47
The cage descends down into the Monsterium. The voice of the audience is deafening after putting on my ClairVo.
As I am descending, I remind myself that once I start my plan, I have to stop listening to anyone. I will be on my own, and many people will criticize me, but I can’t give in.
I take off my white backpack, and put it next to me. Yes. I ordered a white backpack. Even the zippers are painted white.
Then I do the unthinkable. The thing I would never have thought I would ever do. Not in front of seventy million people. I take off my red dress, not wearing anything underneath.
Most of the world doesn’t see this. Not now, since they are concerned about looking through my eyes, not paying attention to the iSee cameras surrounding me, while I am naked in a cage. All they know is that the picture transmitted looks wrong somehow.
Those who see me fall into a trance of silence.
I try so hard, not to think of being naked in front of seventy million people.
I use the scissors to cut the dress into pieces. I throw the red pieces randomly down on the white sands from behind the bars of the cage. The red is shining bright everywhere on the sand. I will use them as a compass to guide me. More important, they will distract Carnivore for a while when it enters the Monsterium, after I complete my descent. He is attracted to the red color. It will buy me some time.
I pull out the honey bottles and start squeezing the honey out of it, glazing it on every inch of my body. Ten bottles are more than enough to coat myself in honey. The only place I can’t reach is below the upper side of my back. Yeah. I am not that flexible. I guess that is why I am a Monster. I’ll deal with that later.
I pour sticky honey on my arms, my legs, my belly, my buttocks, my neck, my face, and my shining bald head. Then I rub it all as fast as I can before I descend, leaving out my eyes, my nostrils, my mouth, and my ears.
People are asking about what I am doing, if I have gone mad, if this is a joke. Some claim Carnivore hates honey. Some say I love honey, and I am on a suicide mission to ruin the game.
They’re all wrong.
I keep rubbing. I have to cover every inch of my body, even my eyelids. It’s hard trying to avoid honey in your eyes or in your mouth and ears, but I try my best.
I am done. All honeyed, all covered.
The cage descends and lands on a dune, white sand shifting to the inside. I am still wearing my ClairVo. I hold my backpack in one hand. I will not strap it on now. Not yet.
Once the cage’s door opens, I run into the white sand and take a dive into it, like jumping into a shallow swimming pool with both your hands stretched forward. The audience goes “Woooo!” I roll in the sand until it sticks to the honey on my body, coating every part of my body in white. Even my shiny, shaved head’s eyebrows.
The only part that is not covered is that upper part of my back. Nothing sticks to it because I couldn’t cover it with the honey. I will cover it by strapping on the backpack.
I stand up and start running on the sand, as scared as a white ghost. I look like a lizard or a white snake, or just another dune.
Prophet Xitler says something about me being a hell of a girl. I don’t care about him or about the audience. I am still so far away from completing the mission.
Suddenly, I hear a loud drone from the audience, then I hear a roar.
It’s Carnivore. They let him out. I hope the red pieces scattered in the Monsterium will occupy him for a while.
I run to the pole without seeing it. My eyes have not adjusted to the crazy white yet. I know where it is by remembering my left from right, since I had my eyes on it from when I was in the cage above.
I run and run, but can’t reach it.
Then hey, I see it, the silver unstable thing in the white.
Before I reach it, I hear Carnivore roaring nearby. I might be only panicking, but I think it is too close.
Disoriented and irrational, I dig right under my feet to hide my bow gun in the sand, just like the Amerikaz buried their history. If I dig further, will I find instructions on how to kill Carnivore?
I know I am only feet away from the pole. The bow gun and its arrows are the only things I have that are not white. That is why I have to hide them.
I try not to breathe aloud, since I feel Carnivore is near. Does it see me? Is my disguise not good enough?
What are you doing, girl? Why didn’t you run to the pole?
I panicked, hearing its voice.
I raise my head to run to the pole, but suddenly don’t see it again. Where is it? It’s all so white. So white.
I turn back at Carnivore’s roaring, and start running aimlessly. As I am running directionless from him, it occurs to me that I might be running toward him, without knowing. I decide to run in circles and curves, as if I am in a maze.
Running barefoot in the sand is so hard. Running barefoot in the blinding sand when you don’t know what and where you’re running to is even harder. You don’t know what you might bump into. What if I bump into Carnivore accidentally? “Hi, Carnivore. How ya doin’, man? Let’s do this one more time.”
I keep running, all white, like a ghost; panting, squinting my eyes so their color isn’t visible for Carnivore, trying not to open my mouth too much, so it doesn’t see my red tongue inside. I am invisible, a white ghost in a white world.
