Post by anatasia kirsi cervenka on Jul 19, 2012 22:37:50 GMT -6
[atrb=style,width: 500px; background-color: B9B9B9; border: 10px dashed #754A4A; border-right: 15px solid #754A4A; border-left: 15px solid #754A4A; padding: 5px, bTable][th] anatasia cervenka MAILROOM ATTENDANT (HAH), CRIMINAL, ROSIE TUPPER | |
 the basics FULL NAME anatasia kirsi cervenka. "ana". AGE & DOB twenty-three | march 13th HOMETOWN prague, czechoslovakia ETHNICITY caucasian - czech LANGUAGES SPOKEN english, czechoslovakian, russian SEXUAL ORIENTATION heterosexual, borderline HAIR COLOR dark blonde EYE COLOR green HEIGHT & WEIGHT five feet, eight inches | one hundred and twelve pounds DISTINGUISHING MARKS scars: both elbows from drug abuse, all over her body from five years of hell tattoos: "cynicism masquerades as wisdom" on ribcage, family's names in czech on hip | freestyle |
freestyle
"when she stood, it was because they ordered it. when she gasped, it was because they wanted it. when she cried, when she laughed, when she screamed, it was because they told her she had a role to play. they would kill her if she did not. they pulled the strings and she was a puppet, a limp rag doll to fill their glasses with ice and scotch. they told her it was going to be better now, away from them. they were here to help. they wanted to help. when she stood, it was because she believed them. when she gasped, it was because she was naive. when she cried, when she laughed, when she screamed, it was because five words had been enough.
but it was never enough. not for them."
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she stands at the edge of the field because it's dangerous. the sky is wide, an aqua she only sees on television. a cheerful breeze dances, blowing her hair and making the daisies shiver. the edge of the field is dangerous because it is where freedom meets entrapment. that is what her parents always say. during breakfast, after school, when they leave, always. she only listens because she loves making them happy. jade eyes watch from behind the old fence, rotten from weather, as another line of rusted carriages rages. the smoke billowing from the front car is black, because it doesn't carry people. "it carries all of the things that makes us happy with entrapment. the cargo on the train keeps the world turning, so we can have times to dance in fields with daisies." when her mother says this, she knows there is no trouble. danica cervenka likes to believe her youngest daughter is a wander with no sense of direction. it keeps her young, because today is perfect and it never should end. warm hands encircle her waist, lifting her so she can watch the glittering stones and listen to the churn of oil and rails and everything that will never belong in a picture book. she thinks she sees a dancing troll on the way back to the picnic blanket. it was checkered.
but she stands there because it is dangerous. she likes the skull and cross bones that are on the bottles at home, the ones with poison. she likes seeing all of the men in hazmat suits, forcing struggling bodies into the back of trucks. dangerous is a black marker, inky and thick. and it traces over her family and its fields with such ease, she thinks it must scare them. that is why she is always warned never to go near the fence. they may have sad hopes, broken enthusiasm, but she has never been lied to. she wishes they would understand dangerous too; that they would stand near the train tracks and hurt their immune systems with the same contagions. they could die if they don't. but dangerous is a monster they are scared of.
besides, what would she know? she is only seven.
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nikola and danica cervenka became one when they were young, too young. he married her out of high school because she was pregnant. she told him because she was worried he was going to break up with her because the new girl from sweden was prettier than she. everyone was prettier. the third time, she was actually pregnant. his fault, because he believed her everytime. but he liked the new swedish girl. and the girl from france who wore short skirts; the one from wales with the cute smile; the danish one because she pretended to laugh, but never really did. he never challenged danica's insecurities. he stayed because they had a family and he had to love her. broken households ruined them both, he couldn't see it again. so he painted a water gun black and threatened the old man at the liquor store, because his alarm never worked and he wouldn't care, not really. with too little cash, he purchased the first gold band the pawn store had. it was varnished and probably fake, but it has not left her finger in twenty-three years. the engagement ring was a fake one from a vending machine, but she pretended not to notice because she loved him. everyone knew he never really loved her.
she studied engineering, he studied mathematics because he knew he would fail. maybe she would leave. she didn't. she was having an affair. she told him over cleaning up cheerios from the peeling kitchen tile of their little apartment. they daughter, little anatasia, was barely three. she was old enough that danica knew sweet-hearted nikola would never leave. it was with her professor, a man from america who had wrinkles from smiling and a black credit card. he tried to be devastated. she laughed. but, really, the jealousy fumed because she needed him and he had lived with the fact for so long, he became protective. danica cervenka was his problem. he told her he failed his lab. she laughed again, because she knew and she loved him anyway. she explored because everyone knew he never really loved her.
maybe he didn't. the jealousy roared when he punched that professor and got expelled. she screamed that she would leave him and he would beg no, please please no, he loved what they had. he didn't love her. he loved the girl from sweden who tried to ruin their marriage but he never did because he wanted her to think he needed her. maybe he did. he needed her to want him.
want him so much that when she confessed her second pregnancy, she told him it belonged to the man at the coffee shop with the twinkle in his eye, he didn't leave. he screamed that he would, and she would beg no, please please no, she didn't love him but she loved what they had. he knew it was what she said, and she knew it was what he said. she loved him, he needed her love. everyone knew that. no one left.
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they made promises. many promises; false promises; promises she, alone, would not have believed. nikola and dancia cervenka are not her. they smile, a sweet enchantment, with words thick with shade. better off/support/maturity/lieslieslies enchantment. honest work, honest life, honest smiles, honest postcards and photographs that would always be honest. they made affirmations. they had slithery tongues lurking behind pointed fangs, shielded with honey and red bicycles and pictures of paris cut from magazines. she would have slathered them in honey, chained them to red bicycles and see them from the top of the eiffel tower. but she was never nikola and danca cervenka. they breathed at the honey smiles. they hugged at the future. they should be allergic to honey; they never hug. cruel steel dances flirtatiously behind their eyes, smiles never reaching. simple. easy. what did they speak of? this was not difficult. promises and honesty. it was enough for nikola and danica cervenka.
crisp suits scented with a clean cologne grip a sleek briefcase. thick parchment is offered, personalized pens left. we will call. we appreciate. we look forward. hot sunlight hits dark sunglasses, hiding the suit of armour behind their eyes. it is easy to fall for the smile. but their handshake is tight; their warmth is dropped. we will be in touch.
