Danae

The huddled brown mass on the floor saw the woman, Yeva, pry the cold fingers apart. All to get half a cup more of the sludge they call food. The huddled brown mass pressed herself closer to the floor as the orphaned baby was carried toward the food center. Watching Yeva beg and plead for “more food for my baby, I must have more food for my baby,” made the mass twitch with revulsion. The huddled mass reminded herself not to trust adults, they were here only for themselves, leaving the misbegotten children to face the danger of the prison alone.

The huddled brown mass unrolled herself from her piece of floor and darted to the screeching bundle dropped by Yeva, now satiated. Standing, the huddles mass showed herself as the girl, Danae, a prison-born who had somehow survived to age seven. She felt unsafe when she assumed her Danae form, reassurance and protection came in the web of her rags and concrete floor. When Danae reached the baby, it was still screaming. Swooping it up, she went to her closest safe place. Even though it made her pass uncomfortably near to the soldiers at the food center, it needed to be done quickly.

Danae walked up to the gatekeeper, an old man who had decided that this strange girl was in need of kind words even if she didn’t understand them. Ag smirked and jokingly told her she must be going somewhere mighty important with the look she had on her face. He tinked her nose and opened the gate. Danae did not understand why Ag insisted on touching her face, but if he let her outside she could put up with almost anything he could dish out.

It was gray and cold outside, it was always gray and cold on Zyta, but Danae did not know any other weather. She was merely content to be outside so she could help her young charge. In a secluded turn of the outer wall, without direct view of the gate or any of the watchtowers, Danae laid the crying baby on the dirt.

Danae took one quick look around to make sure no one was around before starting. Over the bundle she made a sign she had seen old Gus do hundreds of times during the ritual; a horizontal zigzag, leading into a circular motion and two lines first to the left and them to the right. Danae spoke to the baby, “It is your privilege to die an innocent child and escape the evil to which mankind is heir.”* Bunching up her eyes in concentration, she covered the mouth and pinched the nose of the bundle until the baby stopped squirming and lay still. It took only a few minutes. The quiet was devastated when Danae spoke the refrain, “It is my privilege to release you as an innocent child and release you of the evil to which mankind is heir, no one shall judge me.” These words, also stolen from Gus, accompanied Danae’s scratching to dig a hole for the baby.

The dirt moved readily and the hole was quickly made, filled and packed over. Danae scribbled over the top of the packed dirt to camouflage the makeshift grave, made her way back to the gate, and received another unintelligible compliment from Ag.

The change from the dreary, gray, solitude of outside to the dingy, smelly, confusion of the prison was nearly more than Danae could bear. For a fleeting moment she glanced back to the gate, wishing she could join the baby. Resolving herself to life, she carefully made her way to her concrete vantage point until her services were needed again.


*Partial inspiration for this story comes from this line from P. 38 of
Weis, Margaret and Tracy Hickman. “Dragon Wing.” Bantam Books: New York, 1990.



Previously called 'Insomnia Strikes Again!' This is the first part of that treatment for the three of you who read it. :) I would appreciate any comments, that is how I make my stories better since they are all perfect in my brain.