Last Daughter of the Gods - 2

When the police arrested me and led me to the holding cell, the other women there stopped talking to stare slack-jawed at me. An older woman giggled and said – “What’s the matter with you bitches, never seen the sugar plum fairy before?” As they began to laugh, another woman covered her eyes and shrieked “Make it stop, I can’t see!”

“Come on, ladies,” the officer said as he pulled the door shut, “be good now.”

“Did he call us ladies?” More laughter.

I stood in the center of the room casually taking them in. Even behind the leers and snickers, I could see the frightened girls hiding behind their hard eyes. Humans. They encounter someone different from themselves and their immediate response is to fear, revile, or mock.

An older, heavy-set woman stepped toward me with a scowl and put her hands on her hips. “What’s with the granny sunglasses and the devil’s horns, snowdrop?”

Another woman quipped – “I could use a pair of those now. Jesus, your white.”

“Probably thinks she better ‘n us. She’s dresses better, that’s for sure.”

But I did not reply, my facial expression neutral.

“You deaf … and dumb? What are you hidin’ behind those goggles? Are your eyes white too?”

“Show her who’s boss, Rachel.”

I’m bony and thin, my cheeks and eye sockets sufficiently sunken that my head looks more skull-like than human and white as a ghost from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. I’d would have done them all a favor by leaving the sunglasses on.

Taking a step toward me, the woman hissed - “Take those fuckers off or I’ll slap them off.”

Like most albinos, my eyes are unusually sensitive to the light, in addition to the sunglasses that I wear both indoors and out, I smear a mixture of charcoal and cold cream around them to reduce reflection. By tensing the muscles around my mouth when I smile it magnifies my already skeleton-like appearance several fold.

Once she was within arms-reach I casually removed the shades and gave her my best skeleton wide-mouthed grin. Stutter-stepping rapidly backwards, she stumbled over another woman’s foot and almost fell. I dropped the glasses to the ground as if I no longer had any use for them and began to walk toward her even as she tried to back further away. In florescent lighting the blue in my irises appear so pale that they are indistinguishable from the surrounding white of my eyes, my pupils contracting till overcome by all my terrible whiteness.

When she hit the unseen wall behind her, I paused. Eyeing her hungrily I whispered –“Are we afraid?”

Moving slowly forward, with little starts and stops, I only paused once I was close enough to hear the wheezing in her breath.

“Is thy name in the book?” I asked shaking my head in mock sadness.

“What book?” she whispered.

“‘I saw the dead,’” I murmured, “‘standing before the throne, and books were opened; and the dead were judged from the things written in the books. If anyone’s name was not found in the book of life, she was thrown into the lake of fire.’ Are we afraid of fire?”

Blinking in disbelief, when she finally found her voice. She hissed, “Fairy tales don’t scare me. The things I’ve seen, and the wrongs I’ve experienced? I don’t believe in heaven or hell.”

“Ah … you do not believe because you have not seen. If you visited my Father’s House, you would empty your bowels in terror like every other human who has bent the knee before His throne.”

Even though she was clearly scared, she kept her angry, steady gaze on mine. I have to give her credit for that. But I still coldly waited to turn away until she defensively flinched. Walking back to my sunglasses, I picked them up. But before I could return them to my face she growled – “Just who the hell do you think you are? They’re eight of us and only one of you.”

I could see the reluctance in the other women’s eyes and gave them a toothy grin before hiding my eyes behind my sunglasses. “Are you ready to dance with the devil?”