Page 7 of God of Monsters

For years, recruiters have hounded him to join, and in his refusal, his family turned against him. I’m certain they’ve since opened their arms to him and praise my name as the reason for his sudden change of heart.

While I remain here, performing my duties, he’ll be off fighting marauders and Ragers in the name of Szolen.

What a beautiful couple we’d make in the eyes of this community--the brave son and vestal Daughter.

Except, I’ll be far from chaste.

For the next five years, I’ll be tasked with building the community, by sleeping with a number of men, whether married, or not. As far as the church is concerned, it won’t be considered adultery because of the mission behind it. A cause for the greater good of humankind. When I’m not screwing members of my community, I’ll be sent on Missions beyond the wall, to recruit only the healthiest men from hives, particularly those with useful skills. I’ll be touted as a perk of Szolen, a prize for their loyalty.

After those five years, I’m given first choice of raising the children, and if I choose not to, they’ll be adopted out to very willing homes, including those of the biological fathers. Until then, they’re raised by the church.

My genetics, scholastic aptitude and medical history made me an all-too-fitting candidate to bear as many children as I can over the next five years, before I’m no longer considered prime. It was my father who shielded me from this my whole life, and upon his passing, I became the coveted--an honor for which my mother was more than happy to oblige.

Only problem?

I apparently can’t bear children, at all--a secret my mother would sooner take not only to her own grave, but that of the woman who diagnosed me with a faulty uterus, as well. My genetics might be considered superior, but my luck is crap, as far as she’s concerned, and it’s only a matter of time before the church finds out, too.

My mother follows behind me, as she’s supposed to, but also to make sure I don’t act on my compulsions to escape. Though I’ve been careful not to outright decline, particularly in front of the congregation, I’ve not hidden the fact that I detest this. The woman knows me too well enough to understand that if I feel cornered, I won’t hesitate to run.

And I’m definitely feeling cornered.

Another of the Chosen waits for me, a young dark-skinned girl, two years younger, named Aaliyah. The smile stretched across her face is all for show, I’m certain, but the one her mother wears matches my own mother’s. As the two older women clasp hands and smile in tearful joy, the urge to puke churns inside my stomach.

We wait in the middle of the road for the third and youngest girl, Lily, who I’m guessing is only sixteen, and once we’re assembled, it takes a good ten minutes to walk to the church. Every step weighs heavy on me, and though this is meant to be a parade of celebration, I can’t help but feel as if I’m marching toward certain death.

The church smells of nauseating incense and freshly polished wood when we enter. Mother Chilson greets us in the nave, the warm smile on her face a stark contrast to her purpose. My eyes are drawn to the crucifix dangling from her neck, over the white coif and neckerchief against a pitch black scapular. Her job will be to observe the blood on our dresses once the sanctification, or deflowering, has taken place. And, oh, what celebration that will be!

Except, there will be no blood on my dress tonight. Because, unable to bear the thought of some wrinkled old man robbing me of what doesn’t belong to him, I willfully handed over my virginity to Will nearly two weeks ago. My one slap to the face of the church, before the entire community brands me an undeserving harlot.

The crowd from outside files in, filling the pews, the sight of which wrings my nerves like a damp cloth, and I glance back at my mother, taking in the last of that beaming pride before the truth turns her into the vision of despair I’ve grown familiar with in recent months.

Can’t say what will happen after this, seeing as I’ve never gone out of my way to defy the woman to this extent.

I and the two other girl are led into a room at the back of the church, where a bench is lined up against a wall in the hallway, outside the door. The door that leads to a room where a sterile pastor waits to break our hymen. To confirm that we are all virgins.

Nan always ridiculed this ceremony, referring to it as an outdated display of human ignorance and persecution. Half this community labeled her a witch, including my mother, though she’d never admit to it. If not for my father, her only son, and his high-ranking position, I’m certain they’d have all petitioned to have her strung up and burned at the stake.

Mother Chilson directs us to sit on the bench, as she takes Aaliyah by the hand and leads her into the room as if she isn’t some glorified brothel keeper.

God, my heart pounds against my ribs with the fury of a caged animal.

Mother Chilson exits the room, closing the door behind her. Seconds later, soft whimpers bleed through the tired wood. I recall those same sounds from just weeks ago, only mine were steeped in care and compassion, and, more importantly, free will.

Minutes pass before a bell rings from the other side of the door, and Mother Chilson opens it, disappearing into the room once again.

Rubbing my sweaty hands together in my lap, I swallow a cold gulp, my chest hollow.

Aaliyah appears in the doorway, the shine of tear tracks down her cheek capturing my attention, as Mother Chilson leads her by the hand down to the other end of the bench. As she passes, I catch the spots of bright red blood staining the fabric of her dress, and my hands ball into fists.

How did this come to be acceptable? Who decided defiling girls this way was okay?

Warm skin brushes over my arm, and I look up to find Mother Chilson staring down at me with the same pride as every other mother tonight.

Disgusting.

She urges me to my feet, and when I glance back and see Aaliyah hiding her face in her palms, I wrench my arm away. The warmth in Mother Chilson’s expression hardens.

“It’s time, child. Let’s not delay the ceremony.”