no they will never be in touch. but young families, starving and desperate, crave sweet enchantments and honey and red bicycles from santa claus. young families are in touch. nikola and danica cervenka tore phonebooks, cried to operators and foughtfoughtfought. his fault. her fault. little ana's fault. edita cries. danica stresses. nikola drinks. little ana is quiet, watches through fogged windows. they will never be in touch. no one should ever be in touch. her family wants - no needs, no has to, no has run out of options - to find their promises. better off/support/maturity/truthtruthtruth. they would never believe her when she said it was lieslieslies. nikola stormed into the office, smelling of bleach and steam cleaners, he begged. he ranted. he made a speech about belief and promise and how he was willing for anything. the deer-eyed receptionist stares. the steel man with a crisp suit and clean cologne holds a glass of scotch and smiles his honey smile. "i was dialling you're number, sir."
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she walks alone at night because it's dangerous. the streets of prague are damp, withered with pollution and defeat. there is no wind, no seductive draft that teases of lust and a warm body and a bottle of wine the colour of blood. there is frost, iced over with cynicism and loneliness. she wanders alleys. there is no bliss and no fields with checkered blankets and daisies; there is no fence that borders entrapment, but is freedom. there is no freedom. her hands find the pockets of her sweater. it is uncomfortable, thin from too many washes. it reminds her of home, sort of. a train rumbles by, hissing its victory. she was fooled once, because her parents believed. they hand-fed warmth and freedom and being somewhere better, because life is good. life is strong. life is picnics and honey and red bicycles. urban darkness swallows that. she blinks, because the rain is strong and the city blinders are satisfied. dangerous is a scary monster that everyone is scared of. but they pretend not to be, because what else is there? parents only embrace when their child hugs them close. little ana never speaks. "the other kids say she has an ugly disease, mommy" is what pretentious edita says. "she is like you, daddy. you should stop lying to mommy" is when she wants to anger nikola. he pours a drink and smiles. he never loved dancia cervenka, everyone knows that. everyone thinks he never loved edita cervenka either because she belonged to the twinkle-eyed man at the coffee shop. he walks alone at night too.
"the train tracks win, little ana." train tracks carry things. rusted carriages, sleek new shuttles. cargo, people. entrapment and freedom. he says it because it likes metaphors. she blinks again. nikola and danica cervenka believed them because they wanted a new belief. she never thinks her father is as blind. he is ugly, diseased and false. he does not love his wife but stays because of his family. he is okay with unfaithful. maybe he needs danica like he needs little ana. but no one ever says that. when acid rains falls on the alleys of prague, his mask dissolves. she sees him one night. he stands behind a building, embracing strangers. she sees shiny coins fall into his hands and little white bags leave. she screams. he tries to lie to her. he tries to fool her like he fools the daylight and daisy fields and checkered picnic blankets. he is a red bicycle that is rusted and no one wants anymore. "you wen to the office" is all she says. "yes" is his silly reply. he is failed mathematics student, failed relationships, failed support, failed father, failed life. he fills it with vodka and taking money from addicts and pretending he is whole. he believed the honey smiles of the man in the crisp suit because he failed all else. maybe it would fix something. she never understands him like he thought. he pretends to know her. he wants to walk together in midnight rain. she walks alone. he never lies again, he trusts little ana with his business deals and betrayal and how he wants to love her mother so much, but he cannot.
she thinks he pretends to believe them because he has nothing else to believe. but they are in their lives, coming for dinner and speaking of plans to america and how everything is good. she thinks danica likes the man in the crisp suit with steel eyes. has she fucked him yet? it is the only time she swears and nikola laughs. he thinks so too. she kind of likes her father. but they are empty promises, she warns. he shrugs. what could happen?
no. he had something to believe. he still believes.
but what does she know? she is only seventeen.
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nikola and danica cervenka believed their promises, false promises, many promises, because they were forlorn. dark czech alleys, bagging groceries, affairs. she liked the manager of her firm, the one with tanned arms and slicked back hair. he never blinked when she told him. she still thought it mattered, so she would confess over science homework and coaching soccer games. he still liked the swedish girl with hair the colour of sun and the smile that never reached her eyes. she liked him too, but she promised to the man with dark hair and a crooked smile. he was italian and inherited from dead relatives. he would have liked him, too. she believed promises because she liked happiness and security and knew no one would ever leave. everyone knew her love for him was fading. everyone thought his attachment to her was growing. they destructed when the crisp suited man appeared again. he provided something else. no more tight smiles and avoidance and pretending they lived in a motel because, really, they should split up the money and everyone leaves. maybe nikola would take little ana. he hated edita and danica…only she knew. she loved him but she sabotaged him. poison grows because the russian man came for dinner and speaking of plans to america and how everything will be good. "can he join chess club?" little ana makes jokes as she grows into a teenager. she never believed promises, but she liked making people happy. so she smiled and ate her pie. it was disgusting pie because the man brought it.
they were older now, no more affairs over cheerios. sabotage and betrayal over parent-teacher conferences and at the bankers office. danica cervenka always believed. nikola cervenka believed less and less. but he needed her. did she need him? she never did. she loved him. but she used him. she took his odd attachment, saw the jealousy roar, and twisted it because it satisfied her. when the man in the suit appeared, they both had something new. a distraction. maybe she would love him again, but everyone know he never loved her. maybe he would need her more, but everyone knows he already did.
