She grips her belt. Tight. A woman on the edge. Gripping the leather between her fingers as if it were a noose. She pulls it free. Her trousers drop slightly, resting on her hips. She whips the belt around in her hands and pulls it slack.
She moves with determination toward the other. Another woman across the room, stiff and determined in her stiffness. She has sticks strapped to her arms and legs, keeping her wide and stiff. She’s proud. She’s pale and awkward, but proud.
The First One moves toward the second, the belt in her fists, sweat on her brown, down her arms, legs, and belly. She doesn’t speak until she’s close.
The Stiff One stares out, accusing. “What? What do you want? You know I own you. I’m the reason you exist.”
“Just try to hit me.”
She tries.
The First One, with her trousers falling lose while she walks confidently, laughs at the awkward offense of the stiff one.
“I can do this. They told me I could.”
“Why did you believe them?”
She struggles against the wood straps. “They sang it. In a song. They shouted it from a pulpit. They said life would be better this way.”
She, the First, watches, tensing and relaxing the belt in her hands. Then with one swift movement she turns the weapon on the other. She smacks the belt through the air. WHAP! And it hits the Stiff One’s skin.
A scream of pain.
“What the heck?”
“You can’t even say it.”
“What?”
“Fuck. Fuck it. Fuck this time and place. It’s your fault.”
“What are you talking about?”
Whack. Another smack, right across her chest. The pale skin breaks open. She yells. “Why are you doing this?”
“Aren’t you free? Aren’t you better? Show me!”
The Stiff One struggles but she can’t. Her arms are stuck. She hops forward.
“Stop it!”
Another whack and crack, like a whip. More blood. More screams.
She moves forward. Her trousers fall. She steps away from them, pulls off her shirt. She stands, naked, before the other. She puts her arms out.
“Come and get me.”
The Stiff One looks away, closes her eyes tight. “I don’t… no. That’s bad.”
She walks forward. She brings the whip with her. She moves with grace and determination and anger. Then… she gets close, leaning into the pale skin, a finger touching the blood. The stiff one winces. “Stop.”
“Are you human?”
She leans in. Kisses her.
“Stop.”
“I’m tired of you. I’m tired of looking at you.”
“What?”
She leans back. She takes the whip. “I could kill you.”
The Stiff One is panicked. “But they said. This was for my own good. They said… oh God. Please.”
She kisses her again. The Stiff One kisses back. A moment of strange and awkward passion. Then the Stiff One pulls away, guilty.
“It’s not about sex.” the First One says. “it’s about being human. Why are you guilty over a kiss? It doesn’t define you or me. You are human. We’re meant to touch and feel.”
“I want to go home.”
The First One steps back. She drops the belt. She steps back, but keeps her eyes locked. She steps into her trousers and shirt as if rewinding a tape.
She pulls up her trousers. She licks her lips and smiles.
“You are home, sweetie. If you want to be free… well, then you need to tell them to leave.”
She turns around and walks away.
The Stiff One stares at the belt on the floor. She looks down at her blood. She turns and looks along the length of her stretched out arm and screams.