“I am a white, white girl in a white, white world. It would be a black, black thing if you see me.” I find myself humming while running. I hear the audience laugh. I hear them through the ClairVo’s headpiece. Stupid me. I shouldn’t make a sound. What’s wrong with me?
Run. Decca. Run.
Every twenty strides, I change directions, for no apparent reason. Let the randomness and utter coincidence of our lives spare me from Carnivore’s fangs. If I do bump into it running like that, I don’t know what else to do.
As I run, it keeps roaring and running, thudding with its heavy weight against the lush sands. It is looking for me. It must drive it mad that he can’t find me. I am supposed to be like Red Riding Hood for it; all visible, all eatable. But nah Carnivore, you can’t fool me with playing Grandma now.
I trip over a dune, pick myself up, and run again. Honey sticks to my tongue. With it comes sand. No biggy, as long as it’s not falling down my throat. Which reminds me, I shouldn’t run so fast. I could sweat. My color could shine back.
My eyes hurt so bad, trying to see in all this white. I don’t know how to describe this feeling. It’s like a massive amount of sunlight in your eyes, so bright that you can’t see anything. It makes you feel like you’re in the dark instead of the light, except that your brain refuses to believe you’re in the dark. Paradox yourself.
At some curve in the whitey-whites, I start to see. What’s that? My eyes hurt because of the color. It’s red. What the heck is that?
Oh. No. It’s a piece of my scattered dress. I shouldn’t run near it. I made them to waste Carnivore’s time. It is going to hunt every single piece of those. It could come here now.
Running away from it, I find another one, and I keep running. I hear its roars. I think it is nearer than before.
Have I built a trap for myself with that dress?
I duck and stay put, breathing as slowly as possible. In my headpiece, everything I do is magnified seventy million times. Every time I hold my breath, seventy million people hold it with me. Whenever I feel fear, whenever I pant, whenever I am surprised, I have seventy million bored humans on my back, feeling the same as me. And their emotions somehow strike back at me and magnify my feelings, which is so not cool.
What have I done to myself, wearing this ClairVo?
Should I take it off? But I haven’t poured honey under it. I will be exposed. And how am I going to communicate with the Summit? How can they know I have killed Carnivore?
“Shut up,” I whisper softly, without parting my teeth. I hear the audience wondering whom I am talking to. “I am talking to you, annoying watchers,” I say to them as soft as I can, still ducking. They don’t seem to be insulted. They are amazed by the experience. That it’s not just them seeing through my eyes, but that their voices have an effect on me too.
Why didn’t I take yoga lessons, to learn how not to listen to people when they keep talking in my ears?
I make sure I don’t hear Carnivore close enough around me and stand up, but then a thought hits me. Why should I expect it to be such an animal? Maybe it will start playing sly with me, sneaking slowly, until it slashes its paws at me.
The idea sends a shiver down my spine. A shiver I feel magnified by the audience. Some ClairVo, that is.
Unable to hear Carnivore’s roaring anymore, I take a deep breath to calm down. Where is it? Why is it silent? Did it expose the red dress trick? Is it starting to play sneaky?
I feel paralyzed, and suddenly cold, which reminds me that I am naked, wearing white sand on my skin. I wonder if that will make a bestselling fashion dress tomorrow in Faya. Women walking naked, and dressed in white sticky sands. Boys, be happy. The age of disguised nudity is knocking on your doors. Honey sellers will become millionaires by tomorrow. Kids, don’t wait for that pocket money your parents give you. Just go sell some white sand.
Another deep breath to calm myself. Seventy million take a deep breath with me. There must be no air in the world now.
I breathe out, expecting a world disaster or a hurricane. Seventy million people breathe out at the same time, and nothing happens?
Carnivore roars. That’s a good sign. It is still dumb and animalistic, not hiding somewhere.
“Operation Sand Woman, run,” I whisper to myself, and start running again. The audience laughs. I was just trying to get myself in a video game mood, like when I watch my brother Jack play. Just to forget about the horror of my situation. My dad used to have another operation: Operation Mom is Coming.
Suddenly, I notice that when I run, my backpack shuffles, and makes those sounds. What? Those sounds are audible in the deafening silence. Carnivore could get me any second now.
I remember I extra-stuffed everything inside with cloth, so it shouldn’t make noises like that.
As I take off the backpack, I tremble with the thought that Carnivore might have heard this. Then I feel dizzy with the thought that my upper back is visible, now that I have lifted the backpack.
Stay focused.