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little ana was seventeen. edita grinned at fifteen. it was a story of four now, and they liked her. the charming girl with dark hair and black eyes and the body of a grown woman. they said she had more potential. people enjoy edita. work ethic and promise and she will bring more happiness to her family. she only plays along because they smile at her and call her pretty. she inherited her mother's everything. everyone is prettier, everyone is happier, everyone has more potential. they saw and took advantage. little ana said nothing because they didn't like her. she was not enough for them. nikola said nothing because he never cared in the first place.
it was enough for them. they promised. they would be in touch.
they were impatient. they lied. and they never called.
they lurk in back alleys of damp prague because that is where members of young families, starving and desperate, go. they thought. nikola goes there to feed addicts. little ana walks because she likes the dangerous monster who smiles. edita went because she got lost. the party promised flowing champagne and plush red cushions and shoes that would hurt her feet. she lied because mommy would have said no. daddy didn't care. and mommy does anything for angel. studying at the library was code for "i'm disposing of another dress. buy me another one." they knew because they watched. they liked edita because she had more potential. that was their promise. they liked edita because she was flighty, easy to please and eager to strive. she was stupid but insecure. she wanted nikola's approval. she secretly craved her sister's attention but she pushed little ana into the street that night when she approached her. "go home. no one wants you here." was what she said before she staggered off. the party was waiting. they were standing in the shadows, toothy grins and sharp knives prepared. they were impatient.
little ana lurked back alleys too. she pushed them into the street. she screamed at her sister. they lied. and she never called again.
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she walks the hallways because she is supposed to. she is fed, a golden liquid melted on spoons and leaked into her veins. she misses checkered picnic blankets and grizzled train tracks. she misses bratty edita and nikola's vodka and danica bagging groceries. she giggles when she imagines it. danica cervenka is an engineer. it is entertaining in a heroine-induced haze. she wishes she would walk the streets again. but she never calls. do they miss her? are they worried? nikola is. it comforts her when strong hands, stained with blood and ruthlessness, manhandle her and force her into the room. they brush her hair today. a quiet woman with everything to lose scrubs her raw. a man in a crisp suit looks at her naked body. he speaks of her mother and how warm she is. he calls her fat with no womanly attributes, so he calls for starving and more drugs. and then he drapes her in too little fabric, that shines in the light but feels cruel against her skin. the quiet woman whispers of her beauty, but stops when the man appears. she paints little ana's face. and she stands in the the room again, harsh spotlights and monsters shrouded with black velvet. the think she cannot hear them. but she hears soft buzzes of buttons and low hums. she is popular. a lot of men like little ana.
her body is useful. she sees green paper thrown around. she feels hands slathered in lotion - rich and privileged and successful hands of monsters - grip her wrist and use her. in rooms or on tables or to stand and be watched. at first, she never remembers. but it's been a long time. the quiet woman will appear sometimes, whispering, and then painting her body so the scars and abuse disappear. she is popular. the man's call for starvation withers her body tiny. he forces tight belts and false breast and soon, it takes. she looks like edita now, he says. he dyes her hair dark and calls for the quiet woman to put red lipstick on, because men would have liked edita more and she has red lips. it takes a long time but little ana is a rag doll that is perfect.
she is perfect, because she is twenty but still looks seventeen.
it's been a long time since she has walked alleyways and watched trains.
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nikola cervenka never stopped looking. he loved little ana. everyone knew it was real. danica and edita cervenka cried and cried, but changed the channel because the news got boring. they all knew. everyone knew. but no one ever said anything because that was the way it was done. maybe nikola loved danica now. everyone knew she didn't love nikola, but she had once. she loved edita because the twiinkle-eyed man from the coffee shop left her his eyes. she loved little ana because she was first. he loved little ana because she was him, with empty and a mind that craved more. he loved edita the same way he loved danica; he needed her. nothing ever made sense. did it ever? everyone took a turn. they threatened and scream and said they were going to leave. everyone took another turn. please don't leave, please please no. they love what they had. it was a circle that would spin. after the man in the crisp suit appeared and evaporated into a mist with a smokey smile, nikola and danica cervenka had nothing to believe. edita felt guilty. she pushed little ana that night. no one told her she was the target. maybe she knew. probably not. nikola cervenka called his youngest daughter stupid. she was. danica cervenka was stupid. nikola cervenka was stupid too. they were all stupid.
they would dance. a group of four, clutching hands and pulling away, wander down gingerbread paths. daisy fields and checkered picnic blankets; damp alleys and rusty trains. one would leave breadcrumbs. one smiled as the one-eyed witch invited them into the candy house. another stayed quiet because it wanted to keep the others happy. the last kissed monsters and played with trolls underneath bridges, but always left because the candy house was warm and could be real. it wasn't. the witch wanted to cook the group of four. one ate the breadcrumbs. one frowned but stepped into the pot steaming over the fire, because the witch promised warmth and happiness. another never spoke, looked out the sugar-frosted window and wondered where the magic goats were. the last snarled and added salt to the czech stew. at the beginning, they could tell one from the other. they knew who loved and who craved. after the man in the crisp suit gobbled one up, the last three faded into one another. no one knew anything anymore.
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they poked holes in her skin. they pulled one-eyed witch stew from her belly. they put her in rooms and let people do what they wanted. they always promised it would get better. the quiet woman whispered of her beauty, even when it was long taken. they ordered more paint. they would tighten the strings on her rag doll body, because she needed to be important. she had a role to play. they told her to play it. she smiled and starred because maybe things would get easier. danica cervenka gave little ana a bit of false hope. they said they would hurt nikola and ruin edita. they would bring danica through the hallways of their pretty houses sometimes. she saw her once, when she was nineteen. they told her no one was looking anymore. and then a tube was pushed into a broken vein and they drugged her with golden fluid. it was how they could do everything.
they kept her fresh. girls would fade into a curtain of doe-eyed ugliness. the poor men liked them. little ana was special because she was twenty and looked sixteen. they painted her with flawless skin and red lips and dark liner. they curled her hair and dressed her to be undressed. they told her to stand, to gasp, to cried and laugh and scream. she always did.
maybe one day it would be enough.
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she tries not to cry. she cannot, not anymore. her eyes will turn red and her body will curl, but no tears fall, no wails are spoken. this is her emotion. her brain never allows her to be angry or happy or strong, because it is too exhausting. they never care. they like girls to be powerless, for emotions to run them ragged until there is nothing left. her gas tank is preserving itself. she kicks the wall because her body wants to cry. she collapses on her bed because she hears footsteps. polished shoes echo heavily against the peeling paint. her brains lets her pretend to cry. her body convulses, unaware of its surroundings. she hopes her eyes are red. the girls seize when their body is filled with heroine. that's what they whisper, at least. svetlana shook too much and fell to the ground with a broken concussion. she sees men carrying bodies through the door weekly. tears well up because she has her first real seizure in months. she is good at faking, because they are finally loosening the strings on her because they think she has surrendered. maybe she is happy, finally believing all they lie. many girls do. if given the choice, the ones who have been here the longest never leave. what do they have to go back to? she comes to when they muffle approval. little ana is okay, her body is not broken. she cries an hour later when she sees sasha's eyes staring at her. they left her door open when they carry the girl with open eyes out into the rain. she is alive, still. she will be dead soon. little ana whispers an apology and collapses again.
she misses the field. when danica sings, slightly off-key and nikola smiles because he is happy, this is a good day. edita giggles at her jokes and pretends to scold her when mommy brings rebellious little ana back from the broken fence. she thinks of it when she wants to give in again. her brain allows tears to fall, because her fuel tank can spare some energy. she stands because she wants to. she gasps because she is crying. she laughs because everything is so dark, it is hilarious. she screams because finally, finally, she doesn't think she can take it anymore.
