Sitara: Ancestor of Encapsula

W1. Green eggs and ham

The world seemed to be turning in on itself.

Sitara Machinaka blinked until her vision cleared.

Wait, what was that?

The only answer was her teacher’s monotone voice drifting into her head, reminding her of where she was.

The scene of the chalkboard faded in, as well as the soothing sound of chalk kissing the blackboard. Sitara looked around.

Students sat in desks; girls leaned closer to each other, whispering and giggling, guys wearing jerseys tossed crushed paper balls at a frail looking boy who pretended not to notice. One listened to music, one doodled caricatures of their teacher in their notebook, while everyone else was on their phones, texting.

“Ugh.” Sitara faced forward.

St. Hannah’s was much better.

St. Hannah’s was an academy for girls. She attended until her parents decided they hated each other so much they couldn't stand funding her education. As if that made sense.

She didn’t know why, but she could guess from the fights her parents often had. Tuition. Job. Lazy- one of them was.

Now she had been brought to this God awful town, with these mundane plebs. Heavens help!

On her walk home from school, she passed through the town square. Occasionally merchants sold random trinkets; Jewelry and accessories, clothes that were cheap and simple.

Sitara slowed to a walk. A black silk handkerchief with lace trim, it was neatly folded and mounted on a woven box. A gem surrounded by trash. She felt a kinship with it immediately.

I’ll rescue you, little one.

“How much is this?” She asked the vendor, an old woman wearing loose cloth pants and a top, counting money. The old woman didn’t even look up at her, just said:

“Five bucks.”

Sitara dug into her pocket and laid it on the mat before her. The old woman glanced at the money and snatched it up. Curious, Sitara eyed her. Shouldn’t she be more wary of thieves?

“Say, how much do you usually make?” Sitara asks her with the tilt of her head. The old woman laughs a short laugh and doesn’t respond. It was as if she was air.

Sitara claimed her purchase and left, her fingers running over the handkerchief. She studied the cute and elegant thing as she walked home, holding it to the sun. Stars and thorny vines were woven into the lace. Two of her favorite things.

People stared as she walked like that, but she cared not for their opinion or whispers.

Why was she so drawn to this?

When she got home she tucked the handkerchief in her pocket.

“Mom?”

She could hear the voice of her Mother conversing with her neighbor again. A tall, handsome man in his early-forties who looked like he belonged on the covers of magazines but he lived in reality, with his Wife and kids, next door.

His wife was always working so his visits were often. He’d bring his kids over for dinner, even though he could cook, for Sitara’s Mother he would pretend not to.

She knew this after talking to one of his kids who bragged that his Father’s lasagna tastes better than her Mom’s and that she and her Mother should come over to their house instead.

Watching her Mother for a bit longer with eyes of disinterest, she slipped off her shoes and went upstairs.

It was as if she was the only one who was concerned.

Standing before herself in the mirror Sitara studied her new school’s uniform. It wasn’t really a uniform, just a dress code. Black, brown or khaki, pants or skirts and white button up blouses. They wanted to give the students “the freedom” to choose what to wear, but they looked like they were little adults enslaved to minimum wages.

St. Hannah’s at least was cute. Students were allowed to decorate their school blazers which were navy blue and even modify them, they could wear earrings too. Not to mention their school uniform, a plaid tunic with a white blouse underneath. You could shorten its length a bit so long as you wore black stockings and heels so long as they weren’t too high.

Of course Sitara never altered her uniform in any way, she was satisfied with it as is. But more importantly. . .

Sitara’s gaze shifted to the mannequin standing behind her in the mirror.

It was a glittery black mini ball gown with a full tulle skirt. Its sleeves were slightly transparent. A pearly white sash wrapped around its high waist.

Sitara pulled out the handkerchief she bought earlier.

“Perhaps with this, my outfit will be complete?” She muttered to herself.

Stripping off her uniform she put on some thick black stockings before putting on the dress.

Together with her friends from the Theater Club back at St. Hannah’s they had made it together with the intention for Sitara to play the Wicked GodMother. She had competed with many other classmates for that role, she had been determined to make herself stand out during the school play after hearing talent scouts were to attend but alas. The universe so cruelly gave her a glimmer of hope only to quickly snatch it away.

She adorned herself with the black pearl earrings her Mother couldn’t bring herself to sell.

A fake black tiara that looked like tiny spiders were weaving diamonds on her head. After applying some purple lipstick and dark eyeshadow her look was almost complete but alas. What was missing?

A pair of shiny amethyst pumps, they were a gift from one of her Dad’s friends when she graduated middle school, too big for her at the time but now they fit like a glove. As Sitara surveyed herself in the mirror the laughter of her Mom could be heard stomping upstairs.

Suddenly she felt as if she should pray.

