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There’s one truth to life. Fate is predetermined and it is cruel.
Lexx’s parents had always been hard on her. They promise her from a young age that it’s because she’s destined for greatness, her tiny, pudgy hand in her mother’s as she is led out into rows and rows of chairs, dressed in black and white robes for the ritual they would hold that very night. Her father tells her, in that rough, too-firm voice of his, that it’s a special occasion. It’s an important day. He’s smiling so, of course, she smiles too. She swings conjoined arms down rows of chairs, delights as they're brought to the special church meant just for these special events. She's the only kid in the room. It fills her with pride, really, to be allowed to participate with all the grown ups. She feels special, almost.
She’s five years old when she sees blood spilt intentionally for the very first time. The first dead body she ever bears witness to. She is five years old and a man is murdered for an audience of elder, important members of The Family. It’s a celebration, the blood spilt, the echoing prayers of every voice in the chamber bellowing as the shot goes off, not slowing, not stopping, growing louder in the face of the gore that paints a back-tapestry from white to a deep, disgusting red. She cries, as silently as she can, and bows her head.
Her mother never lets go of her hand. Just tightens her grip. It hurts.
They’ll tell her later what this was all for. Punishment, gifts granted, outsiders and investigators. Food for their god, sometimes, and other times, their own blood, people of faith who had made grand mistakes amongst the rules in their divisions and sectors. They travel for many of these. Her father takes part in the ceremonies. Her mother holds her hand until it aches every time. She should feel special. For some reason- she doesn't. She cries. Every single time, she cries.
It all begins like this. Blood is something her family is steeped in, two elder members of the Family, their importance leaking into every conversation they hold. They manage finances, meetings, they bake bread for every feast, they help initiate the new, tainted blood into their Family. They were some of the only ones who could do that, offer out their clean palms to the lucky few who desperately need a Family to come to. Every holiday is of great importance in her house. Every meeting is met. She is brought to every single one they can bring her to, always front row, always dressed in clean, perfect, black-and-white robes. Home is just an extension of church. It always has been. That’s just what Family is. That’s what The Family is for.
It’s no surprise when she takes to it. An assumed natural talent, of course. Her mother cheers, brings her by bruising, ruler-punished wrist to the kitchen counter, and teaches her how to bake bread. She flourishes under the attention. She presents the baked loaf to their Leader, takes deep, slow breaths, lets him rest a hand on top of her head. She soaks in the praise, in the attention of it all. Her mother smiles at it, a feat she indulges in the rarity of, and the future is laid out in front of her.
She’s seven when it’s decided. Lexx would be the next Leader of The Family.
And this is life.
Her parents never tried for another child. She’s perfect , they say, and so she believes it.
She’s thirteen when it starts to really show through. Her greatness, of course, but also their overbearing nature. Night meetings are exhausting. She cannot scrub blood from the back of her eyes, that special night reoccuring twice, thrice, a handful of times over her short lifespan— and her mother tells her that it’s a great event every time. No other kids ever came, in the past, and the ones who come now are only ever her age. It’s a haunting fact, a thought that doesn’t occur until one of her peers says it, instead. Puts the thought in her head— poisons her.
“Isn’t it weird?” The girl had started, quiet, her hood up high. Older, but smaller. Not quite as smart as the dark haired girl she spoke to. Lexx watches the way dim lights can’t stop golden curls from practically glowing. “The kids at school don’t watch things like this. They have different faiths. I don’t think this is normal. It’s scary. ”
It's not supposed to be scary. Her father had said it, echoed words of their Leader in all his glory, the purple robes draped down from his wrists as he presents the ritual to all of those watching. It was supposed to be beautiful. The kids at school don’t watch things like this because they were outsiders- filthy, tainted, not chosen by fate or their God, a constant corrupting thought ready to engulf the members of The Family whole. They were a one-way ticket to becoming a traitor. It's something Lexx couldn't stomach the thought of. It's something she can't let stand.
Her heart pounds. “It’s not.” Lexx tells her, firm and insistent, loud enough to draw heads. She feels herself grow bigger in her tiny body, her father’s words heavy on her tongue, setting her shoulders back as the older girl shrinks, as her eyes go wide, a mouse caught sniffing too close to the traps. An adult closes in to come resolve the issue, but Lexx speaks anyways. “It’s not. They’re punishing those who betray and granting the eternal gift to those who The Speaker needs. It’s a grand event, darling.”
She doesn’t see Natalie for a month. It's a victory. She's being taught her lesson- she's being fixed before the corruption from the world outside can get into her head, a bad seed preparing to grow in her soul. Still, she doesn’t sleep well until she does see the poor girl. Lexx was never quite able to place why that was– only that the following nights had been exhausting, school had been almost unbearable, and she had scored fifteen points lower than usual on the test at the end of the week. Her pillows are wet. She’s having a hard time breathing going to her meetings. There’s no rhyme or reason to the feelings– she’s just poisoned. Poisoned by the doubt, by the words of a peer. It’s a detriment to her, really. She can’t focus. Her grades drop. It’s the destruction they all warned her about, wasn’t it?
