"Dead?" I mumble as I feel my oxygen rush out of me and my legs turn to quivering jelly. I slide down to the boulder to sit before I fall down.
"Monica, are you okay?" Miguelito asks urgently.
"How did the explosion happen?"
Miguelito sits down next to me before he answers. "After he shot Bledsoe he ran into the jungle."
"But he knew there were landmines!"
"So did you. I had to stop you because you would've risked it."
"He as good as committed suicide."
"That's why I had to bring you back, or it would've been like what you first said--committing suicide."
I nod solemnly, tears trickling down my face.
"You really cared for him, right?" Miguelito questions, a strange prickly tone to his voice.
"He was the nicest Master here."
"True," Miguelito says, the sharpness in his tone gone.
"We'd better get to the destiny-bride shack," I mumble.
I wince as we move past the isolation room. The door is open but I dare not peek inside. It must have Bledsoe's blood spilled on the ground.
Miguelito and I are quiet as we walk. What is there to say? This day has been crazy!
"I'm sorry about Smythee," he says tenderly before I open the door to the slave quarters. "I'm sorry you're hurting so much."
"Thank you," I answer.
Inside, Helga eyes me with angry eyes. "I thought you were staying with Jana and Wife Betsey," she retorts.
"Wife Betsey decided that I should stay here instead."
"Why are your eyes so red?"
"Highest Holy Bledsoe died."
She rolls her eyes. "And?"
"What?"
"Like if you cared about him," she retorts.
I decide to play my cards. "You're eyes aren't red at all. I guess you weren't moved by his death."
"Get to sleep," she snaps.
When I make it to my bed, I lay in it while staring at the full moon through the curtain-less windows for a long, long time.
The church bells ring as I'm finishing up my chores in the shack. This time I know what they're for. It's Bledsoe's funeral. As far as I'm concerned, may he rot wherever he's at! I'm pretty sure he isn't in some luxury kingdom with the Great Master.
I rush out the slave quarters with the rest of the girls. Sitting in my favorite location, Miguelito catches my eye and nods at me. I nod a greeting back.
Loud trumpets reverberate from the back, and I turn my head. Several boys blow the trumpets that are only allowed for very important occasions. They, along with other helper boys, are dressed in costumes I hadn't seen before. They're in velvet cloaks the color of dark purple grapes.
Some helper-boys carry an ornate casket on their shoulders. Diamonds, rubies, and sapphires cover its reddish-wood. I groan. Such opulence for such a horrible man. Smythee won't get a funeral, nor did the rest of the victims get one. None at all--much less a funeral like this one.
A sobbing High Holy Grinder steps in front of them. He's also dressed in a purple cloak but his has the same gems as the casket. He also wears a gold crown with the same precious stones that sparkle as the sun's rays hit them from the skylight. In his right hand he carries a scepter made of the same jewels as the crown.
I have never seen such extravagance. I want to gag.
High Holy Grinder starts ambling towards the front of the sanctum as the trumpets keep playing and the helper-boys, who carry the casket, follow him. Dramatic organ music resonates and he lifts up the scepter as if telling the congregation to get on their feet. We promptly stand up.
When he arrives at the podium, the helper-boys lay the casket down in the middle of the front of the sanctum, where the slab of marble comes up for the murder ceremonies. I've got a very bad taste in my mouth.
"We are gathered today on this truly horrible occasion," cries High Holy Grinder. "Our great leader is gone. He was the best leader imaginable. He had a straight communication with the Great Master--as only one of so pure of heart can have."
I roll my eyes. My stomach churns.
"I only hope that I can live up to his great legacy," he states.
I hadn't thought about it but now that Bledsoe is gone, Grinder, as the next in command, will take over. I don't know how I feel about that. Grinder is even more of a jerk, as impossible as that is to believe, than Bledsoe. We may have leaped to the fire from the frying pan.
"Highest Holy Bledsoe took this humble community and made it great in the eyes of the Great Master!" he continues with high emotion in his voice. What theatrics! "We basked in his light for the time he was here. We reveled in his holy glow!"
What glow? What stupidity.
"I know that life without our great leader is going to be difficult," he states, "but I solemnly promise to carry on his great work in this True Faith ministry. I promise here, in the Great Master's home, that I will do everything possible to honor Highest Holy Bledsoe and our Great Master!"
The Masters start the applause, and we have to go along with it. Grinder beams a smile at us as if he thinks all of us are with him.
"My flock, we must go on and we will."
"Yes, we will!" yells the Mister. I roll my eyes.
"Yes, we will," the other Masters shout as well and the whole congregation is forced to follow their lead. I feel silly lying like that.
When the shouts die down, Grinder raises his scepter over his head. "I solemnly promise you that what happened to Highest Holy Bledsoe will never happen again! For the protection of us and our citizenry, I will make sure Paradise Village is safe. WE WILL HAVE MORE SRINGENT RULES FOR OUR PROTECTION!"