Eye of the Beholder, Part 7Following a turbulent and loveless marriage, Hannah Dobson's parents were getting divorced. Her father was an uncaring drunk and her mother was a demanding paraplegic. All Hannah had to do was choose which of them she wanted to live with. No small decision, for a thirteen-year-old.
I approached her in the canteen, during lunch break. She was eating alone, as usual, and seemed indifferent to my presence. "How are things?" I asked.
"The same," she replied, drearily. "I have about a week to decide."
I desperately wanted to help her, but it seemed that there was nothing I could suggest, there and then, that wouldn't have sounded ridiculous. After making some allusion to a third option, however, she agreed to meet me after school.
This was Aaron's territory, of course, and whilst I had no idea what he'd say about her situation, I had full trust in the divine love that I knew he represented.
Hannah appeared a little more cheerful as we approached his house, that afternoon. "Are you dating hi
Eye of the Beholder, Part 6The full horror of Monday morning struck me like a cannon-ball to the stomach. I'd never particularly enjoyed going to school. In fact, I'd always had a sneaking suspicion that there was something inherently sinister about institutionalised education. However, in the absence of proof, I had resigned myself to the sausage factory approach to life, and accepted that it was somehow in my own best interests.
Needless to say, I should have followed my intuition. Although, even I had no idea what schooling truly represented. Pippa was wrong, I thought to myself. Child sacrifice wasn't some sort of historical anomaly, or cultural aberration. It was the very cornerstone of modern society. Only, the blade had been replaced by textbooks. And at the end of a slow and agonising process, the dead were rewarded with jobs within the system, if they were lucky, while the system itself kindly educated their offspring – the next generation of workers – free of charge! The zombie apocal
Eye of the Beholder, Part 5I'd left my home that morning as an awkward, nerdy teenager. I had few friends, low self-esteem, and was borderline anorexic. And whilst none of those things had changed, as such, the day had certainly been a productive one. For I was returning home, not as my old self, but as a living goddess, whom the entire male species was designed and destined to venerate. The only meaningful divide in society, therefore, was between those who understood and respected this dynamic, and those who didn't – of whichever gender. And my task, from that point forward, was simply to act the part, to the best of my ability, until it became second nature. Or in Aaron's words: "Fake it till you make it."
It really wasn't a hard sell, of course, whether I'd had the awakening experience or not. After all, what girl could resist such a delicious premise? And, besides, membership gave me certain rights and privileges, within the organisation. It meant, for example, that I would be supported, financially,