Mother wasn’t very happy about the scores.
Lexx takes the shouting with grace. She doesn’t shed a tear. She’s not allowed to.
Lexx was always destined to be Leader. That’s what they tell her– it’s not Speaker declared , not specially chosen, but their Leader had been in power for nearly twenty years. It was almost unheard of amongst The Family, a Leader to near fifty, a Leader to live so very long. It’s a celebration, really, one they often did celebrate, but a new one had to be prepared. A new Leader had to be chosen, had to be grown into the role, had to be ready. Lexx’s father did it before her, raised to be the right-hand, raised with all the knowledge The Family could give him, and she is brought up in all the knowledge he has to trickle down.
Her father keeps the books of their teachings. A man made to lead a sermon, he keeps track of all their tellings, he passes them down. He tells her of rituals, of far-away worlds, of their God. The Speaker is a hushed name, of course, but her father talks with a delight in his eyes she only sees within their church walls. He tells the same thing their Leader tells, an afterlife where the chosen are Gods, a world where they alone are free of the corruption of the outsiders beyond their church walls. Where they, alone, are alive– a world filled with the holy parts, the life they know merged with heaven itself. One day, he tells her, the world will end.
He tells it with such certainty. She never doubts him, not for a moment. She stares into eyes that only seemed alive after his absence, his late hours working endlessly for their faith, and smiles.
She tells him, in return, that the future sounded beautiful. It takes a while before sleep becomes easy again. Once he had shared so much that it no longer shocked her. Once he had shared all the knowledge he could bestow. She prepares herself for leadership. She squashed the dread beneath clean mary jane heels and carefully maintained language. Polite. Polished. Faithful. She has these conversations periodically as she grows– preteen to teenager, middle schooler to highschool.
And every single time, her mother gives tense, side-long looks and brings a cigarette back to her lips.
In the quiet of the night, only one night, where Lexx stands putting away the newly cleaned dishes, soft lips meet the top of her head.
“Just focus on your studies, alright?” The woman whispers into her hair. She was always so well put-together. “You have a life to live before you’re Leader. I’m hoping you end up a CEO of some sort.” She had asked, cold, bony hands pressing to the side of Lexx’s face. Her knuckles press gently to Lexx’s cheekbones, the skin shifting. “All the same power. You’ll be a respectable young lady. Make a name for yourself outside of the church. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
All she does is nod.
Her mother always goes to bed last, smoking out through the kitchen window until the night is too quiet and too heavy. Until it’s safe to disappear into the bedroom, eyes on the backdoor like something terrible was coming. She doesn’t need a response.
It’s been like that for as long as Lexx could remember. Her mother was a miserable, miserable woman. Whereas her father could smile, cheerily greet others at the door, stand by their church Leader’s side with life in his eyes and a constant anticipation in his chest, only growing stoic and silent in the emptiness of their home– her mother was always quiet. She bares a suit and heels to work, a tick to her eyebrows that grew heavier with every single day that passed, her lips stained, a pack of marlboro in her purse that never seemed to empty itself.
She never seemed happy . Lexx could dig a few precious memories from the recess of her mind, all moments hinged on her success. Graduations, honors programs, delights of well-made bread a relic of the past in the many years she lives under this roof. She makes nationals for a science competition that her mother cheers for, smiles with all teeth and none of the misery that clings to her like a second skin– but it dies when Lexx’s father hears the same news. Denies it. Points out she couldn’t go, not this young , not where she would be unattended, surrounded by outsiders , staying in a hotel room in another state with untrustworthy girls.
Her father was always very intense about that.
She doesn’t go. Of course she doesn't. It wasn't safe and her faith came first in this house. Her state awards are granted and she watches through a screen at the others who get to. Listens in class when they return and talk of their trip– friendships that bloom between bus and hotel room, stories she doesn’t understand the context to, awards she was deprived of winning. It's bitter, the sour taste lingering on the back of her tongue with a sharp, heavy distain. She wouldn't have wavered, if she could have gone, she wouldn't have flinched in her beliefs. She could have had it all.
She’s fifteen when she admits she hates her father for the first time. She sobs into her mother’s shirt. It’s the only time she’s ever allowed to. She’s not punished for it. It’s not lady-like. It’s not polite. It’s all ugly, disgusting tears and heavy, aching sobs, infact, but for once, there is no reprimand. Her mother is quiet, a hand in her hair, petting her like she only did when Lexx had done something so, so well. It doesn't happen again. No matter how many awards, no matter what the score is, no matter how dutifully she attends her meetings. Father takes her to and from Family meets. Mother lingers quietly in the kitchen until the night becomes all consuming.