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little ana is not like the rest. she is perfect. edita would have been ruined years ago. her skin is flushed and her eyes are dark and she never resists. everyone wants her. everyone can have her. the puppet masters loosen her strings because she is like one more, the one who will never leave. the one who has a family who has forgotten her. nikola and danica cervenka have evolved, moved on with their daughter. they are broken, ripped seams. when nikola finally stops begging, he will leave. no one will remember little ana. it will be perfect.
her veins do not need to be fed as much. her belly still remains empty. she will be painted and painted and then released. she is perfect.
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they let her smile sometimes. she will tell a joke and earn a laugh. they believe she prefers it here. the promises, sweet sweet enchantments are successful. she eats honey and rides a red bicycle and speaks of the magazines with photographs of the eiffel tower. she wants to go to paris one day.
finally, for a moment, it was enough for them.
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she sees elena at the table. elena is new, elena is young. elena is not handcuffed to a rotting bed frame, body shrivelling from heroine. she has dead eyes and thin hair. she is what little ana was a year ago, when her starved brain found energy and decided to fight. elena is smart, little ana knows. she pretends to smile and will even speak from time to time. this is where the special girls get to go. another room in this broken house, with working lights and the quiet woman providing thin chicken broth. she watches the girl from sweden, unable to decide if she is strong or too defeated to even care. the men will like elena, because her body looks like edita's. was the man from the coffee shop from sweden? she looks like him. the holes in her elbows are more than little ana's. they stole elena from someone. she has been a traffic stop for too long. maybe she was raised, a little slave into a forced sexual desire. she feels bad for elena, but never says so. she decides she is too far gone to bother. she will be dead soon.
see? she is standing near the window of her room, pretending to look out the boarded window. maybe an aqua sky is out there. she wishes it was a damp alley, with nikola cervenka. those two words surprise her brain and leak salty tears. no. this is not allowed. the quiet woman appears, pulling a tattered blanket around her tiny body. she pushes her onto the bedspread, feeds an empty into her arm. she feels a finger pressed to her lips and they watch, silent. the noise must awaken every girl from her drugged haze. elena screams. someone shoots her. the blood path stains the floor. it looks kind of nice, she decides, because it brings colour to their surroundings.
this is when it does not matter when she is twenty. she wants to find someone strong.
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difficult. everything is impossible. every girl is addicted and motionless. they enjoy this, they don't notice this, maybe they want this. it is the family they never had. someone finally wants them. wealthy men who like them, and will save them. bring them to a beautiful palace in the middle east. dubai, perhaps. elena wanted to go there. she was stupid, the girl from sweden. but she was strong for a minute. little ana cervenka is like her father, everyone knows. she has never loved anyone, but she liked when people need her. she never believed. but she can pretend. she will never scream, threaten to leave, beg for forgiveness. her strings are loosened and the needle is taken from her. no one wants to go back. you are to nod and remember and lielielie. her veins were broken and her eyes were dead. the quiet woman used too much condition to make her hair shine. it was impossible to find eyes that no longer shined. her body had accepted it, theirs did not. they would convulse and beg for more heroine, because they loved it. when would they hate it?
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she is sloppy because no one is co-operating. she does not understand how to escape, but she tries. feeding the girls the same whispers of their beauty like the quiet woman did to her. she speaks of stories, red bicycles and going to paris. they speak of rich princes and what the world looks like on ecstasy. it is easy to know they are unhappy with their perfect little ana. they handcuff her to the bed and show her pictures of edita in paris, dancing with a baker. they tell her nikola is dissolving in vodka-fuelled whirlpool, because he finally leaves and has nothing left. they say danica is in holland, an engineer with the old boss, the one with tanned arms and slicked back hair. he pays for edita to live somewhere else. she goes home for the holidays. nikola sends cards, but they are returned to sender. they leave a locket at the other side of the room, a brass pocket watch with a faded photograph of her. nikola carried it. they stole it. she is sloppy because she is running out of gas and has no idea what to do. it will never be enough.
when he points the barrel of the gun at her, she blinks. she pretends he is a cloud, a storm throwing acid rain onto the streets of midnight prague. his words, a broken mess of their mixed languages, fade into a soft tune. the pitter-patter of rain, the footsteps of her father when they played in puddles, the trees thrashing, the noises of home. when he lowers the barrel of the gun, she blinks again. he is handsome, with empty eyes and the suit of a man with power. he looks familiar. she thinks he says something, but she doesn't remember. she thinks of daisies and broken fences, dark alleys and rusty trains, red bicycles, checkered blankets and the time edita soaked her with water when she wore a white dress on picture day. maybe she wishes he shot her. elena's blood made the house prettier, her starved brain believes. could her scarlet poison help? maybe it would inspire someone else to try to fight and fail and continue until someone won. she wishes the quiet woman had been there, because she seems nice and has never deserved this either. the promises they made were always lies, little ana knew. it took a ruined life for nikola and danica cervenka to realize. it took a man's suicide and a woman's foolish dream and a bratty teenager who would have died long before.
it was never enough.
