Awaiting Gallows

April 25th 1722 - Entry 2

Seeing that smoke in the distance, alarming though it was, cleared up a few things. Like who the black robed man was, or at least, who he was working for. It appeared the Fletchers had held a grudge.

I can't exactly say I blame them. That pretty thing would have given them quite the amount of enjoyment. And they could have lined their pockets quite nicely when they eventually sold her into slavery (or, as was much more likely, into a life as a whore).

Actually, scratch that. I can blame them. They burned down my farm.

I grabbed Pip from where he was tied up and rode like the whips of Satan himself were behind me. I cleared the village in about less than a minute, and kept going. Poor little Pip must have tasted blood by the time we were even halfway back. Occasionally, I could swear I could see figures in the trees, watching me, but I shook it off and kept going.

When I arrived, I could already see the place was unsalvageable. Livestock were either running around in a crazed panic, or already lying dead on the ground with multiple scorch marks. With a jolt, I realised my father and mother were nowhere to be seen. I was about to charge headlong into the burning home to rescue them when I saw my father struggling out of the door, singed all over, with my mother in his arms. I rushed over and took her from him. He didn't even acknowledge me. He just turned and looked at the farm, the only place he had ever called home, burn down in front of him.

As the last pieces of lumber collapsed, sending wispy sparks into the air around us, I walked to him and placed my hand on his shoulder. He shrugged me off. I was going to try again when he turned to look at me. He was very slow and meticulous about it, which is never a good thing when it comes to parents. He shook as he looked at me. Not with tears, I noticed. Not with sadness. With rage. With restrained violence.

"Poison," he said through gritted teeth, "That's what you are. Poison. The ruin of our lives."

"Father..." I responded, not knowing what to say.

"Go away. You are not my son. I never want to see your face again."

My mother, still on the ground, looked up. I thought she was going to disagree, but she didn't. She just looked at us, bewildered.

Feeling tears welling up in my eyes, I grabbed Pip and hopped on. With one last forlorn look back at the farm that I had grown up in, and my parents, I rode off. And I somehow know I will not return for a very long time.