Familial Contract

In the Middle Ages, vassals and lords had contracts outlining their rights. But what if families had contracts that defined the terms of their relationship? I present Familial Contract, a contract that does exactly that, using scenarios from my family’s life.

P.S. Don’t think this is original (I don’t have that much imagination). This familial contract was actually a school assignment, I just found it fun and wrote way more than I needed to.

“The Lord” written by Sasha Abramsky- http://www.sashaabramsky.com/

The vassal

A proposition to those parentals, magnificent Julie of the house of Sze and valorous Sasha who dons the Abramsky crest. I, the humble maiden Sofia, beg of thee cloth and bread, since it is known to all how little means of reliance upon mineself I am able to enjoy, me being but an innocent child, and a girl at that. I am suffering from a lack of sufficient funds and cannot provide those material items which art necessities for all the teenagers in this fair land. Even with the eyes of one so ignorant as I, it is clear thou art in dire need of help around thy manor. If thou shouldst accept my plea, I shall oft flatten mine bedcovers, take out the soiled leavings to the manor edgeside, wash thine platters, and prepare the bread and wine thou doth consume. In addition to the tasks aforementioned, I will add to mine load similar chores as the lord and lady require. In return, thou wilt provide alms to be dispensed at the rise of every full moon. Thou wilt provide lodging, supper, and cloth. Thou wilt agree to welcome that rabbit-animal, Bunzies of the shining fur and soft head, into thy manor as a member of thy own clan. Thou shalst admit I am possessed of brains far larger than thy own, bounteous beauty, and charms untold. I will be enabled to strike the other vassal with my fist in exchange for no more punishment than loss of television, that enchanting device which holdeth me captive, for a single night only. This arrangement shall continue until the eve of my eighteenth year, whereupon I shall take my leave of thee and thou shalt provide monetary compensation so that I may learneth from booketh and learneth how to become a noble lady with a manor of mine own.

The lord

A responseth availed at thee, thou fair maiden damsel: I and my lady-wife of the House of Sze (pronounceth Zee) dost agree to much of what though argueth. Yea verily we shall pay a fair recompense for thou to learnest whatsoever thou will – particularly were thee to chooseth arts and others of the noble crafts – the splendrous sounds of the lyre and lute, the beauteous creations of the architectural mind. It is my fondest wish that a fair child of mine be bounteous good at expressing the glories of God through the fine arts and splendors of majestic manufacture of buildings and other necessary items in a kingdom. But, fair lass, what magnificent Julie and myself cannost agree to is the coarse and wanton violence you seek to impose on that other young vassal, he whom we choose to call Leo the lover of grand lapins (alias rabbits). Ye shall, by contrast, if you want our golden pennies, be gentle unto yon figure, he who has the fortune to be your younger brother. Ye shall teach him what you know, and be gentle whenst it cometh to choosing television shows to watch. It is also imposed on ye to readeth one article published on paper in that journal namest New York Times by the setting of the sun every day. And in such you agree to this binding contract, upon your coming of eighteen years of age, we shall joyously send you out into this world with a pouch of coins with which to start your life, and a leather container filled with the finest Napa wines. Such, my fair daughter, is our fondest desire and dream.

Happy

“Dad,” I whined petulantly as I stared at the seemingly endless aisles of packages and cans, wincing a little from the harsh fluorescent lighting. “We’ve been here for frickin’ forever! Can we just go?”

“Just a minute, Holly. I still need to get some veggies for dinner tonight. Just wait a minute and then we’ll go. Can you do that?”

I nodded, but inside I was secretly counting down. One minute, he had said. 60, 59, 58 seconds left until we could leave this hellhole of consumerism. Suddenly, I was distracted from my distaste-at-large-companies-that-love-chemicals moral high horse by something very interesting. To me, a girl in summertime Sunnydale where temperatures regularly rose above 100 degrees, very interesting indeed. Razzleberry popsicles, the new flavor, from BUNNYBUTT (my absolutely favorite brand for sweet treats) were on sale, five boxes for $5. I immediately scooped up ten boxes and ran (well, I shuffled as fast as I could with ten boxes of popsicles in my arms) and caught up to my dad just as he was about to reach the register. I plopped the popsicles in his cart and smiled, slightly out of breath.