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she is in a haze. cold eyes stare out fogged windows of trains, the old ones she loved. they took her to corners of the world. new names. a new face. she dyed her hair the colours the quiet woman said would look nice. she painted her face with red lips. she drank cold vodka and sang off-key when the song was just right. she bought a checkered picnic blanket and used it to line her suitcase. she brought an empty bottle of poison with the skull and cross bones everywhere. she kept a piece of a red bicycle and a photograph of paris. she was no one. her body was slowly healing, her brain finally allowed her to cry. she would go to unmarked graves and let tears fall, because someone had to miss them. no one missed her anymore. on edita's birthday, she wears a white dress and sends an anonymous card to her. she screams whenever her mother's new husband is on the news because he is the bestbestbest. she wants to set her alight. when she thinks of nikola, she dresses in dark clothing and finds a black alley. she exchanged gleaming coins for white bags of powder and smiles, because this was his ending.
but she never knows when hers will be.
but it was never enough. not for them."
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she stands at the edge of the field because it's dangerous. the sky is wide, an aqua she only sees on television. a cheerful breeze dances, blowing her hair and making the daisies shiver. the edge of the field is dangerous because it is where freedom meets entrapment. that is what her parents always say. during breakfast, after school, when they leave, always. she only listens because she loves making them happy. jade eyes watch from behind the old fence, rotten from weather, as another line of rusted carriages rages. the smoke billowing from the front car is black, because it doesn't carry people. "it carries all of the things that makes us happy with entrapment. the cargo on the train keeps the world turning, so we can have times to dance in fields with daisies." when her mother says this, she knows there is no trouble. danica cervenka likes to believe her youngest daughter is a wander with no sense of direction. it keeps her young, because today is perfect and it never should end. warm hands encircle her waist, lifting her so she can watch the glittering stones and listen to the churn of oil and rails and everything that will never belong in a picture book. she thinks she sees a dancing troll on the way back to the picnic blanket. it was checkered.
but she stands there because it is dangerous. she likes the skull and cross bones that are on the bottles at home, the ones with poison. she likes seeing all of the men in hazmat suits, forcing struggling bodies into the back of trucks. dangerous is a black marker, inky and thick. and it traces over her family and its fields with such ease, she thinks it must scare them. that is why she is always warned never to go near the fence. they may have sad hopes, broken enthusiasm, but she has never been lied to. she wishes they would understand dangerous too; that they would stand near the train tracks and hurt their immune systems with the same contagions. they could die if they don't. but dangerous is a monster they are scared of.
besides, what would she know? she is only seven.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
nikola and danica cervenka became one when they were young, too young. he married her out of high school because she was pregnant. she told him because she was worried he was going to break up with her because the new girl from sweden was prettier than she. everyone was prettier. the third time, she was actually pregnant. his fault, because he believed her everytime. but he liked the new swedish girl. and the girl from france who wore short skirts; the one from wales with the cute smile; the danish one because she pretended to laugh, but never really did. he never challenged danica's insecurities. he stayed because they had a family and he had to love her. broken households ruined them both, he couldn't see it again. so he painted a water gun black and threatened the old man at the liquor store, because his alarm never worked and he wouldn't care, not really. with too little cash, he purchased the first gold band the pawn store had. it was varnished and probably fake, but it has not left her finger in twenty-three years. the engagement ring was a fake one from a vending machine, but she pretended not to notice because she loved him. everyone knew he never really loved her.
she studied engineering, he studied mathematics because he knew he would fail. maybe she would leave. she didn't. she was having an affair. she told him over cleaning up cheerios from the peeling kitchen tile of their little apartment. they daughter, little anatasia, was barely three. she was old enough that danica knew sweet-hearted nikola would never leave. it was with her professor, a man from america who had wrinkles from smiling and a black credit card. he tried to be devastated. she laughed. but, really, the jealousy fumed because she needed him and he had lived with the fact for so long, he became protective. danica cervenka was his problem. he told her he failed his lab. she laughed again, because she knew and she loved him anyway. she explored because everyone knew he never really loved her.
maybe he didn't. the jealousy roared when he punched that professor and got expelled. she screamed that she would leave him and he would beg no, please please no, he loved what they had. he didn't love her. he loved the girl from sweden who tried to ruin their marriage but he never did because he wanted her to think he needed her. maybe he did. he needed her to want him.
want him so much that when she confessed her second pregnancy, she told him it belonged to the man at the coffee shop with the twinkle in his eye, he didn't leave. he screamed that he would, and she would beg no, please please no, she didn't love him but she loved what they had. he knew it was what she said, and she knew it was what he said. she loved him, he needed her love. everyone knew that. no one left.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
they made promises. many promises; false promises; promises she, alone, would not have believed. nikola and dancia cervenka are not her. they smile, a sweet enchantment, with words thick with shade. better off/support/maturity/lieslieslies enchantment. honest work, honest life, honest smiles, honest postcards and photographs that would always be honest. they made affirmations. they had slithery tongues lurking behind pointed fangs, shielded with honey and red bicycles and pictures of paris cut from magazines. she would have slathered them in honey, chained them to red bicycles and see them from the top of the eiffel tower. but she was never nikola and danca cervenka. they breathed at the honey smiles. they hugged at the future. they should be allergic to honey; they never hug. cruel steel dances flirtatiously behind their eyes, smiles never reaching. simple. easy. what did they speak of? this was not difficult. promises and honesty. it was enough for nikola and danica cervenka.
crisp suits scented with a clean cologne grip a sleek briefcase. thick parchment is offered, personalized pens left. we will call. we appreciate. we look forward. hot sunlight hits dark sunglasses, hiding the suit of armour behind their eyes. it is easy to fall for the smile. but their handshake is tight; their warmth is dropped. we will be in touch.
