The Cage
Brooke Morgan
I sit nervous in my father’s study listening to the fire crackle, as it releases a warm maple scent that compliments the smell of my father’s sweet cigars. Enjoying the warmth of the fire as Morozko plays outside, covering the Belarusian countryside with a thick layer of snow. The polished mahogany wood and gold accents of the walls surround me, they are constructed by large built-in bookshelves with every Slavic Folktale and Belarusian Law book you could imagine. On one of the walls the shelves are framed in glass, with each shelf displaying an ancient weapon.
In front of that glass wall is a large heavy antique desk that matches the rest of the wood. There is a sitting area with comfy leather couches that are positioned perpendicular to the fireplace, with an oval-glass coffee table in the middle of those couches.
I exhale impatiently, he was supposed to be home from his hunting trip an hour ago! I’ve been waiting for this day for months. I get up and walk over to one of the knifes and trace its silhouette. With its gold accented handle made with bog wood, and its sharp iron curved blade. The last time I saw this knife it was sticking out of my late fiancés chest. Engulfed in my thoughts, I jump at my father’s voice and turn towards the door.
“Ilona, my sweet daughter, what do I owe this pleasure. Or would you like that knife? I will happily get it for you.” He says in a smug manner.
“Hnet” I say walking back to the couch. “I want nothing from you.”
“Then, why are you here?” He says laughing. Taking a seat on the other couch, across from the one I found refuge on.
“To put down a mutt” I say, as I meet his gaze. Leaning back on the couch and picking up my glass of wine, taking a sip.
“Now, now, now is that any way to talk to your dad”
“What dad?” I say bluntly. Slamming the glass down with enough force to break the stem. “We may share blood, but you will never be my dad.”
“Are you still mad? Haven’t I done enough to support you? What else do you want from me?” He demanded, throwing back his hands as he leans back on the couch. “You ungrateful child!” He adds as a final blow.
“I want you to rot in prison.” I say with anger rising in my voice. “To pay for what you’ve taken from me.”
“And what is that?” he challenges. “For what I have done has been only for your good.”
“Are you kidding me? My mother’s assassination was for my own good?”
“She was a slut, a whore, nothing to lose sleep over. As I see it, I saved you from that small trashy flat and many hungry nights, as you would most likely had to become a slut yourself to survive. A cross-eyed prostitute. Imagine that”, he said with humor on his voice. “Look at you now. A gorgeous, educated girl who can see straight”
I wasn’t laughing. “I would have rather preferred that life, if it meant you weren’t
in it.”
“Obviously.” He shot back. Your choice in men have been well… questionable to say the least.”
“You didn’t like Demitre’, because why, he was a poor Bastards son? Not the abusive man you had already planned for me to marry? Is that why you killed him?
“I did it for country. Alexandr will bring great wealth and status to this family, as well as a political bond for Russia and Belarus. Maybe in the next few years Belarus will fall under Russian rule. I have to save you from that fate.”
“I will never marry that man. I’m not your political pawn.”
“Fine, have it your way, and go in front of a firing squad on your twenty-first birthday. What does it matter to me?”
“With how he’s beaten and murdered his last two wives, I’m dead either way. At least a single bullet will be less painful.”
He laughs at my words and kisses me on the cheek. “Now, I have paperwork. Go and wander the cemetery like you do every sundown.”
Later that night. I grab my heavy fur coat and walk outside. As the snow crunches under my feet, I sink many inches before being allowed to take another step. The snow has slowed but it still places itself in my hair, like falling powdered sugar. All I can see are two small mounds of snow that are truly, ice—and snow—covered capstones. As I walk to the edge of the estate, I leave a little trail, like a deer. Easily traceable.
I kneel and take my hand, wiping the snow from the cold marble, uncovering the hidden names:
Demitre’ Kazinir Angela Gavrill Surgan
I stand back on my feet, with my breath rising in the air like a train’s smokestack. I stand there for many minutes. Lost in thought, and memories.
Behind me, I hear footsteps, but am too focused on my grief to care about making an introduction.
“Ilona, the police are on their way, have you any last words for Father?”
My older brother comes up behind. He has his hands tucked in his dark brown leather jacket.
“I have nothing to say to that man. I can’t wait to see the horror on his face when they come busting in for him”
“Don’t be harsh, Malen’kaya Sestrenka.”
“I have every right Oleg. He took everything for me”
“Come on!” He says with a trace of sympathy.
I turn facing him, Irritated. Is he really going to defend that monster?
“Either be a brother or a son, you can’t play both roles. Leave me in peace.”
Before he turns away to head back to the house, he holds out a letter. I see that it is addressed with my name in Demetre’s handwriting. I look at him with confusion.
“Don’t ask” he says. “It has Demetre’s location upon it. I wanted to tell you sooner but dad had to believe they were dead. For your own safety. He’s a good law man, not good with a knife”.
As I reach out to grab the letter, right when our hands meet, the estate goes up in flames with a large bang originating from the study. We both look at each other with a great understanding. That I am now free from this cruel cage.
