24 Hour Short Story Contest Entry "Scarred Sheep"

My kid is crying.

“Momma, I don’t want to go outside! We’re not supposed to go outside. Gramma said we’re not supposed to go outside, especially at night.”

“It’s okay baby, it’s the full moon. It’s okay to go out during the full moon.”

I stick her left arm through the sleeve of her pink winter jacket.

My husband is frowning. I think about how the lines don’t completely disappear between his brows anymore.

“She is really panicking, Polly. Maybe we shouldn’t take her out. Isn’t it better not to confuse her?”

I give him a look.

“Look Carl, I want to show her the stars. It’s important that she sees the stars in real life.”

“I don’t need to see the stars Momma. Or the moon! Gramma said the moon recycles bad.”

I give my husband another look.

“Oh Pol, Mom is just trying to keep her safe. I mean, she is going to learn it in preschool next year anyways, right?”

“Baby, it’s not called recycles. That’s what we do when we put your juicebox in the blue bin when you’re all done. It’s the moon cycles. And tonight is the full moon, so we can go outside. It’s going to be real fun, okay?”

I look at Carl and nod to the steel door. He begins to unbolt it.

“You promise? Gramma says that the bad wolves are out at night and that’s why we never go outside especially when it gets dark and why we can’t have windows and why beautiful people are bad and why we have to have a scar on our face to show we aren’t bad like the bad wolves.”

She only stops talking because she runs out of breath.

“And Gramma is right. But the full moon is okay.”

I touch her scarred cheek. I think about what it was like when I first gave birth. How beautiful she was. How perfect. But perfect is dangerous. Perfect is what they wanted to be.

Carl opens the steel door. The cool air hits us. I’m surprised at how light it is for being midnight, but I shake my head and remember that it’s the full moon. Come on, Pol. Keep it together. I guess even my instincts are telling me we should stay inside.

I feel better as soon as I see our neighbours, the Pratt family, open their door across the street. I know that back before, Mr. Pratt was big into hiking. Maybe he is going up Mount Tolmie. I bet he won’t be the only one.

Carl and I take our toddler’s hands. They’re cold. I brush her scar with the back of my own hand. I know I shouldn’t touch it as much as I do, but makes me feel better.

We begin walking down the street. I had told Carl exactly where I want to take her, the best spot to stargaze. It isn’t too far, and we will be back in plenty of time for sunrise. I’m so glad that it is a clear night.

After a while I hear my daughter singing. I hate the song, but Carl’s Mother insisted she learn it as soon as she could talk.

They wanted to be pretty
They wanted to be thin
They wanted ageless bodies
They wanted perfect skin

But then the bots they changed them
Underneath their skin
They wanted them to realize
That vanity’s a sin

So now they’re only pretty
When the moon is full
That’s the only time
They can wear sheep’s wool

I shiver as she begins singing it over again. I hold her hand tighter.

“Baby, did you know that the stars used to tell sailors how to get home?”

She looks at me with her big blue eyes.

“What’s a sailor?”

Carl sees my face crumble. My own scar throbs.

“Well, you see baby, there are these big bodies of water out there called oceans, or lakes. Your Momma’s Daddy used to take a big boat, you know, like the one you play with in the bathtub? Anyways, he would take a big boat and he would go out into the middle of the water and he would catch so many fish that would feed a lot of people!”

She contemplates this as we pass our neighbours overgrown lawns. I remember that back when I was a kid, these were manicured gardens. Now it’s mostly brambles and broom. There are no cars in the driveways. Everyone has to keep their armored vehicles in their garage. I wish my kid could play with sidewalk chalk, but I’m pretty sure you can’t even buy it online anymore.

“Can we hurry up, Daddy? I want to go home and play Farmtales some more.”

I hate that fucking VR game, but it’s the only way she can see animals. It’s the best we can do.

“Sure baby.”

We turn off the street onto a trail. I try not to think about the claw marks on the trees, or the tufts of fur I see caught in some of the brambles.

“The bench is just at the top of this hill. You can see over the whole neighbourhood up here. I’m going to show you the Big Dipper!”

“Okay, Momma.”

