II. The food race

From the dusted floor I lift my head.
With my thin arms I push against the ground to get up. Doing so raises dust from the floor; the sun rays hit the particles I freed from the grasp of the old planks. The scenery would be beautiful if it wasn’t in such a sad environment.
The red dress grandpa made u-… me is all dirty. I don’t know how much time I have left before the string in my box gets out of-

“DINNER!” screams the Lady in Apron from downstairs.

Tiny footsteps from all sides resonate through the old wood, a river of famished creatures deprived of parental affection.
I, myself, need to run as well, as food is rare around here and not everyone has the chance to eat even half a meal a day.

I stand and begin to push my feet in order to give myself the momentum required to accomplish this motion we call running.
I fall on the ground three times in a row by slipping on the dust, grab the handle, slam the old wooden door separating the cellar from the stairs, jump two stairs in a single leap, hit the wall at the stair’s turn, bounce off it, and use it to gain speed.

I can make it in time! The lady has not yet made her note rise; there’s still time!

I move my lower limbs as fast as I can, get past Febry, jump over Jurny who fell over Mary, push away Slow Marc, whose nickname came with the reason why I moved him out of my way. There, in my sight: the only decent door in this collapsing place. It isn’t closed yet, I can still reach it, there are only three monthlings left in front of me!

The door then slams on the leading monthling, on Apry’s face. She drops on the floor, her nose releasing this crimson-tainted liquid due to the impact.
She tries to stand back on her feet but used too much of her remaining strength to reach for the now closed entrance.
The other monthlings start to sob as they realize they won’t be able to satisfy their nutritional needs for today.

We then all hear it: a huge inspiration followed by the Lady in Apron’s note. A low note, high enough to not cross the white noise threshold and low enough for us to hear and endure. It makes the bones of the orphanage tremble; we all cover our ears.

This twisted melody we, the slower monthlings, hate. It signals the end of the food race and, with it, access to nourishment.
We’ll have to eat the white bread’s crust, the petals at the bottom of the plates left by the harebell stew.

I kept some crumbs in my pockets from the biscuits I had during the last meal I successfully reached.
The next attempt will occur in two days…
But i will leave this world by starving if I don’t find a way to eat somehow. There’s always Mayth’s shop…

I feel a thin hand touching my shoulder. Then it pushes me, then it pins me against a wall.

“You pushed me!” Slow Marc sobs, using his remaining strength to make his vocal chords sound bit louder. His box vibrates with them; I see the string shivering and the protective glass cracking. He stands on the tip of his feet to look taller than usual; a common act from nature’s creations to appear more intimidating.

“Stop it, you’ll doom us all.” I push him back and try to escape from his grasp.

“SHUT UP!!”
He throws a weak punch at my face, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“I could’ve reached it! I know I could, but you pushed me!”
He screams, the cracks on the glass of his box widening.

“I told you to stop! Your box is-”
He pushes me against the wall again using what remains of his body weight. I bite my tongue, stopping my sentence.

Although i tried to warn him, with a final shout making the metal string from his box vibrates a bit too much, the protective glass shatters into tiny pieces. The air enters the music box, finishing the last bit of oxidation required for the string to detune. As he tries to scream, the air makes the string vibrate and loosen enough for the note to reach the white noise threshold.

Slow Marc grabs his head, the infrasound reaching the many devices in the music box.
I try to reach for him and grab his shoulders.

“No! No, Slow Marc, please hear my voice, please stop breathing!” I try to calm him down.

His eyes turn white, he pulls huge amounts of hair from his skull, the other monthlings run while covering their ears. They do so without screaming, a silent panic to keep their boxes as unused as possible.

I try to reach for my necklace, but Marc hits me while shaking his head, making me lose my balance.

I am weak, starvation weighs on my every movement and thought. I can only witness the inevitable.

His eyes bleed as his note echoes in his head and mind. His empty white eyes lock onto me, not a single bit of this so-called humanity left in him. He lunges at me, grabs my neck to reach for my music box, scratches the glass. I try to defend myself; I cannot.

The door on our right violently slams open. Marc doesn’t even have time to turn his gaze that an old plank comes to meet his head. The strength of the hit makes his weak body fly across the corridor and his head hits one of the stairs. A loud crack is heard throughout the whole orphanage.

I look at my hands; they are covered by the blood from his head.

The Lady in the Apron furiously marches toward Marc’s body, her white dress is as clean as the first snows of January, her uneven way of walking caused by her metallic peg leg has always announced her arrival and, yet, today it was as silent as the prelude of a storm. Her white hairs float with grace due to the wind she creates by walking so fast, she lets the bloodied plank fall on the ground, reaches for slow Mark’s neck, grabs the music box carved to its skin, and with all her strength pulls it out.

The sound it made will follow me for the rest of my life, and every time I close my eyes i would see this picture flash before them.

The box violently detaches from his neck stopping this awful melody it was endlessly producing. Marc’s body is then dropped on to the old floor by the Lady in Apron, lifeless. His internal untamed river stopped flowing, his instrument of fate stopped beating

She then looks at me, her snow-like apron tainted in red, her fingers trembling from the strength she ordered them to supply and, as sharp as a freshly broken glass, she orders:

“To the cellar.”

Her voice makes my limbs gain consciousness, they stand by themselves.
The order was clear enough for me to move immediately, disobedience would not be tolerated.
I walk forward and climb the stairs to the cellar. On my way, I see Jurny covering his mouth, staring at the scene bestowed upon him; I don’t think he’ll be able to find sleep in his nights anymore.

I reach the top of the stairs, grab the cellar handle, open the door, walk inside, and close it behind me.

I could’ve done something. If it wasn’t for the hunger, I could’ve done something. I’ve dealt with early white noises before, grandpa taught me how to; it wasn’t too late for him!

My eyes begin to tear up. I try to reach for my chest with my fingers to feel the bump made by my necklace through the dress. Doing so usually comforts me.

“It isn’t there!” I gasp.

It must’ve fallen off my neck when Marc pushed me!

“It cannot be happening!”

I hear the familiar note played by the Lady in Apron’s music box just behind my door; a mechanism initiates, cogwheels are heard moving around my door and a small tick sound ends it all locking me inside the cellar.

“Miss! Wait! Please hear my words! Did you find something on the ground? Perhaps a necklace? Please!” I beg.

“A fellow monthling died before your very eyes and all you care about is a putty necklace?” she answers.
“I did not find such a thing. Now mourn your dead. Try to prove that you still have feelings if you want me to ever sell you.”

I hit the door with my fists.

“No, please! You don’t understand! Please let me go back and search for it, I beg you!” I cry without shouting, to preserve the integrity of my box.

“I won’t let you out. Your friend down there made a mess i have cleaning to do and i hate to be disturbed” she coldly answers.

This time, i can clearly hear her metallic peg leg tapping on each stair as she descends.

My last strength abandon me.
I let myself slide against the door, my back facing it. I cross my arms around my legs and bury my face in them, letting my tears roll down my cheeks.

I need to leave this room somehow and search for my necklace. I have a list of monthlings i would have to visit in order to find it.

Although, the obvious one that could possibly find an interest in it would be Mayth. Any valuable item goes to her in a way or another and, adding the fact that she tried countless times to make me trade it for food from her market, i better start from here.