“Heavenly SkyPapa,” she fell to the floor with clasped hands dramatically.

“Please shield Mom from the retribution coming her way, There’s love in her eyes and a married man resides in its reflection. Please Lord, I beg of you to provide us some protection.” After dramatically falling to her knees and lifting her gaze towards the window overlooking the clear blue sky, she blinked a couple of times, distracted by its purity.

When was the last time she took a proper look at the sky? When she was very young, her Father would take her out on picnics and they’d lay on the ground staring up at the sky identifying clouds, at night they’d stare up at the sky identifying stars.

She recalled their conversation once.

“I made up a star formation of my own.” He announced it to her one night.

“Really? What does it look like? Which stars did you use?”

“This star.” He said, staring at her.

“Which one?” But she was staring at the sky. Looking for his finger to point her to something.

Finally, when she looked at him he was staring at her.

“You.”

“Huh?”

“You, you’re my star. My very own star I made myself.”

Sitara felt so happy, embarrassed and touched she could only foolishly grin.

Now, she could only foolishly frown.

“What sin did I commit to get dragged from the heavens?”

“SITARA! You’re home aren’t you? I’m going out so it’s your turn to cook dinner tonight!” Her Mother’s voice blasted in from down below..

“So loud. . .Lord, Mom was so refined before, why is it now she’s become so vulgar? Has she always been like that? Do you know?”

Of course there was no answer.

SITARA ditched the clothes and wiped off her makeup before going downstairs to make some chicken basil pesto pasta.

As she set to work one of the kids from next door popped their heads in through the window.

“You’re watching us tonight.” The child announced. A tooth was missing from his mouth.

“Says who?” Sitara cooly rebuffed.

“Your Mom and my Papa.”

She paused to put two and two together before continuing “. . .I see. Come in then.”

The child crawled in through the window and shortly afterward, two scruffy- haired kids who looked exactly the same followed suit. They brought in their own amusements and busied themselves with that while waiting for dinner.

“Hey, do you think green eggs and ham actually exist?” One of the triplets asked this aloud to no one in particular. He had just finished an old children’s book written by an Author whose surname rhymed with Zeus.

“I’ve been wondering that myself, hey lady what do you think?” The oldest of the three, the one with one yellow left eye, the other blue. Sitara forgets his name; it was something like Calico or Cal-something.

By lady he was referring to her of course.

“Well, perhaps. If the ham and eggs are covered in mold then yes, or maybe if the green eggs and ham were slathered in basil pesto like this chicken then perhaps, yes.”

“Ba-sil Pesto?” The youngest asked, his mouth already watering, though he would always ask the same following question as he held a finger to his lips. “Is it yummy?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of that, tonight we’re having green chicken and pasta.”

Sitara presented the plates before them and all three leaned in with wide eyes.

“It’s green! It’s green!”

“It really is.”

“No way. . . ah! Is it food coloring?”

“Is it poison?”

“Is this green stuff the basil pesto?”

“Can I eat it?” They chattered a bunch, but in the end they all asked this same question in unison.

“Of course.” Sitting down across from them with a plate of her own, Sitara twirled around the fork, stabbed it into the chicken and ate it with a pleased smile.

It turned out nicely. The boys liked the pesto so much they insisted on trying it on boiled eggs and ham.

“Perhaps another time, besides Mother and I don’t eat ham.”

“Are you Muslim?” Cal-something asked.

“No. I eat bacon.”

“I eat bacon too!” the youngest’s eyes glittered as he raised up a hand, excited like a child in class.

“If you eat bacon you eat ham.” Said the other.

“Ham is the thigh of a pig, bacon comes from it’s back and sides. Mother and I don’t eat the thighs.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re picky eaters.”

“Ehhhh, you’re missing out!”

To entertain the children, she demonstrated how to make basil pesto and ended up making them three jars of it by the time their Father and her Mother returned.

Before she realized it she had used up all the avocados, virgin olive oil and basil. Of course her Mother and the triplets’ Father did not notice. They gazed upon each other as if the two were the only one in the world. Their Father didn’t ask what his sons did today, all four left.

Washing the dishes, Sitara listened to the sound of her Mother hum as she went upstairs.

The sound of the sponge squeaking against the plates gave Sitara pause. Before, that man would always ask his sons if they had fun, he’d thank Sitara for looking after them.

But no words were exchanged between the two, no words of acknowledgment. Sitara pursed her lips. It would seem her Mother’s germs rubbed off on him.

Her Mother and Father were the same. They didn’t talk, barely acknowledged each other. But the neighbor was a kind man, he was a good Father. Wasn’t he? He lied to spend more time with her, he was a different breed from his Mother, it’s as if just meeting made him bewitched.

Sitara placed the plates on the drying rack. He’s not a good husband so at the very least he should be a good Father.