In front of that glass wall is a large heavy antique desk that matches the rest of the wood. There is a sitting area with comfy leather couches that are positioned perpendicular to the fireplace, with an oval-glass coffee table in the middle of those couches.
I exhale impatiently, he was supposed to be home from his hunting trip an hour ago! I’ve been waiting for this day for months. I get up and walk over to one of the knifes and trace its silhouette. With its gold accented handle made with bog wood, and its sharp iron curved blade. The last time I saw this knife it was sticking out of my late fiancés chest. Engulfed in my thoughts, I jump at my father’s voice and turn towards the door.
“Ilona, my sweet daughter, what do I owe this pleasure. Or would you like that knife? I will happily get it for you.” He says in a smug manner.
“Hnet” I say walking back to the couch. “I want nothing from you.”
“Then, why are you here?” He says laughing. Taking a seat on the other couch, across from the one I found refuge on.
“To put down a mutt” I say, as I meet his gaze. Leaning back on the couch and picking up my glass of wine, taking a sip.
“Now, now, now is that any way to talk to your dad”
“What dad?” I say bluntly. Slamming the glass down with enough force to break the stem. “We may share blood, but you will never be my dad.”
“Are you still mad? Haven’t I done enough to support you? What else do you want from me?” He demanded, throwing back his hands as he leans back on the couch. “You ungrateful child!” He adds as a final blow.
“I want you to rot in prison.” I say with anger rising in my voice. “To pay for what you’ve taken from me.”
“And what is that?” he challenges. “For what I have done has been only for your good.”
“Are you kidding me? My mother’s assassination was for my own good?”
“She was a slut, a whore, nothing to lose sleep over. As I see it, I saved you from that small trashy flat and many hungry nights, as you would most likely had to become a slut yourself to survive. A cross-eyed prostitute. Imagine that”, he said with humor on his voice. “Look at you now. A gorgeous, educated girl who can see straight”
I wasn’t laughing. “I would have rather preferred that life, if it meant you weren’t
in it.”
“Obviously.” He shot back. Your choice in men have been well… questionable to say the least.”
“You didn’t like Demitre’, because why, he was a poor Bastards son? Not the abusive man you had already planned for me to marry? Is that why you killed him?
“I did it for country. Alexandr will bring great wealth and status to this family, as well as a political bond for Russia and Belarus. Maybe in the next few years Belarus will fall under Russian rule. I have to save you from that fate.”
“I will never marry that man. I’m not your political pawn.”
“Fine, have it your way, and go in front of a firing squad on your twenty-first birthday. What does it matter to me?”
“With how he’s beaten and murdered his last two wives, I’m dead either way. At least a single bullet will be less painful.”
He laughs at my words and kisses me on the cheek. “Now, I have paperwork. Go and wander the cemetery like you do every sundown.”
Later that night. I grab my heavy fur coat and walk outside. As the snow crunches under my feet, I sink many inches before being allowed to take another step. The snow has slowed but it still places itself in my hair, like falling powdered sugar. All I can see are two small mounds of snow that are truly, ice—and snow—covered capstones. As I walk to the edge of the estate, I leave a little trail, like a deer. Easily traceable.
I kneel and take my hand, wiping the snow from the cold marble, uncovering the hidden names:
Demitre’ Kazinir Angela Gavrill Surgan
I stand back on my feet, with my breath rising in the air like a train’s smokestack. I stand there for many minutes. Lost in thought, and memories.
Behind me, I hear footsteps, but am too focused on my grief to care about making an introduction.
“Ilona, the police are on their way, have you any last words for Father?”
My older brother comes up behind. He has his hands tucked in his dark brown leather jacket.
“I have nothing to say to that man. I can’t wait to see the horror on his face when they come busting in for him”
“Don’t be harsh, Malen’kaya Sestrenka.”
“I have every right Oleg. He took everything for me”
“Come on!” He says with a trace of sympathy.
I turn facing him, Irritated. Is he really going to defend that monster?
“Either be a brother or a son, you can’t play both roles. Leave me in peace.”
Before he turns away to head back to the house, he holds out a letter. I see that it is addressed with my name in Demetre’s handwriting. I look at him with confusion.
“Don’t ask” he says. “It has Demetre’s location upon it. I wanted to tell you sooner but dad had to believe they were dead. For your own safety. He’s a good law man, not good with a knife”.
As I reach out to grab the letter, right when our hands meet, the estate goes up in flames with a large bang originating from the study. We both look at each other with a great understanding. That I am now free from this cruel cage.
Brooke Morgan is as basic as the name entails. She’s a suspected vampire by her classmates because of her Belarusian roots, love for red lipstick, and leather jackets. She is a four-year cadet who has seen every aspect of the system. PFC Morgan is excited to see The Maverick take off and contribute to it after sitting through many English Club meets about bringing it back. She will be majoring in English at the University of Dallas in the Fall.