At the top of the hill I sigh. The moon comforts me in its brightness. It has a red ring around it. We sit as a family on the old stone bench. It has the engraving “For Janice. 2007-2060.” She died so young.

I point to the sky.

“That, my sweet girl, is the Big Dipper. And that is the North Star. That’s what would guide sailors like your Grandpa home.”

“Where is your Daddy now, Momma?”

I knew this question would come, which is why I never talk about him. But blame it on the stars; I couldn’t help it tonight.

I begin to answer but someone from behind us does it for me.

“Right now? I would assume that he is looking over his beloved ocean, thinking of days gone by.”

I turn my head. My heart jumps into my throat. What is she doing here? How could she possibly have known we would come here?

She looks incredible. Her hair is the colour of nutmeg. Her eyelashes are so long they touch her perfect brow. Her cheekbones cut down to frame a button nose. Under her ripped and dirty dress, I can see her hourglass figure.

“Momma? She doesn’t have a scar.”

I grab my child and hold her close to me. Carl moves slowly into a protective position, as he was taught in defense classes. The bench separates the lone figure, and us. We all stare.

“He always was a romantic, your Father.”

Her lips crack a smile over her perfect teeth.

“What are you doing here? You’ve never tried to contact us before.”

I try to control my breathing so my daughter doesn’t panic.

“I may not have contacted you, my dear, but I come here every full moon, just to see. Just to see if you would come.”

“Pol? What should we do? Should we run? I think I can carry—“

“No.”

Our daughter looks up at me. I try to smile to make sure she knows we aren’t in any danger, but I can’t take my eyes off the woman in front of us. She doesn’t look a day over thirty-five.

She is standing straight and still. I’m not sure how many minutes tick by.

“Who is this, Polly?”

She gestures at my daughter.

“No one. Just a neighbour kid. We should be getting her home.”

I move but before I can go anywhere she is around Carl and kneeling in front of my daughter.

“What is your name, young lady?”

“Her name is—”

I try to say it before she can, but she is proud of her name, proud of answering questions.

“My name is Naomi!”

She stands so tall when she says her name.

“Well, what a coincidence! That is my name too!”

I growl as my Mother boops my daughter on her nose.

“Why don’t you have a scar? My Gramma says that only wolves don’t have scars and that’s because they got the bots in their bodies to keep them young and beautiful and then the bots turned them into wolves and it’s really scary because it pushes their pretty faces into not pretty wolf faces and it hurts so, so bad.”

“That’s right, except for on a full moon. You see, the bots turn us back into people on a full moon. It was The Manufacturer’s cruel trick. But it’s nice because some families accept the poor wolf people back into their homes, once a month. Families can be together on the full moon.”

“Gramma didn’t tell me that. She told me that a wolf is still a wolf even in sheep’s clothing. And that I have to be careful because even with a scar maybe a wolf will steal me and put a bot in me.”

I hold my daughter’s shoulders tighter. Carl is breathing heavily. He hasn’t moved.

“It’s time for us to go home, Naomi.”

They both look at me. I don’t actually know which one I’m talking to.

“Come on, baby. We can play Farmtales. Step away from the lady, nice and slow.”

“Just a second, Polly.”

I hear a noise in the trees surrounding us. A beautiful, half naked man with about a thousand abs steps out from the trees. Then a blonde woman, about six feet tall with ankles that couldn’t possibly support her, behind him. To our left, two sets of red head twins, all wearing white and holding hand, appear.

Fuck.

Carl still doesn’t move, but what would he do?

“Pol? Pol, there wasn’t supposed to be any this close to the complex. You said that there wouldn’t be any this close to the complex.”

“Carl.”

His name escapes my throat in a sob.

“This can be incredibly simple, Polly. All you have to do is hand over little Naomi there. Don’t you want her to be perfect? Just like the day she was born. Don’t you want her to live forever?”

“Momma? I don’t want to be perfect. Gramma said that being perfect isn’t worth it.”

“It isn’t, baby. It isn’t worth it.”

My kid is crying.

Image source.
This is my first short story on steemit!
I did it for the Twenty-four hour short story contest for March 6 hosted by @mctiller and I just wrote it this evening! Though the idea has been floating around in my brain for a while.
Thanks for reading!