Unmarked
Chapter One
Camilla sighed as she twiddled with the buttons on her worn dress. When was this seemingly endless and pointless ceremony going to end? She numbly stared at the couple as they recited their vows in front of the pastor. She wished this ceremony would be over so she could get the reception over with. She couldn’t bear everyone’s stares and all of the exclamations of “this will be you before you know it”. Just the thought of it made her stomach cramp.
Her 18th birthday was just in a few short weeks. The constant reminder of it made Cam shudder. Her class’ presentation would be just a few days after her birthday. Then she, and others, would have to bite the bullet and show her mark via photograph to other singles in the community.
Camilla’s heart rate increased to an uncomfortable pace with the thought of her own marking, or rather, her lack thereof. For as long as she can remember, she has hidden the fact that she didn’t have a mark from everyone. Her parents didn’t even know. She had developed quite a talent of creating a fake mark with various paints and markers. Spraying hairspray on her design gave it more permanency.
She recalled that once her mother, Emily, commented on how she never recalled seeing a mark on Cam when she was a child, but brushed it off as her just being a “late bloomer”. That close-call experience nearly gave Cam a heart attack.
Camilla was pulled from her daydreaming when everyone burst into applause. She glanced up at the now married couple who were locked together in an embrace. She stood with the rest of the audience and watched the newlyweds walk back down the aisle, arm in arm. As she attempted make her way to the back of the church, she tugged on one of the long sleeves of her dress. This godforsaken dress that her mother forced her in was so uncomfortable. A high lace collar hid her neck from onlookers and itched horribly. The sleeves went to her wrist and were as snug as a second skin. Her hands remained uncovered, considering her mark, or drawing rather, resided on her calf. The skirt of the dress flowed down to her ankles, covering most of the calf-high boots she wore on her feet.
Cam hated the required “style” of wardrobe. Law and propriety both required you to be covered by clothing from neck to feet. This limited the amount of skin one showed to strangers, limiting risk of exposing one’s mark. Hands and faces could remain free if your mark was not seen. Some people were even more unlucky than Cam. She glanced around the church, as she and the other patrons slowly made their way to congratulate the bride and groom and their relatives. One couple caught her attention. They both wore hats with opaque veils, shielding their faces. Their marks must be somewhere on their face. ‘Poor souls’ Cam thought. She thought her dress was confining. It doesn't compare to the total confinement presented by the veils.
Finally, it was Cam and her parents’ turn to offer congratulations. Cam numbly smiled at the couple she didn’t really know, shook the groom’s hand, and gave a weak hug to the bride. Cam’s father, Adam, put a hand on her shoulder, leading her out of the church. They made their way to the run down station wagon her father owned. She calmly entered the car as her parents chatted about directions the reception venue and how nice the wedding was. Cam stared out the window of the backseat as the car was started. “Just think” Cam’s mother began, “that will be Camilla in a few years.” Her father chuckled as her mother glanced at Cam. She politely smiled back, but offered no other response.
As her father began to drive, Cam blew out a puff of air in mild frustration. ‘So it begins’ she thought glumly. ‘Let’s get this ordeal over with.’
Her 18th birthday was just in a few short weeks. The constant reminder of it made Cam shudder. Her class’ presentation would be just a few days after her birthday. Then she, and others, would have to bite the bullet and show her mark via photograph to other singles in the community.
Camilla’s heart rate increased to an uncomfortable pace with the thought of her own marking, or rather, her lack thereof. For as long as she can remember, she has hidden the fact that she didn’t have a mark from everyone. Her parents didn’t even know. She had developed quite a talent of creating a fake mark with various paints and markers. Spraying hairspray on her design gave it more permanency.
She recalled that once her mother, Emily, commented on how she never recalled seeing a mark on Cam when she was a child, but brushed it off as her just being a “late bloomer”. That close-call experience nearly gave Cam a heart attack.
Camilla was pulled from her daydreaming when everyone burst into applause. She glanced up at the now married couple who were locked together in an embrace. She stood with the rest of the audience and watched the newlyweds walk back down the aisle, arm in arm. As she attempted make her way to the back of the church, she tugged on one of the long sleeves of her dress. This godforsaken dress that her mother forced her in was so uncomfortable. A high lace collar hid her neck from onlookers and itched horribly. The sleeves went to her wrist and were as snug as a second skin. Her hands remained uncovered, considering her mark, or drawing rather, resided on her calf. The skirt of the dress flowed down to her ankles, covering most of the calf-high boots she wore on her feet.
Cam hated the required “style” of wardrobe. Law and propriety both required you to be covered by clothing from neck to feet. This limited the amount of skin one showed to strangers, limiting risk of exposing one’s mark. Hands and faces could remain free if your mark was not seen. Some people were even more unlucky than Cam. She glanced around the church, as she and the other patrons slowly made their way to congratulate the bride and groom and their relatives. One couple caught her attention. They both wore hats with opaque veils, shielding their faces. Their marks must be somewhere on their face. ‘Poor souls’ Cam thought. She thought her dress was confining. It doesn't compare to the total confinement presented by the veils.
Finally, it was Cam and her parents’ turn to offer congratulations. Cam numbly smiled at the couple she didn’t really know, shook the groom’s hand, and gave a weak hug to the bride. Cam’s father, Adam, put a hand on her shoulder, leading her out of the church. They made their way to the run down station wagon her father owned. She calmly entered the car as her parents chatted about directions the reception venue and how nice the wedding was. Cam stared out the window of the backseat as the car was started. “Just think” Cam’s mother began, “that will be Camilla in a few years.” Her father chuckled as her mother glanced at Cam. She politely smiled back, but offered no other response.
As her father began to drive, Cam blew out a puff of air in mild frustration. ‘So it begins’ she thought glumly. ‘Let’s get this ordeal over with.’