Layers of fabric, like the layers of her life, lay scattered on the floor before her. Gowns and dresses, discarded like so much chaff. Meredith had once thought things like this beautiful, reveled in wearing them, in turning the heads of every male in town. She let out a bitter laugh, sneering at herself for her stupidity. Her naivety.
No man had come to save her. None had saved her sister or her nieces. Meredith saw again the raiders who had stormed into the keep on her own world, slaughtering everyone in their path as they claimed their prize, not caring that stealing the colony’s generator would doom those who had survived their onslaught to death if they could not make their way off world.
Not one man had stood up to them. Not even when their wives and daughters had died before them. Not even when… Meredith clamped down on those thoughts, those memories. She rested her hands on the blasters strapped within the holster resting on her hips, savored their feel beneath her fingers.
No, Meredith would not look to a man for anything ever again. She marched down the stairs, joining the women who had become her cadre. Amazons, they had branded themselves, after a long-ago Earth legend. Peggy quirked a questioning eyebrow at her. Meredith responded with the barest shake of her head. No survivors here either.
Meredith made her way out of the house, away from the stench of blood. Her cadre followed. They were closing in on the raiders, colony by colony, world by world. And when they found them, the Amazons would rain down justice in the only language those monsters understood. Just as they had on the bands of marauders they had already taken down and would on the bands that would come after. There wasn’t enough blood out there to slake her thirst.
The first line of this story came to me unbidden. I didn’t expect the story that spilled out after it. I had thought my protagonist was going to be disillusioned with the empty-headed life she had lived until some defining moment. Well, she certainly is, but not in any sense I had anticipated.
Sometimes I wonder if some other, darker being lurks within the depths of my mind. And then I’m put in mind of Anne Bishop, author the Black Jewels series of horror novels. I had occasion to have breakfast with her at a convention a number of years back. She is the sweetest, most unassuming person you’d ever want to meet—who writes horrific (and wonderful) stories. I asked her how someone like her wrote such horror stories. She had no idea.
So there you have it. I have no idea where this story came from or how it emerged from the initial sentence. I’d love to hear your comments on it or on how the human mind works.
I think we all have a shadow side. Art allows us to explore that shadow side and use it in a positive way. I loved this story. I have a space fantasy novel I started and then quit, and this has be wanting to get back into it sooner rather than later.
I love it!! Whether we, as individuals, must overcome those who would take advantage of us or overcome our own negative outlooks, we can do it!! I am sure they succeed and it is those elements of hope and power that I am left with. Great story!