chasing_silver

Interesting histories are not written about boring people. That has always been true. They’re written about people who perform great acts; who experience catastrophic failures. They are written as roadmaps from the past to the future, and they’re meant to inspire, teach, and show us what’s needed to keep moving forward.

This history isn’t written about anyone like that. Dolores was the daughter of a pious couple, and her life was far from interesting.

She measured life by the smeary progression of months beyond her window sill. Her parents had told her that time was a construct. It quite honestly didn’t matter what happened in the outside world. She wasn’t going out there.

So grey days waned into grey nights that waned into grey seasons. No colour and riot. Nothing to help differentiate the days.

“This is the waiting room to heaven,” she was told. Her parents sat in the same seats, day after day. Father read the black-and-white paper. Mother knitted the same nondescript woolen socks. The colour never varied; it was always a beigey-grey.

She’d wanted to go to school. Her father had been incredulous.

“Anything you’d learn at school is useless, secular knowledge. You’d best be content studying your Bible. Nothing out there matters as much as getting your reward in Heaven, Dolores. You know that.”

“But eventually I’ll need a job,” she tried to argue. “I’ll need to support myself.”

He’d snorted. “You won’t live long enough to support yourself. Anyway, it’s too dangerous out there. Too many awful things waiting to happen. It’s an evil world. You’d best be content with your safety and security, right here with us.”

So she started her day staring out the window, and she ended her day, staring out the window. The landscape never changed. Tired lawn, tired patio furniture they never sat in, tired neighbour’s homes they never visited. Nothing ever changed.

Dolores had gotten used to wandering the house and delving into closets. It did something to pass the time, and sometimes, things held a note of bright interest. Like in one closet, she’d found an old glittering tiara and a photo of her mother, smiling falsely in some kind of contest, dressed in a beautiful gown.

The next time she looked, though, those things were gone.

Another time, she found an old train set buried in the back of a chest of clothes. It was clearly well-loved, and she had touched the sweetly painted sides of the boxcars lovingly, imagining her father as a little boy playing with it.

But again, it disappeared soon after she found it. She never knew how they knew she’d found them, and asking was out of the question. Dolores wondered why they had hidden things that they had clearly used to enjoy.

But she never found out. Instead, her world became smaller.

It started when her parents refused to let her out of their sight, barring using the bathroom. “You’re proving that we need to watch you more closely, Dolores,” said her mother. “Your mind isn’t on Godly things.”

Dolores protested. “I study my Bible and the catechism daily, Mother!”

“Yet, we feel you’re not fully focused on God,” her father growled. “It’s time you realized that this life isn’t the life we’re meant to be living. This is only a waiting space. You can’t seem to break away from that, and I worry for your eternal soul, daughter.”

So they made her sit, day after day, on the hard, uncomfortable chair across from their spots in the living room. If she dared to move, her mother would snap out, “Be still!”

Dolores couldn’t stand it. She got up and marched to the bathroom, and then stood in the bathtub for a full ten minutes, wondering if there was some way she could escape out of the tiny window. Her mother hammered on the door, and then snicked open the lock with a hairpin.

“You were given a chance,” she said, her eyes chilling. “You blew it.”

//~//

Dolores became confined to her room. It wasn’t so bad, at first. She’d hidden some old books from her parents’ closets in her own closet, and they were good company. But overnight, they also disappeared.

When she woke up the next morning, she was tied to the bed. A camera glared down at her from the ceiling.

Dolores screamed. She thrashed against the bed. But no one came.

Hours passed before she heard the door open. Her father appeared at the bedside.

“You just aren’t getting it. I’m not sure how else to teach this lesson to you.” He loomed over her, his features twisted. “You keep doing too much. This is purgatory; this is a waiting room for God. We’re trying to keep you on the path to Heaven, Dolores!”

His fists clenched. “So you will stay here until you learn.” He turned, and Dolores cried out.

“You can’t just leave me here! Tying me up is against God’s will, too!”

“Children are to submit to their parents, Dolores. You won’t live long enough to learn these lessons if you keep not submitting.”

He left the room. Dolores screamed until she had no voice left.

It felt like years passed, but by the tiny window in her room, it was only early evening when she heard the door open again. Her mother came in with a tray.

“How long do you plan to keep me here?” asked Dolores, her voice hoarse.

“As long as it takes. Oh, sweetie.” Her mother reached out to push a sweaty hank of hair away from Dolores’ forehead. “You have to understand this is for your own good. Only those who do nothing never fail.”

“I was doing exactly as you asked!”

“But you weren’t, were you? See, we knew you were going through our things. Those worldly, evil things. What kind of parents would we be if we allowed you to follow the paths we did? We repented, but our path isn’t clear. You were born so pure … we just wanted to keep you pure for heaven.”

Dolores stared at her mother. Her mother’s eyes were wild, her stare manic. “We wanted you to go to heaven. We want you to be pure for God.”

She turned, then, and slid the tray onto Dolores’ lap. She untied her hands. “I’ll come back for this. But think about it. The one thing we are trying to do for you. Think about it, submit, and be grateful.”

Dolores stared at the food until her mother left. Then, she slipped the knife under her pillow, and threw the plate against the wall.

//~//

The camera blinked constantly against her gaze. Three times red. Blink … blink … blink. Three times green. Blink … blink … blink.

They didn’t have clocks, but she could hear the drip of the faucet from the bathroom across the hall. Drip … drip … drip.

Dolores closed her eyes. She had all the time in the world. She could wait.

The door swung open on its squeaking hinges. Dolores’ eyes snapped back open.

Her mother crept in, thinking Dolores was asleep. Dolores slitted her eyes, feigning sleep. If they thought she was doing too much before, she thought, just wait …

As her mother reached to take her tray from beside her on the bed, Dolores struck.

“What are you –” Her mother’s scream was abruptly cut off as Dolores plunged the knife into her mother’s neck. A gurgling sound ensued, and her mother dropped to the floor.

It didn’t take long after the crash of her mother’s body against the floorboards for her father to come flying in.

“You child of Satan! I knew! I always knew!” Spittle flew from his mouth. “I knew!”

“You knew nothing,” snapped Dolores, and pulled the knife from her mother’s neck. She brandished it at him. “But you will. You’ll see.”

Her father’s anger melted away, and his voice turned wheedling, pleading. “Dolores. My child. Please don’t. Please think of your loving father.”

“You want to live?” Dolores had never felt this way before. Powerful. Energetic. The grey walls seemed splashed with colour. She felt three times taller. “Get on your knees. Pray.”

Her father dropped to his knees. “Please, Dolores.”

She smiled. “I’m surprised you care so much. You told me this isn’t the life you said we were meant to be living.”

Dolores squatted so she was level with her father’s sweating face. “After all, it’s only God’s waiting room.”

She plunged the knife into his heart.

This has been an entry for therealljidol. The prompt this week was “Only those who do nothing never fail”.

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