Another day unfolded, Sitara had to prop her head up with her chin just to stay awake in class. While the teacher had his back turned, the girls were passing notes around, it was a love letter judging by the frantic movement and panicked huffing of the doormat boy she did not have to guess who it belonged to.

Sitara squeezed her eyes shut. How dull. This place is not where she belonged. She belonged at St. Hannah’s, she belonged on that stage, performing the play she and her Drama club members had created together.

The Night the Holy Star Disappeared. There were three main characters, The Holy Godmother Tesse, Esther the protagonist and the Wicked Godmother, Quinncella. How Sitara had looked forward to that role. When Esther loses the holy star on her crown, she embarks on a journey to find it. The Holy Godmother tries to help her regain what she’s lost, while the Wicked Godmother does everything within her power to stop her.

I was born to stand on stage.

There are many children who grow up not knowing what they wanted to be, and that’s only because they never encountered the right opportunity, the chance to try many different things in order to find what one’s soul was called to do.

Of course many weren’t as blessed as Sitara. Being born was like winning the lottery. It’s definitely something to be grateful for, but then upon living you, realize there are others who won a bigger amount than you, and some who won an amount too small to be significant.

Winning the lottery does not equal a perfect life.

Of course there were many who weren’t as cursed as Sitara either.

You find the people, place and thing you want to bewith and do the most in the world but you are denied entry.

Just like Lucifer, she had fallen from St. Hannah’s to this boring reality. But she did not tempt any Eve to bite an apple, she had studied diligently, she had acquired a tribe who were like beings cut from the same cloth of her own soul. So why was she being punished? Why was she being denied? What was her sin?

The answer was nothing.

“Ahem.”

Sitara felt a presence hovering before her. She opened her eyes to see her teacher standing before her with a displeased expression. He reached out his hand. A question sign hung over her head as he snatched up the crumpled paper on her desk.

He read the love letter aloud.

Shall I compare thee to the sky at midnight?

At first glance a jet sky

Empty, cold and void of all motion

But upon further inspection

Within you, a celestial grace glows

Illuminating your depth and dimensions

My gaze gravitates to you

Each and every time

And I can’t help but wonder

Why dear star ,

When you shine so dim,

How is it that you manage

To catch my eyes

Each and every hour?

At this rate,

I fear

I may never be able

To rest again

Dearest Sitara,

Though I know it to be foolish

I’ve become fixated on watching

You forever,

Would you grace me with your audience?

Earl’s Shack. Thursday 5:00 PM?

Sitara blinked. Her gaze slowly shifted up to meet the teacher’s unimpressed expression. The love letter was for her?

“Who wrote this?” The teacher asked.

The classroom was silent.

“I did.” One of the jock’s raised his hands. Sitara glanced at him, and he at her. The nerd, balled his hands into fists and clenched his teeth as he sat there.

“How about you grace me with your audience during detention?” The teacher asked before glancing back at Sitara. “Ms. Machinka, I’m sorry my class is such a bore to you but do your best to stay awake, yeah? This is your final warning.”

“Apologies. I didn’t mean to disrupt the class.”

“Sure you weren’t.” One of the girls muttered. She could feel the heated gaze of the girls eyes on her now.

“Quiet down. Now as I was saying the-

Sitara let out a sigh. She didn’t even do anything but now she had a target painted on her back.

It was a sweet poem, sadly the person who wrote it was so disappointing. Naturally she would have to reject the confession by pretending she knew nothing, how could she consider someone lacking such spine a human suitable of courting her?

As soon as she thought that she felt guilty. Was she being too harsh? She had never spoken to this person. True, she had seen him being harassed but he never did anything, though if she was in his position she wouldn’t either, she’d probably tell a teacher or something.

She could feel her heart sink a little. Was he so scared of a little detention that he couldn’t admit to his feelings? No. In the end that’s just what they were feelings, emotions dependent on variants. They’d fade with time.

After school her path of exit was quickly blocked off by girls.

“Don’t get cocky just because Patrick likes you!”

“You better not go to the shack tomorrow!”

Sitara blinked. There was nothing romantic about youth in heat. Their attraction could only be sifted out into two things, lust and impulse.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she walked around them. “Oh please, unlike the lot of you, I have higher standards. He isn’t even worthy enough to kiss my feet!”

The house was empty when she returned home. Sitara didn’t think much of it and went upstairs. It was late at night when the doorbell was barraged a dozen times. There was loud pounding on the door. Did her Mother forget her house key again? She opened the door wiping the sleep from her eyes, only to receive a slap that knocked her against the door. She held her cheek.

There it was again. That feeling that the world was beginning to spin on itself.

“Where is she?”

Sitara looked up to see a woman in a beige trenchcoat, she didn’t recognize her but the woman seemed to be reserving the rest of her fury for someone because she glared at her intensely.

