The Crimson Waves
by Elorah Bennett
“Congratulations!” the teacheress addressed the young girl. “There comes a time in every damsel’s life when she is entered into womanhood. As your blood moon rises, it is now your turn to face that fate. I know it may seem daunting, but bleeding is a natural part of every woman’s life.”
“Does it hurt?” the young girl asked.
“You may experience some pain in the first few days, but know that it is completely natural,” the teacheress replied. “It is what makes you a woman, just as it made me one back in my youth.”
She gripped the young girl’s arm, and turned to face her. “Now then, it is time to celebrate your womanhood. Are you ready for the ceremony?”
The girl remembered her favorite doll she used to play with when she was younger and contemplated what it meant to grow up. She recalled her mother telling her about how womanhood would change the way she interacted with the world and the place she held within it. Boys would look at her differently once she was grown, and her perception of them would change as well. She knew becoming a woman would make her powerful, but it would also mean she couldn't play like she did when she was young, when everything she could see felt new and invigorating.
Though she would miss being young, she couldn’t wait for what lay ahead. “Yes, I am ready,” she answered.
The girl watched the sun and moon compete for a place in the dusk-ridden sky as the teacheress stood beside her. They took a step towards the sea together as they prepared for the nip of cold beneath their feet.
The teacheress tenderly led the young girl into the icy water in front of them, allowing time for both of them to adjust to the temperature change. She could hear seagulls cawing above her as she felt a shiver travel down the girl’s arm, fluttering against her palm. It was easy to forget how vast the world was, but ceremony days helped the teacheress remember all that Mother Nature had to offer. She took a deep breath and tuned into the sensation of the tides pulling all around her as she prepared herself for what lay ahead.
The sinking sun shone fiery upon them, casting the water in a sea of red. As the crimson waves lapped up against the young girl’s bare legs, she took in the world's gentle intricacies. She ran her hands through the cold water, creating delicate ripples which she watched grow bigger as they migrated away.
“Tell me what you see, and lock that image in your mind," the teacheress said.
The young girl contemplated the question, and the curious urgency in the teacheress’ voice, before proclaiming,
“The sky is the colour of fire, but further up it turns into a blackish blue. It melts into the sea, and turns the waves a deep red. The shore wraps around us on either side, creating a horseshoe shape which protects us from the open ocean.”
She paused, refocusing her gaze on the teacheress. “You are standing next to me. Your eyes are closed, your hair is brown, and wrinkles have set into your skin from age. You are very beautiful.”
The teacheress held the young girl in a gentle embrace, for it had been too long since anyone had called her such a tender word. She stood there with the girl in vibrant silence, energy radiating all around them, before responding,
“Very good. It is important to remember what the world was like when you were a child, for it changes so rapidly as you get older. I can hardly remember what once was, though I am still forever grateful for what is."
The foggy thought of her little brother cooing at her from his crib when she was young crept into her head, but she quickly shoved it away, replacing it with a memory of studying scripture.
"Now tell me what you don’t see.”
“What I don’t see?” the young girl asked.
“Yes,” the teacheress replied. “Everything you know is true, even though it is not visible. Everything that God keeps in your mind, your heart of hearts.”
“Ummm… I can’t see my womanhood, but I know it is almost here,” the young girl answered. “I can’t see your love, but I know that you care for me. I can’t see my nervousness, but I can feel it in my body.”
“Exactly! And what is the most important thing?” the teacheress asked. “Who we are and what we know, or what we view around us?”
“Who we are and what we know,” the young girl answered.
“And as a woman, you will be and know so much more,” the teacheress said. “You are blessed with the capacity for so much knowledge." She outstretched her arms and raised her hands to the heavens as she spoke. "Now it is time to open the windows to your soul and let in the possibilities of the divine. Praise be to womanhood, our queendom. God is woman. God sees all.”
“Praise be to womanhood, our queendom. God is woman. God sees all,” the young girl responded.
“Now, my dear, please hand me the knife.”
“I’m scared,” the young girl whispered, handing the teacheress the blade.
“Do not be afraid. Bleeding is a natural part of womanhood,” the teacheress replied.
She brought her empty hand to the young girl’s face, caressing her innocent features. She memorized each divot and accent with her fingers, creating a mental map of who the young girl was and who the teacheress predicted she would become.
Though it pained her, growing up was a necessary part of life, and it was the teacheress’ duty to welcome damsels into womanhood. Steadying herself, she brought her other hand up and prepared the knife with whispers of sacred knowledge, the first pieces of queendom the young girl would receive.
“God is woman. God sees all. Knowing and being are heavenly, but ever clouded by the judgements of our material world.”
The teacheress gave her knowledge to the knife before passing her wisdom on once more to another sacred daughter. She cupped the girl’s face in her empty hand, and drove the blade into the young girl’s eye.
The young almost-woman withered in agonizing pain, but she was only able to muster a soft “aghhh.” A tear slipped from her remaining eye, clouding her residual vision. She nearly collapsed into the crimson waves, but caught herself just in time to watch her blood turn the sea an even deeper shade of red. She took in the fiery sunset and the delicate ripples of the water once more, this time with her face burning like the sun and throbbing like the tides.
As she stood stiffly above the ground, yet beneath the stars, she remembered the look of disgust on her mother's face when she asked for a watercolour set for her seventh birthday. She longed, one last time, to find depth in the sight of the world. As the almost-woman said goodbye to the rich hues and subtle patterns of the visual universe, she absorbed the first inklings of the knowledge she had waiting for her.
“See, that wasn’t so bad,” the teacheress said. “You’re halfway to womanhood. Now, are you prepared to complete your ascent?”
Pushing away her visual desires, the almost-woman looked forward in anticipation to the embrace of womanhood. She couldn’t wait for all that the queendom had to offer and the peace of finally belonging. She watched the glimmer of the setting sun on the knife's reddened blade as she felt a second moment of agony and her vision went black.
No more would she admire the fiery sunset and the crimson waves. No more would she play and run without a care. She was a woman, the queendom's greatest gift. She was finally of the darkest darkness and she was at last of the queendom's light.