother was born after the king took Josh away. My parents named my younger brother after him because they believed they’ll never see Joshua again. I have hope I’ll see him again. Like the road, my faith has eroded.
“I’m just worried that they’ll take you away. What if the king chooses you?” he said with a tear in his eye. Every year, the king has this grand ball. Every non-married woman over the age of 18, who can still bear children, must attend. He then chooses his “trial wife.” A trial wife goes through a yearlong trial to see if she is fit to marry the king. It is now the fifth year, and none of the women in the past have survived the trial. We do not know where they went or what happened to them. We just know that they failed when we get the flyers for the ball.
“Don’t worry, Josh. The king would have to choose me out of 100 women. I’m not that special. Even if he thought I was pretty, I am what he hates the most, smart. I’m not worried, and you shouldn’t be either.” Honestly, I am worried. If he picks me, I would no longer be able to read. I would never see my family again. I would never be able to escape this terrible kingdom and travel to a better life. I am worried, apprehensive.
We walk a little further until we get to an old building with “Sid’s Shoes” written on a sign out front. The outside is like every building in town, except they have replaced one of the broken windows upfronts. Inside, the yellow wallpaper has water stains and tears. The wooden floorboards are coming up in a few places. Dust collects on the lights as they slowly begin to give out. Shelves line the walls, and an old desk sits in the back of the storefront.
Behind the desk stands a frail, older man. I’m assuming this is Sid.
“Let me guess. You need new shoes for the ball tonight?” he said, looking at me through his small, round glasses sitting at the tip of his nose.
“Yes, sir. My mother, Emily Withers, said she had picked a pair for me already.”
“Awe, yes! Your mother has chosen a great pair. I will grab them, and you can be on your way.” He goes towards the back of the shop through a doorframe that no longer has a door. I walk around and examine the shop. The shelves are barren with more dust than shoes. Some of the shoes look like they have not seen another person in years. The air is filled with more dust than the shelves and has a slight smell of burnt wood.
All the shoes that do exist seem handmade. Many have stains on the cloth, probably from sitting so long. I start to hear Sid’s footsteps come back to the front.
“Here we go. Here are the shoes.” He holds up a pair of gold high heels that have a butterfly stoned with red gems on the back heel. He motions me to sit down and take off my shoes. I untied my brown, cloth boots and set them beside me. He hands me the heels, and I slide them on. They fit perfectly, but they feel terrible. I stand up and try to walk around. Josh laughs at me as I stumble across the floor. Sid does not look too impressed. I sit back down and give them a long look. How am I supposed to wear these all night? I hear a cough and look up at Sid.
“They fit great and are very pretty. However, these shoes hurt quite a bit. Do you have anything else? Maybe something flat?”
He gives me a disgusted look. “These are one of a kind that took hours to make. Your mother chose this design specifically. There is no other option. Just wear them around for a bit, and you’ll get used to them. If you are going to the ball, I would recommend you practice walking in them.”
I sigh and look down at my feet.
At least the butterflies are red.
I take them off and put my boots back on. I hand the shoes to Sid. “I’ll put them on later. I do not want to get them dirty,” I said with a fake smile. He gives me a nod and walks towards his desk. He places the shoes in a black box for me that resembles the look of a coffin. I pay him the rest of my coins. I grab my brother, and we head down the street towards my parent’s bakery.
My parents own the only bakery in town, and it was built by my grandfather a long time ago. It is in better shape than the other stores in town. There aren’t any broken windows, and there is only a slightly caved-in roof. The inside is painted pale blue color with old wooden tables and chairs that fill the front of the shop. There are a lot of people in the store today, about seven people. Maybe if we make enough money, I can buy a new book. I head behind the counter and greet my mother. I give the groceries to my brother and tell him to take them to the back. I show the shoes to my mother, and her flour-covered face lights up.
“They’re just as pretty as I thought they’d be. Don’t you just love them?” She waits for my response with a hopeful expression.