no they will never be in touch. but young families, starving and desperate, crave sweet enchantments and honey and red bicycles from santa claus. young families are in touch. nikola and danica cervenka tore phonebooks, cried to operators and foughtfoughtfought. his fault. her fault. little ana's fault. edita cries. danica stresses. nikola drinks. little ana is quiet, watches through fogged windows. they will never be in touch. no one should ever be in touch. her family wants - no needs, no has to, no has run out of options - to find their promises. better off/support/maturity/truthtruthtruth. they would never believe her when she said it was lieslieslies. nikola stormed into the office, smelling of bleach and steam cleaners, he begged. he ranted. he made a speech about belief and promise and how he was willing for anything. the deer-eyed receptionist stares. the steel man with a crisp suit and clean cologne holds a glass of scotch and smiles his honey smile. "i was dialling you're number, sir."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
she walks alone at night because it's dangerous. the streets of prague are damp, withered with pollution and defeat. there is no wind, no seductive draft that teases of lust and a warm body and a bottle of wine the colour of blood. there is frost, iced over with cynicism and loneliness. she wanders alleys. there is no bliss and no fields with checkered blankets and daisies; there is no fence that borders entrapment, but is freedom. there is no freedom. her hands find the pockets of her sweater. it is uncomfortable, thin from too many washes. it reminds her of home, sort of. a train rumbles by, hissing its victory. she was fooled once, because her parents believed. they hand-fed warmth and freedom and being somewhere better, because life is good. life is strong. life is picnics and honey and red bicycles. urban darkness swallows that. she blinks, because the rain is strong and the city blinders are satisfied. dangerous is a scary monster that everyone is scared of. but they pretend not to be, because what else is there? parents only embrace when their child hugs them close. little ana never speaks. "the other kids say she has an ugly disease, mommy" is what pretentious edita says. "she is like you, daddy. you should stop lying to mommy" is when she wants to anger nikola. he pours a drink and smiles. he never loved dancia cervenka, everyone knows that. everyone thinks he never loved edita cervenka either because she belonged to the twinkle-eyed man at the coffee shop. he walks alone at night too.
"the train tracks win, little ana." train tracks carry things. rusted carriages, sleek new shuttles. cargo, people. entrapment and freedom. he says it because it likes metaphors. she blinks again. nikola and danica cervenka believed them because they wanted a new belief. she never thinks her father is as blind. he is ugly, diseased and false. he does not love his wife but stays because of his family. he is okay with unfaithful. maybe he needs danica like he needs little ana. but no one ever says that. when acid rains falls on the alleys of prague, his mask dissolves. she sees him one night. he stands behind a building, embracing strangers. she sees shiny coins fall into his hands and little white bags leave. she screams. he tries to lie to her. he tries to fool her like he fools the daylight and daisy fields and checkered picnic blankets. he is a red bicycle that is rusted and no one wants anymore. "you wen to the office" is all she says. "yes" is his silly reply. he is failed mathematics student, failed relationships, failed support, failed father, failed life. he fills it with vodka and taking money from addicts and pretending he is whole. he believed the honey smiles of the man in the crisp suit because he failed all else. maybe it would fix something. she never understands him like he thought. he pretends to know her. he wants to walk together in midnight rain. she walks alone. he never lies again, he trusts little ana with his business deals and betrayal and how he wants to love her mother so much, but he cannot.
she thinks he pretends to believe them because he has nothing else to believe. but they are in their lives, coming for dinner and speaking of plans to america and how everything is good. she thinks danica likes the man in the crisp suit with steel eyes. has she fucked him yet? it is the only time she swears and nikola laughs. he thinks so too. she kind of likes her father. but they are empty promises, she warns. he shrugs. what could happen?
no. he had something to believe. he still believes.
but what does she know? she is only seventeen.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
nikola and danica cervenka believed their promises, false promises, many promises, because they were forlorn. dark czech alleys, bagging groceries, affairs. she liked the manager of her firm, the one with tanned arms and slicked back hair. he never blinked when she told him. she still thought it mattered, so she would confess over science homework and coaching soccer games. he still liked the swedish girl with hair the colour of sun and the smile that never reached her eyes. she liked him too, but she promised to the man with dark hair and a crooked smile. he was italian and inherited from dead relatives. he would have liked him, too. she believed promises because she liked happiness and security and knew no one would ever leave. everyone knew her love for him was fading. everyone thought his attachment to her was growing. they destructed when the crisp suited man appeared again. he provided something else. no more tight smiles and avoidance and pretending they lived in a motel because, really, they should split up the money and everyone leaves. maybe nikola would take little ana. he hated edita and danica…only she knew. she loved him but she sabotaged him. poison grows because the russian man came for dinner and speaking of plans to america and how everything will be good. "can he join chess club?" little ana makes jokes as she grows into a teenager. she never believed promises, but she liked making people happy. so she smiled and ate her pie. it was disgusting pie because the man brought it.
they were older now, no more affairs over cheerios. sabotage and betrayal over parent-teacher conferences and at the bankers office. danica cervenka always believed. nikola cervenka believed less and less. but he needed her. did she need him? she never did. she loved him. but she used him. she took his odd attachment, saw the jealousy roar, and twisted it because it satisfied her. when the man in the suit appeared, they both had something new. a distraction. maybe she would love him again, but everyone know he never loved her. maybe he would need her more, but everyone knows he already did.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
little ana was seventeen. edita grinned at fifteen. it was a story of four now, and they liked her. the charming girl with dark hair and black eyes and the body of a grown woman. they said she had more potential. people enjoy edita. work ethic and promise and she will bring more happiness to her family. she only plays along because they smile at her and call her pretty. she inherited her mother's everything. everyone is prettier, everyone is happier, everyone has more potential. they saw and took advantage. little ana said nothing because they didn't like her. she was not enough for them. nikola said nothing because he never cared in the first place.
it was enough for them. they promised. they would be in touch.
they were impatient. they lied. and they never called.
they lurk in back alleys of damp prague because that is where members of young families, starving and desperate, go. they thought. nikola goes there to feed addicts. little ana walks because she likes the dangerous monster who smiles. edita went because she got lost. the party promised flowing champagne and plush red cushions and shoes that would hurt her feet. she lied because mommy would have said no. daddy didn't care. and mommy does anything for angel. studying at the library was code for "i'm disposing of another dress. buy me another one." they knew because they watched. they liked edita because she had more potential. that was their promise. they liked edita because she was flighty, easy to please and eager to strive. she was stupid but insecure. she wanted nikola's approval. she secretly craved her sister's attention but she pushed little ana into the street that night when she approached her. "go home. no one wants you here." was what she said before she staggered off. the party was waiting. they were standing in the shadows, toothy grins and sharp knives prepared. they were impatient.
