Outbreak: Proud Soldiers

[This is from a series of short stories I’m writing.]

Church bells blared into the ears of the people singing along to a hymn. Three bells would sound off at the same time, then there’d be a short pause, then they’d be hit again. Each time the ringer yanked the bell pull, there’d be a brief moment where the sound from the clappers inside would drown out the singing. The sound would eventually spill out of one’s eas and then be filled up with the singing of the churchgoers. All of them sang passionately, swaying their bodies side to side like they were taking in each and every beat and note. Wide smiles were plastered across everyone’s faces.

Everyone except Joanna.

Her smile fell flat each time she entered the church and her voice would give out halfway through service. It always surprised her how her mother never noticed her behavior. Part of Joanna felt relief knowing her mother was too busy with her new baby sister to notice. That would mean no scornful looks, no whisper-shouting, and best of all, she wouldn’t be smacked into the outside walls of the church and forced to walk home with blood on her face. Her seven year old brother Lucas, on the other hand, sang like his life was depending on it. Quite frankly, it did.

Joanna couldn’t help but snicker at how off key her younger brother sang, the defiant smile she wore made her feel powerful. But, after the moment was over, she grew impatient and couldn’t wait until everyone stopped singing and sat back down. The priest would close the small Bible in his hands and offer everyone a warm smile as he’d begin to speak about different verses and how they applied to people in the modern world. Then Joanna could leave to find her friends, she could escape for a moment before being confined in her home. Her daydreams of leaving were interrupted by a baby crying.

She looked up to find her mother carefully bouncing her little sister, Diana, up and down to try and get her to calm down. The people in front of them turned around and Joanna watched as their smiles quickly disappeared and were replaced with looks of malice and judgment.

“Woman,” a blonde man said to her mother. “Don’t you know how to discipline your own child?”

Joanna’s mother, instead of answering, yanked her sisters hair until individual strands were plucked off and clenched between her mother’s fingers. This only made her baby sister cry harder and grab onto her mother’s button up white shirt harder. Joanna kept her head down because looking only made her heart tear faster.

“Shut that disrespectful child up!” Another woman hissed. People on the opposite end of the church were still singing, but the hymn was beginning to come to an end. Diana’s crying, on the other hand, wouldn’t cease. Joanna’s father stepped up and took the baby out of her mother’s arms. Her father was a large man, broad shouldered, and muscular. He wore a scornful frown everywhere he went, making it known that nothing made him happy. Diana didn’t seem to want to obey her parents and that greatly upset him.

Joanna watched out of the corners of her eyes as her father took the wailing child out of the room. Her hands began to tremble when the door to the room shut, there was no getting Diana back then. The hymn ended and with that so did the hateful stares of the people in front of them. Joanna, her brother, and her mother sat back down onto the long, polished, wooden benches. The priest closed the small Bible he held and smiled at everyone. As Joanna kept her eyes on him, she fiddled with the material of her white dress.

She desperately felt the urge to kick her feet back and forth, but her white flats would only cause a disruption, and she wanted anything but that. The door to the room opened and her father walked inside carrying Diana, whose eyes and cheeks were flushed a bright red. He walked back to where her family sat and handed Diana back to her mother. Joanna glanced at her to find the bottom of her white dress slightly torn. This sent a terrifying chill down Joanna’s back, but she forced her mouth to remain shut. She also noticed marks on her sisters legs, large red welts in the shape of a hand and what appeared to be a stick.

Joanna quickly turned away before her mother took notice of her staring. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, even when she buried them under her bottom and applied pressure to make it stop. For one moment, Joanna even considered breaking the fragile bones in her hands, maybe she would be taken away to a hospital. Away from the church, from her family, from the town, from everything she had ever known. But before she could ponder her decision any further, everyone stood up and began the closing prayer. She murmured it under her breath and crossed herself like everybody else at the end of it. Finally, Joanna could leave.

[to be continued]