Dancing Princess
The Story of the 13th Dancing Princess
Evildan, September 2003 (based on Angela Carter`s Sexing the Cherry)
One day I visited that city, the one floating in the air. It looked like a fine place for a bit of fun, and I was in the mood. There was a dancing party, and I danced senselessly all night long, only to fall into a weird unconsciousness afterwards.
When I woke up, after an undeterminable period of time, I found myself surrounded by a group of giggling girls, who stroke my hair and touched my face in an exploring, yet comforting manner. All of these girls looked remarkably alike, as if they too were all sisters. They were considerably shorter than I was, but surely looked healthier and stronger. Apparently they had a mixed ethnical background, for I couldn’t determine from their looks in which part of the world I had woken up. Maybe Asian, it occurred to me, but their skin was somehow darker than you would find it with any Asians I knew.
I asked them if they could tell me where I was, who they were, and what had happened, but they seemed not to understand and continued their silly but catching giggling.
After a while, the girls backed away from me and formed a corridor to make way for a strange figure that undoubtedly was approaching me. The figure looked vaguely like a human, but it was made of metal. It had skinny features and, most remarkably, long arms that ended in mean-looking sword-like things. It touched me, as if probing me, and uttered clicking sounds and the little lanterns in its metal body flashed. Then it spoke to me in a screeching voice and with a ridiculous accent.
”I am Motherbot. You are retro-grade human. Explain yourself.” I couldn’t, for I fell back into that soothing unconsciousness.
* * *
It has been some time now since my arrival. I managed to find out that all of us, the girls and me, live in a distant future, although it is still not unknown to what “distant” relates to. The girls, who, for some reason, call themselves Mice, and me live under constant supervision from Motherbot, who loves us and cares for us, but will “re-arrange” us, should we ever fail to function.
We live and work in a giant castle in space endlessly preparing for the attack of the “Foe”, also known as “XY”. We keep our bodies in shape and our senses alert with exercises of all kinds, and see that the machinery of the space castle is in working condition.
When it is about bed-time, we all take a shower together. This procedure is not only about personal hygiene, but serves as pretext for intimacy. We also take a lot of drugs here, so it seems. There is distribution of pills in every shape and color all day long, the consumption of which is heavily enforced by Motherbot.
Once in a while, each girl takes three days off to spend that time in Motherbot’s rooms. I don’t go there, but instead experience that unexplainable unconsciousness again every time the moon’s forces draw my blood. I once asked a group of Mice why there are no men around here. They looked at me like they always do when I ask questions about the past, or the reasons for my being here or why anything is the way it is. I got no answer, but they somehow looked more frightened than usual. Still, Motherbot had heard me. I was taken to Motherbot’s rooms. Motherbot flashed some lanterns into my eyes and furiously waved her sword-like arms in front of me. ”Retro-grade”, she said, “you must not confuse the Mice. They cannot compute. Men have been rendered obsolete for the survival of the race of Mice, once known as humanity. Men are extinct. But fear not, Retro-grade, you will be re-arranged.” She poked my lower abdomen with a thin metal spear sliding out from inside her sword-like arm. Instantly I began to feel sick. Hot and cold streams rushed through my body, as a nauseating taste of iron almost made me puke, just before I lost consciousness again.
I have spent many days alone in a dark cell. I dreamt a lot about men, trying to remember their looks, their voices, their smell. Some of the men I could see clearly, and even remembered their names, but in the end all the images are blurred together into one single image. I always wake up screaming, left alone in the dark with an unbearable feeling of loss. Some of the Mice come visit me once in while. They sit next to me, they speak to me softly in their native language. They bring food and drugs, taken from their own rations. They are all very nice to me, but they do not understand my sorrow.
* * *
Now and then, when I look at the sky, I see the city floating close to the space castle. But it never comes close enough to catch one of the ropes hanging down from it. One of the Mice has made a habit of spending the night in my cell. We waste the hours lying in each others arms. She often sings beautiful songs in her strange language, whereas I sometimes tell her about the men I used to know, once, in another time. I have secrectly collected 30 of those little red pills I was constantly given. A single pill of this kind makes my heart race and my head hurt for hours. The little Mouse in my arms has fallen asleep.
I think 20 pills should be sufficient.