little ana lurked back alleys too. she pushed them into the street. she screamed at her sister. they lied. and she never called again.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
she walks the hallways because she is supposed to. she is fed, a golden liquid melted on spoons and leaked into her veins. she misses checkered picnic blankets and grizzled train tracks. she misses bratty edita and nikola's vodka and danica bagging groceries. she giggles when she imagines it. danica cervenka is an engineer. it is entertaining in a heroine-induced haze. she wishes she would walk the streets again. but she never calls. do they miss her? are they worried? nikola is. it comforts her when strong hands, stained with blood and ruthlessness, manhandle her and force her into the room. they brush her hair today. a quiet woman with everything to lose scrubs her raw. a man in a crisp suit looks at her naked body. he speaks of her mother and how warm she is. he calls her fat with no womanly attributes, so he calls for starving and more drugs. and then he drapes her in too little fabric, that shines in the light but feels cruel against her skin. the quiet woman whispers of her beauty, but stops when the man appears. she paints little ana's face. and she stands in the the room again, harsh spotlights and monsters shrouded with black velvet. the think she cannot hear them. but she hears soft buzzes of buttons and low hums. she is popular. a lot of men like little ana.
her body is useful. she sees green paper thrown around. she feels hands slathered in lotion - rich and privileged and successful hands of monsters - grip her wrist and use her. in rooms or on tables or to stand and be watched. at first, she never remembers. but it's been a long time. the quiet woman will appear sometimes, whispering, and then painting her body so the scars and abuse disappear. she is popular. the man's call for starvation withers her body tiny. he forces tight belts and false breast and soon, it takes. she looks like edita now, he says. he dyes her hair dark and calls for the quiet woman to put red lipstick on, because men would have liked edita more and she has red lips. it takes a long time but little ana is a rag doll that is perfect.
she is perfect, because she is twenty but still looks seventeen.
it's been a long time since she has walked alleyways and watched trains.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
nikola cervenka never stopped looking. he loved little ana. everyone knew it was real. danica and edita cervenka cried and cried, but changed the channel because the news got boring. they all knew. everyone knew. but no one ever said anything because that was the way it was done. maybe nikola loved danica now. everyone knew she didn't love nikola, but she had once. she loved edita because the twiinkle-eyed man from the coffee shop left her his eyes. she loved little ana because she was first. he loved little ana because she was him, with empty and a mind that craved more. he loved edita the same way he loved danica; he needed her. nothing ever made sense. did it ever? everyone took a turn. they threatened and scream and said they were going to leave. everyone took another turn. please don't leave, please please no. they love what they had. it was a circle that would spin. after the man in the crisp suit appeared and evaporated into a mist with a smokey smile, nikola and danica cervenka had nothing to believe. edita felt guilty. she pushed little ana that night. no one told her she was the target. maybe she knew. probably not. nikola cervenka called his youngest daughter stupid. she was. danica cervenka was stupid. nikola cervenka was stupid too. they were all stupid.
they would dance. a group of four, clutching hands and pulling away, wander down gingerbread paths. daisy fields and checkered picnic blankets; damp alleys and rusty trains. one would leave breadcrumbs. one smiled as the one-eyed witch invited them into the candy house. another stayed quiet because it wanted to keep the others happy. the last kissed monsters and played with trolls underneath bridges, but always left because the candy house was warm and could be real. it wasn't. the witch wanted to cook the group of four. one ate the breadcrumbs. one frowned but stepped into the pot steaming over the fire, because the witch promised warmth and happiness. another never spoke, looked out the sugar-frosted window and wondered where the magic goats were. the last snarled and added salt to the czech stew. at the beginning, they could tell one from the other. they knew who loved and who craved. after the man in the crisp suit gobbled one up, the last three faded into one another. no one knew anything anymore.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
they poked holes in her skin. they pulled one-eyed witch stew from her belly. they put her in rooms and let people do what they wanted. they always promised it would get better. the quiet woman whispered of her beauty, even when it was long taken. they ordered more paint. they would tighten the strings on her rag doll body, because she needed to be important. she had a role to play. they told her to play it. she smiled and starred because maybe things would get easier. danica cervenka gave little ana a bit of false hope. they said they would hurt nikola and ruin edita. they would bring danica through the hallways of their pretty houses sometimes. she saw her once, when she was nineteen. they told her no one was looking anymore. and then a tube was pushed into a broken vein and they drugged her with golden fluid. it was how they could do everything.
they kept her fresh. girls would fade into a curtain of doe-eyed ugliness. the poor men liked them. little ana was special because she was twenty and looked sixteen. they painted her with flawless skin and red lips and dark liner. they curled her hair and dressed her to be undressed. they told her to stand, to gasp, to cried and laugh and scream. she always did.
maybe one day it would be enough.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
she tries not to cry. she cannot, not anymore. her eyes will turn red and her body will curl, but no tears fall, no wails are spoken. this is her emotion. her brain never allows her to be angry or happy or strong, because it is too exhausting. they never care. they like girls to be powerless, for emotions to run them ragged until there is nothing left. her gas tank is preserving itself. she kicks the wall because her body wants to cry. she collapses on her bed because she hears footsteps. polished shoes echo heavily against the peeling paint. her brains lets her pretend to cry. her body convulses, unaware of its surroundings. she hopes her eyes are red. the girls seize when their body is filled with heroine. that's what they whisper, at least. svetlana shook too much and fell to the ground with a broken concussion. she sees men carrying bodies through the door weekly. tears well up because she has her first real seizure in months. she is good at faking, because they are finally loosening the strings on her because they think she has surrendered. maybe she is happy, finally believing all they lie. many girls do. if given the choice, the ones who have been here the longest never leave. what do they have to go back to? she comes to when they muffle approval. little ana is okay, her body is not broken. she cries an hour later when she sees sasha's eyes staring at her. they left her door open when they carry the girl with open eyes out into the rain. she is alive, still. she will be dead soon. little ana whispers an apology and collapses again.
she misses the field. when danica sings, slightly off-key and nikola smiles because he is happy, this is a good day. edita giggles at her jokes and pretends to scold her when mommy brings rebellious little ana back from the broken fence. she thinks of it when she wants to give in again. her brain allows tears to fall, because her fuel tank can spare some energy. she stands because she wants to. she gasps because she is crying. she laughs because everything is so dark, it is hilarious. she screams because finally, finally, she doesn't think she can take it anymore.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
little ana is not like the rest. she is perfect. edita would have been ruined years ago. her skin is flushed and her eyes are dark and she never resists. everyone wants her. everyone can have her. the puppet masters loosen her strings because she is like one more, the one who will never leave. the one who has a family who has forgotten her. nikola and danica cervenka have evolved, moved on with their daughter. they are broken, ripped seams. when nikola finally stops begging, he will leave. no one will remember little ana. it will be perfect.
