From the Wild Collective Heart series: Part 1
Content Warning: Mature themes involving childhood trauma, coercive control, and psychological fragmentation.
I would be the jailer in our world.
Responsible for turning in parts of self that malfunctioned, were too tired to finish tasks, or in some other way fucked up that could result in our whole community being punished for as long as it takes… To this day, none of us know how long it takes.
We split like over-ripe cherries to the pit in those times and conditions and couldn’t be none of our business all together.
I’d bring them down the steps to the underground and place them in the cell where the window only showed the crooked smile of the moon’s slit mouth biting into dark.
I’d sternly talk to them about the repercussions and the monsters they now had to fear. Sometimes punishments involved that. Adults wearing masks or hairy costumes showed children of the community how to become monsters in our world. The children learned well. They hopped around snarling at the no good, scaring the hell out of them back into line, or getting them decommissioned at worst. Mostly, just put to sleep a long while.
A lot of work goes into creating the conditions for splitting cherries. We were valuable energy spent to our handlers.
Nice to know you.
My name’s Judith. Our story isn’t linear. It will need to be told in the mode of survival it happened.
I came about just to oversee the demons and condemn them as was needed. I’ve seen my fair share of horror and was given that information to know how steep the punishment we could expect.
I loved my handler like homemade cherry pie, sweet and tangy, dark inside.
-Judith