Cody McFadyen - The Face of Death

"I'm going to spend the time reading."

I pull the diary pages from my purse.

She is him, I think, and he is her.

Sarah is a microcosm. The Stranger is showing her to us to approximate the story of his own life. Understanding what Sarah went through is the closest I'll come, right now, to understanding what he went through.

I settle back. The clouds start crying again.

Sarah's Story

Part Three

35

Let's take an honesty break.

It occurs to me that writing this as a story is about more than just be- ing a good writer. It's about distance. As long as I write about these things in third person, it's almost like it's happening to someone else, a fictional character or something. Isn't denial great?

If you really want to get deep and start lobbing metaphors, then we can talk about how similar this is to a seriously fucked-up fairy tale. Gretel with no Hansel, and the witch is way too smart. She got me in the oven and she's roasting me slowly. Red Riding Hood, but the wolf caught me and instead of swallowing me whole, he's taking the time to chew his food. So, where were we? Oh yeah: the group home.

The group home was an arena and we were its gladiators. The group home was where I learned how to fight. I learned the differ- ence between a warning and an attack. I learned that you didn't have to be afraid to hurt someone, and that size wasn't the only thing that mattered. I learned to be violent, in a way that I'd never even thought of before. Was that a part of his plan?

I wondered. I wonder. It doesn't matter. It's not really me, anyway, right?

"I SAID, GIVE ME THE PILLOW."

Sarah set her mouth and forced herself not to look away from Kirsten.

"No."

The older girl was incredulous.

"What did you say?"

Sarah trembled inside, just a little.

Stand up to her. No more fraidy-cat, remember?

It was easier to say or think than do, that was for sure. Kirsten wasn't just three years older, she was a big girl. She had broader shoulders than most of the other girls in her age group, she had big hands, and she was strong. She liked violence. A lot.

Doesn't matter. You're eight now. Stand up to her.

"I said no, Kirsten. I'm not letting you boss me around anymore."

An ugly smile curled the bigger girl's lips.

"We'll see about that."

Sarah had been living at the Burbank Group Home for two years. It was a Lord of the Flies environment, where might made right, and adult oversight was based on punishment, not prevention. It was an atmosphere that nourished the angers and brutality of someone like Kirsten.

Sarah had no friends here. She'd kept her head down and her eyes open. She'd acquiesced to Kirsten's demands to hand over desserts and better bedding and the thousand other small tortures the older girl devised.

But Sarah had recently seen the future, and it had changed her view of things. She'd found out what happened in the dorms of the older girls. Here, she was being asked to hand over a pillow. There, she might be asked to hand over herself.

The idea of this tapped into something in Sarah, something unyielding and angry and stubborn. Sarah had spent a lot of time observing Kirsten. She realized that the older girl relied entirely on her size and strength. There was nothing skillful about her attacks. She always-- always --went for the slap first. Sarah had received enough of them. Teeth-rattling, bone-jarring, raising bruises that could last a week.

Now was no different. Kirsten stepped forward, cocked her arm back, and sent her hand whistling through the air toward Sarah's cheek. It was the kind of attack that only worked on opponents who were too afraid to fight back. Sarah did what anyone would do if they weren't afraid--she ducked.

Kirsten's hand passed through the air above her head. A look of pure surprise crossed the older girl's face.

Now, while she's off balance!

Sarah's life was simple. Wake up, shower, eat, school, and then back to the dorms or common areas. It gave her plenty of time to think about things when she needed to. Consideration had revealed to her that a closed fist was superior to an open hand. She stood up, cocked her arm back, made a fist, and punched Kirsten in the nose as hard as she could, her whole body behind it. The impact shocked her.

That hurt!

It hurt Kirsten too. Blood burst from both nostrils and the bully stumbled back, falling, landing on her butt.

Now, finish her. Don't let her get up!

Sarah had seen girls oppose Kirsten's reign of terror twice before. She'd noticed in those instances that Kirsten wasn't satisfied with a slap or two. One of the girls had been kicked unconscious, and then Kirsten had shaved her head. The second girl had her arm bent behind her back until it broke with a horrible, audible crack. Kirsten had stripped her naked while the girl screamed, and then had locked her out in the hallway.

Sarah knew that this defeat would have to be just as decisive. Kirsten was already struggling to get back up. Sarah kicked her in the face. Her foot caught Kirsten in the mouth, causing her lower lip to split open. Kirsten's eyes bugged out, she screeched in pain, and there was blood everywhere.

A dark and savage joy began rising in Sarah. This wasn't waiting for something bad to happen. This wasn't waking up from one nightmare to find yourself living another. This was better

This was under her control.

She kicked Kirsten again, this time catching her in the nose. The older girl's head snapped back, and the blood sprayed, a brief but satisfying fountain. Kirsten looked up at Sarah in terror. Sarah's nostrils flared at the sight of it.

More. Don't stop.

She jumped onto Kirsten, pushing the girl onto her back, and she began to punch her, over and over and over, until her fists went numb, and then she stood up and kicked Kirsten in the stomach, arms, chest, legs. The older girl curled into herself, trying to protect her face. Sarah didn't feel out of control. Just the opposite. She felt detached. Joyous, but detached. Like she was eating a particularly delicious piece of cake in a dream. She stopped when Kirsten began to sob.

Sarah stood over her for a moment, catching her breath. Kirsten was sobbing, her arms curled around her head. Sarah caught glimpses of bleeding lips, a crooked nose, an eye that had begun to swell shut. You'll live.

She got down on her knees and put her lips up to Kirsten's ear.

"If you ever try to hurt me again, I'll kill you. Do you hear me?"

"Y-y-yes!"

A thunderclap inside her, and the anger was gone. Just like that. Something her mother had once said came to her.

"If you can turn your enemies into friends, then you'll live a better life, babe."

She hadn't known what it meant at the time. She thought she might, now.

She stuck her hand out.

"Come on. I'll help you get cleaned up."

Kirsten peeked an eye out, still fearful. She gave Sarah's hand a distrustful look.

"Why would you help me?"

"I don't want to be your boss, Kirsten. I just want you to leave me alone." She leaned forward, wiggled her hand. "Come on."

After a few more seconds of disbelief, Kirsten uncurled. She sat up, eyeing Sarah with a mixture of fear and interest. Her hand was shaking as she reached out to take Sarah's. She winced as she stood up. Kirsten's face was a mess.

"I think I broke your nose."

"Yeah."

Sarah shrugged. "Sorry. Do you want me to help you clean your face in the bathroom?"

Kirsten regarded the smaller girl for a moment. "Nah. I'll go myself, and then I'll go see the nurse." Kirsten tried to smile, failed, and shrugged instead. "I'll tell her I slipped and fell on my face."