her veins do not need to be fed as much. her belly still remains empty. she will be painted and painted and then released. she is perfect.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
they let her smile sometimes. she will tell a joke and earn a laugh. they believe she prefers it here. the promises, sweet sweet enchantments are successful. she eats honey and rides a red bicycle and speaks of the magazines with photographs of the eiffel tower. she wants to go to paris one day.
finally, for a moment, it was enough for them.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
she sees elena at the table. elena is new, elena is young. elena is not handcuffed to a rotting bed frame, body shrivelling from heroine. she has dead eyes and thin hair. she is what little ana was a year ago, when her starved brain found energy and decided to fight. elena is smart, little ana knows. she pretends to smile and will even speak from time to time. this is where the special girls get to go. another room in this broken house, with working lights and the quiet woman providing thin chicken broth. she watches the girl from sweden, unable to decide if she is strong or too defeated to even care. the men will like elena, because her body looks like edita's. was the man from the coffee shop from sweden? she looks like him. the holes in her elbows are more than little ana's. they stole elena from someone. she has been a traffic stop for too long. maybe she was raised, a little slave into a forced sexual desire. she feels bad for elena, but never says so. she decides she is too far gone to bother. she will be dead soon.
see? she is standing near the window of her room, pretending to look out the boarded window. maybe an aqua sky is out there. she wishes it was a damp alley, with nikola cervenka. those two words surprise her brain and leak salty tears. no. this is not allowed. the quiet woman appears, pulling a tattered blanket around her tiny body. she pushes her onto the bedspread, feeds an empty into her arm. she feels a finger pressed to her lips and they watch, silent. the noise must awaken every girl from her drugged haze. elena screams. someone shoots her. the blood path stains the floor. it looks kind of nice, she decides, because it brings colour to their surroundings.
this is when it does not matter when she is twenty. she wants to find someone strong.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
difficult. everything is impossible. every girl is addicted and motionless. they enjoy this, they don't notice this, maybe they want this. it is the family they never had. someone finally wants them. wealthy men who like them, and will save them. bring them to a beautiful palace in the middle east. dubai, perhaps. elena wanted to go there. she was stupid, the girl from sweden. but she was strong for a minute. little ana cervenka is like her father, everyone knows. she has never loved anyone, but she liked when people need her. she never believed. but she can pretend. she will never scream, threaten to leave, beg for forgiveness. her strings are loosened and the needle is taken from her. no one wants to go back. you are to nod and remember and lielielie. her veins were broken and her eyes were dead. the quiet woman used too much condition to make her hair shine. it was impossible to find eyes that no longer shined. her body had accepted it, theirs did not. they would convulse and beg for more heroine, because they loved it. when would they hate it?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
she is sloppy because no one is co-operating. she does not understand how to escape, but she tries. feeding the girls the same whispers of their beauty like the quiet woman did to her. she speaks of stories, red bicycles and going to paris. they speak of rich princes and what the world looks like on ecstasy. it is easy to know they are unhappy with their perfect little ana. they handcuff her to the bed and show her pictures of edita in paris, dancing with a baker. they tell her nikola is dissolving in vodka-fuelled whirlpool, because he finally leaves and has nothing left. they say danica is in holland, an engineer with the old boss, the one with tanned arms and slicked back hair. he pays for edita to live somewhere else. she goes home for the holidays. nikola sends cards, but they are returned to sender. they leave a locket at the other side of the room, a brass pocket watch with a faded photograph of her. nikola carried it. they stole it. she is sloppy because she is running out of gas and has no idea what to do. it will never be enough.
when he points the barrel of the gun at her, she blinks. she pretends he is a cloud, a storm throwing acid rain onto the streets of midnight prague. his words, a broken mess of their mixed languages, fade into a soft tune. the pitter-patter of rain, the footsteps of her father when they played in puddles, the trees thrashing, the noises of home. when he lowers the barrel of the gun, she blinks again. he is handsome, with empty eyes and the suit of a man with power. he looks familiar. she thinks he says something, but she doesn't remember. she thinks of daisies and broken fences, dark alleys and rusty trains, red bicycles, checkered blankets and the time edita soaked her with water when she wore a white dress on picture day. maybe she wishes he shot her. elena's blood made the house prettier, her starved brain believes. could her scarlet poison help? maybe it would inspire someone else to try to fight and fail and continue until someone won. she wishes the quiet woman had been there, because she seems nice and has never deserved this either. the promises they made were always lies, little ana knew. it took a ruined life for nikola and danica cervenka to realize. it took a man's suicide and a woman's foolish dream and a bratty teenager who would have died long before.
it was never enough.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
she is in a haze. cold eyes stare out fogged windows of trains, the old ones she loved. they took her to corners of the world. new names. a new face. she dyed her hair the colours the quiet woman said would look nice. she painted her face with red lips. she drank cold vodka and sang off-key when the song was just right. she bought a checkered picnic blanket and used it to line her suitcase. she brought an empty bottle of poison with the skull and cross bones everywhere. she kept a piece of a red bicycle and a photograph of paris. she was no one. her body was slowly healing, her brain finally allowed her to cry. she would go to unmarked graves and let tears fall, because someone had to miss them. no one missed her anymore. on edita's birthday, she wears a white dress and sends an anonymous card to her. she screams whenever her mother's new husband is on the news because he is the bestbestbest. she wants to set her alight. when she thinks of nikola, she dresses in dark clothing and finds a black alley. she exchanged gleaming coins for white bags of powder and smiles, because this was his ending.
but she never knows when hers will be.
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the player
ALIAS asia, captain of the kgb
YEARS OF EXPERIENCE classified information
OTHER CHARACTERS them flingers
HOW'D YOU FIND US? the cold war
RP SAMPLE
YEARS OF EXPERIENCE classified information
OTHER CHARACTERS them flingers
HOW'D YOU FIND US? the cold war
RP SAMPLE
live fast, die young. or don't leave the house and be fine.
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template created by anna of the industry. do not take without permission!
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