As we left the air conditioned supermarket and emerged into the blinding sun, burdened with our purchases, I was already thinking of those heavenly BUNNYBUTT desserts that would temporarily ward off the insane and inane heat. When we got to the car, I set the food down, reached into the top bag, and opened a box of popsicles. I grabbed a popsicle and could literally see the frost gleaming on the scarlet surface. When my dad asked for a popsicle, I clasped the box to my chest but finally relinquished one.

That night, I was reluctant to go to bed. I knew I would wake up in the middle of the night, thrashing among the stifling sheets. Finally, when my eyes started to close, I knew it was time to say Goodnight. It normally took a long time to go to sleep, but tonight sleep came easily. I normally didn’t dream, but, again, something was different about tonight.

While I knew my eyes were closed in slumber on my overly ornate bed, they opened in my dreamscape. But they weren’t the same. I was someplace else, and I was someone. Someone other. Other than Holly Barnet, the small-town child with no visions for her future, the little girl who lacked motivation. Other than the teenager who was constantly bored and tried to become interested in the repetitive memes and GIFs her generation revolved around. I was other, other than myself. I knew I wasn’t me, I knew I wasn’t in my bed. But where was I?

We had learned about the Garden of Eden in class the week before. The lesson had probably influenced my subconscious, for I was standing alone in a field with colors too vivid and mystical to be part of my reality. The grass wasn’t green, but emerald, the sun wasn’t yellow, but golden. The flowers were bursting brightly in bouquets of magenta and teal and pumpkin. I looked down at my hands and they were creamy, tan, instead of the usual bleached white. A butterfly flitted past my face and I put my hand up to my cheek, which was perfectly soft for the first time in about three years, not a single blemish remaining.

My view split into three parts. I was still lying prone on the bed, I was still in the meadow, yet I was also above, observing. I saw the sleeping me grunt and turn sideways. I watched the unfamiliar raven-haired gazelle I had become dance and leap among the miniature rainbow blossoms. Suddenly, I woke up to the mellow light of the morning sun. I had slept eight full hours, uninterrupted.

The wonders continued for the next few nights. Once I dreamed I was president, giving an inauguration speech, with my idols all cheering for me. I fast forwarded four years to see that my decisions had greatly helped people and made them happy. I was a rock star! I dreamed my rivals were jealous of my astounding popularity and beauty. I dreamed I was racing to the finish line and coming in first. I dreamed of family, of love, of intelligence and food. Everything I, a nerd and teenage girl, could ever wish for was achieved when I went to sleep at night. My dreams came true in my dreams.

Was I alone in this experience? I had to find out. I told my family about my amazing fantasies and they nodded, but I could tell they didn’t really understand. It got to the point when going to sleep was the highpoint of my day. After about a week, I was roughly shaken from my slumber by my hysterical mom. The first thing I saw when I woke up was her enlarged nostrils as she peered down at my face. Naturally, I shrieked in surprise. “Oh my god! Give me six inches of distance, jesus. What are you doing in here? It’s the middle of the night. Go away,” I grunted

Mom was in such a hurry she was slurring her words. “ Holly, are you okay? Do you feel fine? We have to get you to the hospital. Right now!”

“What?” I said. “Slow down and explain what the heck you’re talking about.”

“Well, you know how Google comes up with little stories for you to read based on your interests?” I nodded my head to signify that I did.

“There was one about BUNNYBUTT and I know how much you love that brand so I clicked on it. And apparently BUNNYBUTT’s razzleberry popsicles, which I’ve seen you eating all the time lately, are being recalled. They contain a chemical that affects people with high hormone levels. It’s a hallucinogen for teenagers and pregnant ladies. It sets people that are on edge over the edge. According to the FDA, it’s one of the most addictive drugs in history! And who knows what other side effects it has? Come on, Holly, get up. We have to go to the hospital and get you checked out!”

I rolled over. “It’s fine. Leave me alone.”

“What do you mean, it’s fine? It’s the opposite of fine. The hallucinogens must be influencing your rationality. Get up right now!” she screeched.

“It’s okay about the popsicles. They’re worth the consequences.” I smiled up at her. “I finally know what it’s like to be perfect.”