“They’re gorgeous, and I do love red — however, the shoes are kind of uncomfortable. I don’t know if I’ll be able to wear them all night. I can’t even walk in them. I also don’t understand why I must go to the ball. It’s not like I want him to choose me.”
All hope drops from her face, and she gives me a stern look. “You do not have a choice. We do not have a choice. If your father and I could have a say, you wouldn’t go. It’s not up to us. The king requires it,’ she informs me.
“I just don’t want to turn out like Joshua,” I say with a break in my voice.
Her face starts to turn blank, and her eyes begin to swell with tears. She suddenly snaps back and says, “that won’t happen. The king would have to choose you out of 100 women. Just keep your distance and leave as soon as it is over. Now, go help your father in the kitchen.” I go to the kitchen to help my father, and I tell him, “hi.” I start making basic bread dough. My dad doesn’t speak very often, and he hasn’t spoken since the day Joshua left. He used to be a fun person to be around. My dad had so many stories of what life was like for him growing up. He used to tell the best jokes and make us laugh until our stomachs hurt. He is now a shell of what he used to be. I just have to accept that. We make bread and other baked goods in silence until the shop closes. I snuck a few slices of bread. If my mother caught me, she would yell at me. Too much bread and I might not fit into my dress tonight.
The end of the day has come, and I head home to get ready. My arms feel like sandbags, and my feet feel like I just walked on broken glass. I burnt my hand when taking out a pan, and I now have it wrapped. So much for not being noticed. Once I get home, I go to the bathroom and take a bath. The bathroom is small and is the only one in the house. I filled the tub with hot water boiled off the stove mixed with some cold water. I climb into the tub and just let my body soak. I wash my hair and rub soap on a cloth. I spend about ten minutes just making sure I clean every trace of flour and egg from my body. Afterward, I brush my hair and let it dry. I would typically tie it up, but my mother commanded that I leave it down for the occasion. I walk into my room as the breeze from my window hits my body.
Chills cover my entire body. Laying on my bed is a red dress that my family has passed down through generations. My mother says my great-grandmother made it for her when she went to a party at school.
Being poor, most things we own passed down to us by our ancestors. Clothing is not an exception. The shoes I bought today are the first item of clothing I have ever purchased for myself. I put on a robe and my new shoes. I walk around my room, hoping to get used to them. After about two minutes, I take them off. I hate these shoes. They hurt and were a waste of money. When my hair finally dries, I give it another brush. I slide into the red dress and put on those terrible shoes.
I go to our living room, and my parents look at me with joy and a hint of sadness.
“You look beautiful. The guards’ carriage will be here soon to pick you up and take you to the ball. Once it’s over, they’ll bring you home,” said my mother.
I wait in silence for the carriage to arrive. My stomach swirls with nerves, and my head begins to hurt. I don’t want to go. My mother leaves the room then I hear someone talk. I recognize that voice; it’s my father. I look at him in shock.
“I need you to do me a favor while you’re at the palace,” he said with a sadness in his eyes, “try to look around and see if you can find anything about Joshua.” At first, I am in shock. Did my father just speak? And he wants me to do what?
“I will try,” I stumble out. My head begins to spin with so many questions. As I’m about to ask him where I should look, my mother enters the room.
“Alright, the carriage is here. Be good, and don’t get into trouble.” She hugs me, and so does my father. Josh has locked himself in his room in protest of me going. I wish I could join him. I walk outside and parked in front is a lovely wooden carriage with gold trim pulled by two white horses. Two guards stand near the door. Only families who don’t have means of transportation get rides from the king. I have led up some large stairs to two, giant heavy doors.
“Time to go. We’ll bring you home, once it’s over,” said one of the guards. I climb in the carriage and take a ride to the unknown. Feelings of judgment day cloud my head as I fight back the tears. Fear has taken over me for a moment; then, I snap out of it. I must stay unnoticed but also find out any information about my brother. I must stay strong.
This is part one of an ongoing story that I am writing. Criticism and recommendations are advised to make the story even better!