“I’m sorry, but who are-

She noticed the triplets standing at the porch steps, all three of their eyes watching on in shocked awe.

“Your Mother. Where is she?!”

Sitara blinked.

“I don’t know. Sometimes she comes home late,”

“Are you lying for her?”

“I’m not I- maybe she got home when I went to bed? I can check.” Sitara hurried upstairs only to catch herself and cover her mouth.

Did those words really just leave her mouth? She was slapped by someone without a reason, asking for her Mom and she just obediently complied?

She was reminded of the day at St. Hannah Academy’s her Mother came to get her, she was waiting in her dorm, Sitara’s clothes all packed into a suitcase.

As soon as she saw her she was dragged outside.

“Wait, what’s going on, why do I have to leave?”

She was answered with a slap. Her Mother glared at her as if it was her fault.

“Don’t ask any questions and get in the car!”

Sitara stopped walking.

“Wait a second, who exactly are you to my Mother and what do you want with her?”Sitara asked, coming back down the stairs.

That’s right, there was no way she could allow her Mother to meet such a dangerous person.

Sitara caught herself again. How noble a thought, since when did you care so much about Mother? Even though Mother would never do the same for me…

Why did she respond like this?

“You knew your Mother was fucking a married man!”

The accusation felt like a gunshot. Sitara flinched.

“E-excuse me? I knew my Mother and my neighbor got along quite well, they hung out alot together and even came over for dinner, but to accuse my Mother of such a thing and to use such vulgar profanity- and cursing in front of your children? At first I thought you might be their Mother but that can’t be right… Who are you?” Sitara frowned, and folded her arms, her expression was stern but on the inside she was shaking.

“I. Am. Their. Mother. Little girl, you can either find your Mother or I will tear this place apart!”

“You are free to do so but I hope you’ll be prepared to face legal punishment. Trespassing and destroying private property…”

The woman’s expression was very frustrated. Her angry expression crumbled like her Mother’s burnt cookies. The woman sank to the floor.

“I. . .”

“Could you please tell me what happened? If my Mother was truly home there’s no way she wouldn’t have come down from this commotion. I don’t think she came back tonight.”

“He’s gone.”

“Pardon?”

“My husband left me…”

“That can’t be right. He loves his children very much, there’s no way he’d leave the triplets behind.”

“He signed these divorce papers!” The woman said she had been holding something in her hand and now she slammed it on the floor.

“What the- that can’t be. He wouldn’t…” Sitara shook her head and ran upstairs to retrieve her phone. She dialed her mother’s number.

“Hello Mom?” Sitara quickly began to talk when she picked up.

“What are you calling for? Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, your Father’s coming to pick you up tomorrow. Get ready to withdraw from school, you'll be living with him from now on.”

“Wait mom, please tell me you’re not actually together with the neighbor!”

There was a long pause on the other end.

“You’re asking this now?”

“He has kids and a wife!”

“He had a wife.”

“You fucking bitch!” The woman in the trench coat must’ve heard her because she came charging upstairs, she snatched the phone from Sitara’s ear. “Let me talk to William! William I know you’re there. I’m never signing these papers you hear me?! Never!”

Sitara blinked hearing this. Her husband cheated on her and she refuses to get a divorce after this?

“You get your fucking ass back home right now or I’ll report you missing to the cops!”

Ah, I see. Was the Mother of the triplets this kind of person? Is that why he cheated? He seemed like a nice guy. What am I saying? A nice person wouldn’t cheat, a nice person wouldn’t abandon his family.

Sitara sat there watching the Mother bark orders desperately to the other end of the phone. Her mind spun over reasons upon reasons as to why and how she was indicated in this situation. It wasn’t her business, her Mother was a capable adult who should be able to handle it herself so why was she stuck in the middle again?

When the other side hung up.

“No! No! No! This can’t be happening! You pick up the phone back, you pick up the goddamn phone!” She threw the phone down onto the floor, and began to trash Sitara’s bedroom out of pure rage.

One of those objects so happened to be the mannequin wearing the dress she had sewn herself, it was Quinn’s dress, a beautiful black ball gown, it’s skirt was made from different fabric, her stockings were vertically black and white stripes and on her shoes were velvet amethyst purple shoes with ruby red foot soles.

The mannequin shattered against the glass of the window, and instinctively Sitara lunged after it. As she did the last thing she saw was the three pairs of eyes lurking at the door frame, illuminated by the moonlight pouring in through the broken window and the ashen face of the women in the trench coat as she fell.

As she fell.

The feeling returned again.

Like the world was turning in on itself.

In Sitara’s arms another was staring back at her, her eyes were closed but at that moment they slowly opened revealing two black marbles of the universe.

It was just for a split second. A split second before everything became black.