Wanting to zip the backpack open, I can’t see the zipper since it’s white. Blindly, I run my shivering fingers over it, and pull it open. The sound of it zzzipping open hurts. It’s so loud and so zzzz, like when Timmy loses it. Another mistake on my behalf, to give Carnivore an excuse to come and get me. If I keep being clumsy like that, I might as well send it a telegram, inviting it over to kill me.
The color of things inside my backpack worries me too. Carnivore could see it. I rummage through and stuff everything tighter, close the bag and…
Carnivore roars, so close. I think it is somewhere behind me, not that far.
I dig fast like a cat, and bury the bag in the dune I am standing on, turn around and stretch on my back, allowing the weight of my body to sink into the dune.
To my surprise, its voice is so near. It might be only strides away.
Where is it?
With my back sinking into the white sloping dune, my head can see at an almost vertical level, although I don’t know which is which now. The only thing I am sure of is that the sky is above me, far away, a pale blue.
I am glad they don’t have Artificial Sky in the Monsterium, or Timmy would have let it rain down on me.
Carnivore roars again. I see its open mouth in front of my eyes.
What am I going to do?
I think the best strategy is to do nothing. I just keep on sinking into the sand, hoping that it won’t cover my mouth, so I can still breathe.
The fear buzzing from the audience in my ears is unbearable; like a loud, cacophonic song that somehow has reached the top of the charts and is played repeatedly, while I hate its guts. So unbearable that I’d rather take off the ClairVo, and throw myself into the arms of Carnivore. I hope that tiny voice in my ears won’t leak and be heard by Carnivore.
I watch it approach slowly and cautiously, which means it doesn’t see me. That’s not a bad start.
But why is it coming in my direction?
Can it smell me? What’s so distinct about me to smell? Do tigers have extra senses of smell like dogs? Is it the honey all over my body? It has a strong flavor, I have to admit. What is it?
Since it is not roaring, and his single one big eye above his nose in the middle of its head is turned white, I can’t see it. But I can see something else. The shifts of its weight on the sand. I can see the marks its paws leave on the sand before the sand huddles again. The paw-prints in the sand don’t stick since the sand is soft and shifts easily, but it tells me it is walking toward me, so sly, so slow.
Why toward me?
Squinting, I don’t have the guts to open my eyes wider, or close them shut. If it hasn’t seen me so far, I don’t want any changes in its surroundings to alarm it. Maybe it is just walking. I don’t mind if it steps over me, thinking I am just sandy earth, but that will never happen. It will know me.
The sand starts falling into my mouth. That’s the part I was afraid of.
Carnivore stops, a couple of strides away from my feet. I want to cough some sand out.
Carnivore cranes its head down and slashes at something in the ground, a couple of feet away from me. I hold my breath. I don’t even have the luxury of gritting my teeth, or fisting my hands.
It bites on that something, then roars with its head up to the sky. I see it now, what made it approach me. It isn’t me. It’s one of my red dress pieces.
Carnivore chews on it then roars again, angrier this time. Not all that’s red is meaty, right?
The way people panic in my ears when they see Carnivore roar so close with its mouth and fangs visible in front of me is epic, in an annoying way. I am not that scared. Am I?
But Carnivore seems to trust its genetically manipulated senses that there is meat to be found so close to it. It takes a step forward. Oh my God. It’s so close to my feet now. Please God, let me sink deeper in the sand. I’ll hold my breath.
Suddenly, something swooshes before my legs. It gets Carnivore crazy. Is that what I think I saw? An animal. A small fast animal with pink ears?
It swooshes again underneath Carnivore. Some rabbit. Carnivore turns around, and starts running into the dark of the whites after the rabbit.
What brings a rabbit in here?
I cough out the sand, and pick myself up fast. I dig out my backpack, strap it on, and start running.
I make a mental note. A rabbit saved my life… but this is no Wonderland.
Don’t think and analyze, Decca.
Run. Decca. Run.
How long will I be running? I need to organize my thoughts, and complete my plan. First part was successful. Carnivore can’t see me in white.
I run toward the pole.
The plan is to run to the pole, dig up the bow gun, climb up and shoot Carnivore from there. I have only one problem. I can’t see the pole. I must have run far away, but that couldn’t be. It’s just that looking into this awful endless white confuses me. The pole is silver and thin. If I am far away, I might not see it.
I run like crazy. I have to find it.
Suddenly, my vision gets better, as if I’ve been blind before. I am starting to see thin lines in the sand, lines in the dunes, and the changes in the color of sand. I guess that is what they call adapting. What if the whole world were white like this?
I see the pole.
