Once upon a time foolish heroes preached that we could rise up out of the ashes and the darkness one more time. Those foolish heroes are gone and those days are gone. All that is left of them are dog-eared, stained bundles of paper with their scrawled naďve ramblings about past times when things were perfect and how it could all be again. And all that's left of us is stinking bodies and hopeless souls just barely alive. Nobody believes that redemption shit any more.
Life is pain. Life is misery. Life is a daily struggle to survive and only death brings peace and bliss.
We forage. We trade at neutral bridge. We raid other clans.
Some clans are gone, like the Crackers of Five Points in their flashy red robes, each and all killed in a massive raid by three other clans. Then there was the Billy Boys who died of a disease that ate the flesh from their bones. We called a truce day so we could burn their home tower and their bodies so the disease didn’t creep out on night winds and find the rest of us.
Our clan is fortunate; our home is the tallest, made of steel and artificial stone that I think used to be called ‘seement’. There are no walls in our home so the wind howls through, but what makes it good is that it is very tall and we live high up in the top levels. We’ve taken out the stairs on the levels below us, so raiders can’t get to us before they die when we shoot arrows through the murder holes. Where we live is so high that they can’t even burn us out - they can’t light fires close enough to harm us - the devil knows they’ve tried.
We are the Sky Dancers. We have ‘lectricity from the black panels on the roof that Weasel and the other tinkerers keep healthy and alive, so we have tubes that give us light when it is dark and Weasel has his camra and his ‘vision box.
We live so high up, we can look out and see all of Yawk and the pathetic little fires that the other clans huddle around in their towers for light and warmth. But they can see us too; looking up and seeing our white light and our safety and they hate us madly for that.
But we struggle like they do - everyday is a fight to forage, to trade, to find food. Many lose the light in their eyes and step off the edge, because life is monotonously grim and the bliss of dancing down from the sky and splashing red and lumpy on the ground so far below is better than this life.
But I won’t jump because I am a member of the Suicide Sisterhood, I was born a member because my mother was one of the founders. We have found the best excitement to entice us to endure life - to choose our death.
The Sisterhood began with a small group of women whose sadness was crushing their souls. They met together, first to hold and comfort each other, then to give pleasure to each other’s bodies. But no matter how good they made each other feel, the sadness came back, then hopelessness, until one woman told the others of her plan.
Her name was Lee and she went out alone on a night when the moon was full so she would be seen. She was taken by a night prowler from the Woodmen who live in the leafless trees in the centre of Yawk. He dragged her to a tunnel and raped her and tied her up and cut her throat and cut off her head. We know all this because Weasel followed all silent and sneaky with his camra and 'corded the whole thing from a hidey-hole in the roof of the tunnel where wind used to be blown by machines to keep the tunnels fresh back when things were still right.
The ‘cording of Lee was the first of many and we still watch it on the ‘vision box at our meetings, just like we watch all the others.
There’s no regular plan for a sister to go out to let someone suicide her, but when a sister decides to she always goes under a full moon all alone and Weasel follows with his camra. Some call us sick - even our own clan members - but watching our sisters die on the vision box sexes us up. We believe that when you cum hard - have one of those orgasms that cramps your belly and makes your thighs quiver and your toes curl so tight your feet cramp and maybe you pee a little - it's as close to death as you can get and dying is the biggest orgasm of all.
One day I know that come a certain full moon I will go out alone with Weasel sneaking and following and let someone suicide me, and the sisters will watch and ‘bate and cum as they watch me die over and over on the 'vision box until Weasel and the other tinkeres can't keep the 'lecticity going anymore. And that is just fine.