Kadder from Another World

A story from the series: Folktales of the Twelve Dominions

Arrogant sets her key in the lock of the red door, and pushes her shoulder into it. Kadder turns around to talk to her. He speaks a grunt: something or other. He speaks again: frustration. She responds vaguely, “Yes, I’m sure your idea is great. Please, feel invited to ignore me from now on.” He gunts: offense. His people are oppressed: they don’t get their body piercings paid for by the people who. She speaks, again, toward his face, “I’m so glad you thought to involve me in your movement. I’m sure you’ll find a holyman, and he’ll set everything right. Ok, bye.” He blumbers to himself, flabbergasted, hands flailing in the air as he stomps down the hallway. Later, she gets water. A friend of his sits and complains. She’s feisty and frustrated. Left alone with the woman it seems like she’s being expected to engage in conversation, but declines by sipping on her water. She escapes the opportunity to justify her existence on a planet with a whispered word of acknowledgment that the woman had said words in her general direction. Later, a young man pouts behind a hand painted sign. In the morning, she goes to feed herself from the cafeteria and an old woman has is enraged over her treatment of the napkins she’s crinkled. Lunch is skipped: a welcome reprieve. Dinner is a cup of ice-cream with a handy spoon attached to the lid. The people around the outdoor, built-in fireplace chatter and giggle about the people they wish were more entertaining. The sun sets, again. She returns to her room with the red door. The gentlemen has waited. He promptly describes her attitude in its social context as poisonous to the overall health of the dormitory and pauses for her to repent. She closes the door behind her. There’s a book on her coffee table she used to read. She sits on her little green couch and pours a glass of wine. Her feet rest on the table beside the book. She looks at it, and speaks to it, in case the words can hear her, “I am sure, if your words were followed this place would be better, and so in that way I have a sort of respect for you, but I can’t want my way into a different world. So, I’m going to have to ignore your words because they mock me with a constant nagging in my mind that this place could have been wonderful. I listen to your words and I dream, for a second, about a place where people laugh and not because someone else has been scorned. What would that be like? I can’t dream of the jokes they would tell in that place. I can’t dream of enjoying people. Maybe, when I finally…