The pole sways to a sudden wind, whirling through the sand. It doesn’t make the long pole with the ladder look reliable at all. And what’s that sudden wind? Didn’t they say they won’t do any more of these effects?
Digging up the bow gun and arrows, I bring them up with me, climbing up the pole. The wind is still crazy and the pole swings, but I grab it tight and keep climbing, until I can see the Zeppelins hovering around the Monsterium, face to face now.
If I had some superpower and could jump from the pole to the Zeppelins, that would have been — stop.
I hold on tight to the pole and get ready to shoot Carnivore. Although I don’t know if a couple of arrows could finish him, this doesn’t seem to be the problem at all.
The real problem is that I am a failure. I am stupid. I thought I could outsmart that creature, but I am short-sighted. I thought that up here I could see it moving from such a bird’s eye view, and shoot it.
I don’t see anything. The white stripe-less tiger is somewhere down there, but I can’t see it. I don’t think that I am even seeing the ground with that sudden whirling wind.
Climbing lower, I see a little better, but not enough to shoot Carnivore. The wind keeps hitting the pole, and I keep struggling for balance. How much lower can I climb, before it can bite me? Shouldn’t it see me by now, with the bow gun and the shaking pole?
But Carnivore manages to surprise me, bumping against the pole at the bottom. It roars, looking up at me. I am not sure if it sees me, or if it just sensed me being up there as I hold on tighter to the pole. I cross and wrap my legs around the steps sticking out of the pole, as I hold the bow gun with my hands. If I climb lower and focus, I think I can see Carnivore when it bumps against the pole.
I climb lower. Carnivore gets fiercer. But I can’t shoot it. I don’t get to see it long enough when it bumps against the pole. The only way to shoot it is to get it to roar, looking upward at me. When it roars and shows its fangs, I can shoot it in the throat.
How can I make it roar when I want it to?
Carnivore is gone. Where is it? It might be circling around the pole. I don’t know.
I climb a little lower. The audience holds their breath in my ears, as if Carnivore is going to bite them, not me. I like that. Hold that breath, just don’t scream in my ears. I hit the pole hard with the edge of the bow gun. It produces a cling-cling sound that echoes in the abandoned Monsterium.
Carnivore bumps into the pole again, and roars. I got its attention, but it is not looking upward.
“Ding ding,” I shout at it, and hit the pole repeatedly. “Up here!”
Carnivore looks up and roars. I see its mouth. I aim the cross bow, as I keep shouting at it to provoke it and get its attention.
“Look at me, pretty boy,” I mumble, as I close one eye and aim at my target. The audience repeats like parrots in my ear, “Look at me, pretty boy.”
How annoying. “Shut up,” I scream at them.
Carnivore becomes quiet all of a sudden.
“Not you!” I yell at it, and start hitting the pole with the bow gun again. Since when does Carnivore follow orders?
Carnivore roars again, looking upward. It tries to climb up, its nails scratching the bottom of the pole. I point the cross bow at it again. I have to take this shot.
I shoot.
I’d like to say “Bull’s eye” or “Tiger’s eye,” but I shoot it in its throat. The arrow plunges into its throat, and it lets out the worst cry I’ve ever heard. It’s so loud and painful, I get goosebumps on the back of my neck.
The goosebumps make me lose balance. I hang on tighter to the pole, but as I do, the rest of the arrows fall down into the white sands.
Carnivore keeps moaning and roaring, out of pain and wrath. So I hit it in the throat and lost my arrows. What now?
Carnivore flees back into the white of the sands. What’s on its mind? The arrow in its throat surely hurt it, but it’s not dead yet. It can survive. I have lost my arrows. Now all it has to do is wait until my muscles give up on me and I fall down from the pole.
Nice job, Decca.
Opening my backpack, I rummage through it looking for an extra arrow, which is impossible, but somehow I just cling to the unreasonable hope. I don’t find any. I have clothes, food, a knife, and two buzzing syringes, the kind I used on Leo.
Even if I have a chance to kill Carnivore with the knife or the buzzers, how will I approach it while I can’t see it?
The only way to kill Carnivore is to see it. The only way to see it is to mark it or color it. I need some kind of color, something I can paint it with. If I have succeeded in disguising myself with the honey-glued-sand, I can make Carnivore appear. I just need to figure out how.
Looking at what I still have with me, I don’t know how to make anything colorful with a syringe buzzer, nor with clothes or food. My heart beats faster, as I stare at the knife. A dangerous and crazy thought bleeds in my brain. It’s the only way.
It’s the hard way.
It’s what I’d never thought I do.
It will be either the death of Carnivore, or the death of me.