She has top scores in everything she does. It’s starting to feel hollow. Girls her age bloom into friendships, relationships, sports that bring them all so much closer together. They like her, too, but not in the way they like each other. Lexx wasn’t exactly one of them. It’s like everyone can tell, no matter how friendly, no matter how cheerful , how polite she can bring herself to be. There's something different about her, no matter the law of silence The Family demands that Lexx upholds. No matter what she says, what she doesn't say, they seem to sniff it out. She's just not like them. There’s nobody coming with her on the drive home.
She’s sixteen when her mother asks for a divorce. They don’t get one. Her father brings her mother to spend more time at church than ever before, their Leader keeping a steady hand on her shoulder. He tells her that her mother is merely speaking to God more. Looking for guidance. They all need it, sometimes, the voice of the man embodying their faith tells her, his eyes kind and warm and far too soft for the moment.
He puts a hand on her head, careful to not disturb the braid her mother had shakily weaved through it. “We’ll take care of it. I promise.”
The church had always known what to do. Lexx wonders if that was entirely true, lingering by the back door, inhaling soft, deep breaths, wondering where the smell of Marlboro had gone. Her mother doesn’t smoke any more. She goes to sleep early. Lexx is left alone in the kitchen to ponder in the same manner her mom had done before her— eyes out the window, waiting for something to happen.
It does. She’s seventeen when she finds her mother’s body.
That’s the cold end of it all. The stopping point. Life comes to a screeching halt.
It’s in the bathroom. It’s cold and lifeless when she comes home from her tutor’s house, her feet aching, her shoulders too-tense from the drive. It’s her own car. It’s her own keys that jingle as she enters the home and searches for her mother in the midst of the silence encompassing the house– news to tell, questions about when her father would be home, met with nothing in return. Not napping, not at work. The bathroom door creeps open and she’s just there.
She’s just there . Still, quiet, leaned up against the bathtub, eyes glazed over, blood running down her chin. Dead. Still. Gone. For hours , supposedly, just laying there with nobody to find it until her own flesh and blood appears.
Her mother was dead. There’s no gunshot. There’s no blades. There’s no tarps, no team, no Leader to oversee the death. There’s just a corpse on the bathroom floor of the house Lexx had grown up in.
She’s too old to scream and cry and wail. It doesn’t even feel real, really, not for a long, long moment, standing there in shock. Kneeling in silence with her fingers to a dead pulse. Her mom’s skin is cold and rubbery, nothing like the still-red faces of those executed in the name of their God. The blood is dry and brown by the time Lexx is laying her down, by the time her shaking fingers close the the milky eyes, by the time she's dialing her Leader. It's nothing like the red that greets the cloth used in every ceremony, every ritual that Lexx had ever observed. It was just– like going to sleep. Her mother's eyes are closed and they do not open. Not ever again.
Death isn’t a show. It’s just something that happened , for once.
Her Leader arrives with his own team to examine the body. He guides her away with a too-warm smile. For the first time, her skin crawls. She doesn't cry until they're taking her away. Lexx doesn't cry until she's entirely alone, her hands trembling as she asks and what now? What happens now?
Nobody ever answers. The Family can always be counted on for that. She only punishes herself for that thought once it had settled, sunken in, the only thought being when I'm Leader, this won't happen.
Lexx goes on. She always does. She goes back to school as if nothing happened.
It’s a blind sort of thing, an activity she’s achingly empty as she faces. Grief as a whole tends to be this way, she finds. Her father stands silent at the new grave, listens to the words of the outsiders his wife had known. Every passing word is about a kind, funny woman, someone who could light up a room. Someone patient and sweet, bringing life to work, to the world outside. A million things neither Lexx nor her father had seen in a long, long time. She can’t even place if they’re lying, if they’ve made a straw puppet out of the memory of her mother, or if she’s just never known life outside.
It’s a traitorous thought. She can’t stop thinking about it.
Death was a normal part of life. A spectacle. Something The Family knew well, something she could never escape from witnessing. It wasn’t supposed to be quiet. It wasn’t supposed to be hard, not like this. There’s a gaping chasm in her chest left behind in the wake of her mother’s–
--suicide. Her mother killed herself. How was she supposed to continue after that?
Suicide wasn’t uncommon in The Family. She just never thought it would happen to her . The Leader before her own had killed himself. Many elder members tend to lean that way, as well, hearing their God call for them in the life beyond. Some simply go crazy, rituals and prophecies not made for the weak , for the unworthy. The very first few records of The Speaker were about suicide.
But what to do when the reality of it has come knocking? Faith is a curse and fate is predestined. Her hands sink nails into her palms. She’s hollow. There’s nobody to tell. When she tries, her father darkens, wilts, like his spirit was crumbling before her very eyes. Ever so faithful, he tells her he knows what to do.
Her father brings her to meet God for the first time.
She's eighteen and The Speaker chooses a Leader. It's not her. She screams until there's nothing left inside of her.