paradox ⛤ h.s.

⛤ four ⛤

I see nothing but my feet.

One in front of the other.

Heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to toe.

My wrists are bound together tightly with the burn of a thousand fires. My heart pounds as I look up toward the sky and flinch at the raindrops falling onto my eyelashes. It is such a gloomy day- fit for the occasion.

Today is the day I will be hanged. Today is the day I will die.

My vision is blurred. I cannot tell if it's tears or the fallen raindrops taking their places on my heavy eyes.

Heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to toe.

Creaky planks seem as though they're screaming amidst the silence that has possessed the community as they watch me shuffle across the makeshift platform. My feet taunting me as they drag me closer and closer to my demise.

My heart leads with a thunderous melody, warning me of the danger that lies at my feet. My shaking bones somehow carry me to the fate I made for myself, with the help of cold hands and stinging rope wrapped around my wrist.

A familiar scream cries out from the previously silent multitude situated below me. I can't hear, I can't think, I can barely see.

I take what my senses are giving me and look up at the sky, clouds darkening overhead.

Mother, please help me.

When I find the courage to look below me, I see Willa. Her bellowing cries are accompanied by her attempt to push through two men that are holding her back. Tears form in my eyes indefinitely now — not for myself, nor Isaac. No, for Willa. And then for Mrs. Mayberry who is not in attendance today. I silently thank my surroundings for keeping her home today. I don't think I could bear to die in front of her.

I divert my gaze from my crumbling best friend and stare intently at the man I've called my husband, the very thing he relinquished the title of as soon as he even had the slightest thought to execute me. My eyes do not leave his vacant stare as an anonymous man leads me to the edge of the platform as if he's showing off a prize.

I seethe with anger, a most dangerous game when I am involved. I never imagined my final moments to be smothered in rage, but alas I am here and that is what is happening.

The clouds over the village are turning in promise of a horrible storm brewing as raindrops get heavier, quicker, louder.

Mother, my duty is to serve you. My gratitude towards you is irrevocable. I beg of you, Mother, use your unmatchable resources to free me from this hell.

Isaac is standing proud above the small crowd that had gathered, speaking to them as they were inferior— something they all believe. I imagined the influx of residents coming to watch the village witch finally get terminated to be grander. Instead, there is only about thirteen heads at most.

"Silence!" Isaac's voice roars through the crisp, damp air as the rain picks up even more now, thunder accompanying it. He isn't talking to anyone but Willa as everyone else is content in their positions, anxiously awaiting their sick and twisted entertainment.

Isaac doesn't look at me once. What a scared and brittle man. His superiority complex will never keep him from being terrified of me and I relish in that. I am, and always will be, the biggest threat he's ever faced.

Even so, he's going to be the one that wins in the end. It ends here. I try my luck once more as Isaac begins reciting the script of whatever is the formal way to kill your wife.

Mother, save me. Mother, save me! Mother! Save me!

Thunder booms immediately as the thoughts in my head get louder and louder. She's listening.

"Thank you, Mother," I whisper, looking up at the sky.

I keep my eyes casted down and repeat, out loud this time but barely still barely a mumble, "Mother, my duty is to serve you. My gratitude towards you is irrevocable. I beg of you, Mother, use your unmatchable resources to free me from this hell."

I keep repeating the phrase over and over again, tuning out the mayhem around me as the sky turns a calamitous gray, the thunder rolling in waves now and lightning striking down fiercely. My hair whips in the wind and I don't let up, beckoning the storm closer.

With the distraction of the tempest, no one seems to notice my quiet chant and the small crowd disperses as a bolt of lightning strikes a hut only 20 feet away, causing it to go up in flames. Screams and gasps fill the air as people run amuck, trying to find a place to take cover.

I feel a twinge of hope as I notice the absence of the hands that were holding me in place and watch the executioners assistants scramble off the platform to run to the safety of their homes. Issac is the only one left. The storm is violently raging, fires burning around us as he turns around and cold, blue eyes finally meet mine. Judging by the monitory look on his face, I can tell he knows what I'm about to do.

I jump down and at the same time he reaches out to grab me, another bolt of lightning hits just beside him, sending the scaffold that I was just standing on into flames.

I run.

I barely hear Issac's irate shouts over the sound of the roaring thunder and my heartbeat booming in my ears. Rain beats down on me and my bare feet ache as I run as fast as my legs will carry me, down the winding path and past Mrs. Mayberry's house until I reach the shed.
I throw myself in the door and lean on it, gasping for air and trying to slow my pounding heart.

I don't have much time. This is the first place Issac will look but I can't leave here without at least grabbing something to protect myself. I grab the dagger I keep hidden on top of the furnace and sit down, placing it between my knees. I frantically drag the rope that's binding my wrists back and forth across the blade until it pops, freeing me of my restraints.

I immediately run over to the table that sits in the middle of the room, seeing a change of clothes, my boots, my satchel, and a letter sitting neatly on top of it. I immediately know this is Mrs. Mayberry's doing. How did she know?

I open my satchel and see food packed in there, enough to last me a week, along with her grimoire and some of my herbs. My eyes prematurely fill with tears as I pick up the letter and quickly scan over it. It reads:

Rhiannon,

I packed you some things to make your travels a bit easier. I saw the storm and knew right away that it was your doing (I've taught you well) so I took it upon myself to gather your things from your house- I even stole Issac's favorite brandy to keep you warm on the colder nights. I know that you're thinking you can't leave Willa or I behind, but you have to. You were destined for great things, my love. I will be okay. Willa will be okay. It is time to finally put yourself first, as you were always meant to do. Leave these people and their hate behind. Don't let anyone ever tell you who you are and remember- if you are not yourself, you are no one.

It is time to fly away, little bird.
-M

By the time I finish reading the letter, it is soaked with my tears. Silent sobs wrack my body at the thought of leaving her behind and not getting to say goodbye.

But she's right, I cannot let them break me. I take a deep breath and wipe my face, grabbing the clothes and quickly changing out of the dingy shift that they've had me in for 3 days. I pull on my boots and swiftly grab more herbs, tinctures, and some small tools I may need and stuff them in my bag. I pick up the small dagger off of the ground and slip it down the front of my corset so it is hidden between my breasts.

I scan the room, standing in, what was, my safe haven for possibly the last time. I step out into the downpour once again, my eyes raking the woods to make sure I am still alone. I pull the hood of my cloak over my head and start toward the woods. Tears threaten but I shake my head and pull myself together, pushing away the sadness and letting the rage settle in.

They- he- will not win.