The Voice of a Child

The world was empty and silent as I was herded down the street at gunpoint toward the pyres of wood. Two women with their heads hung, were already trussed to the posts on either side of the center. That one was reserved for me. The fires would start as soon as I joined them.

A couple roadside lamps flickered enthusiastically, emitting an eerie buzzing that sounded like an angry hoard of wasps. All the shutters were drawn, the children in bed. The adults lined the streets in the waning light.

"Move it," the gun growled, shoving it's metal barrel between my shoulder blades. I stumbled, my sore feet screaming at me to rest. I remain silent and glance sideways past the gathered people to study the rows of houses on either side of me, the colours dull in the evening.

It was then that I spotted the child poking its face out from the shadows, seated precariously on the window sill. A shock of fire hung limply in front of his eyes, crawling from the dimly lit room behind him. The child swept his hair out of his eyes and smiled at me. His pale hand gave a small wave and he slipped from the sill, disappearing from view behind the line of adults. I slowed, trying to follow the splash of red weaving through the crowd.

"What are you looking at, witch?"

I could feel the bystanders stiffen as the soldier's words echoed in the stillness. I could feel those cold eyes boring into my back, the hate in his gaze burning my skin with its intensity. He backhanded me across the temple and I teetered on weak legs. Another blow to the jaw made me see stars. My head snapped back and I crumpled. All I could see in my mind's eye were those terrifyingly, innocent blue eyes of the little boy in the window. I chuckled weakly and spat blood into the earth, wiping my mouth with a tattered sleeve.

"Get up," the frigid tone threatened to land more blows if I dallied.

I obeyed, spitting more blood into the dust. The silence was suffocating, all these people just watching and doing nothing. I sneered at them with bloody teeth. A good few rapidly backed up, looking away in horror and disgust, others yelled obscenities and "Burn the witches" and spat at me. During this chaos, something darted in between me and the approaching pyres and offered me a rose. It appeared to have been hastily pulled off it's branch, the end of the stem jagged, a couple crimson petals askew. Attached to the flower was the red headed child from the window. Unfortunately, the soldier spotted the child too.

"You. Boy," the green suit snarled, "What do you think you're doing?"

The child merely glanced at the man, stuck out his tongue and intoned,

"Go to heck,"

His voice was soft, like the waters of the lagoon his eyes were created from. The only movement in the square of frozen people was the innocent voice of the child being passed ear to ear. The boy's eyes returned to gaze at me imploringly, urgently waving the flower at my hips. Time seemed to slow and the power of those three words shifted in the air. Then time sped up again and the force keeping everyone rooted in place lifted.

I moved a split second before the soldier did and threw myself in front of the boy. I felt his frail bones quiver in shock as I wrapped my arms around his torso, my one hand moving to cradle his little head against my chest. A moment later the whip connected with my back, all the air leaving my lungs with the sting of leather cracking across my skin. I fell to my knees and a collective gasp rose from the crowd. I heard a faint "Tommy!" from somewhere behind me. I squeezed my eyes shut, curving over the child, taking the lashes that were meant for him. His small hands balled into fists around the thin material of my shirt, his face buried in between my breasts.

"Stop it. Stop it! What are you doing?" a woman cried, the voice distant. The braided leather continued to bite into my back and the pain simply faded away. I cradled the child, realizing how small and skinny he really was. I rubbed his back, feeling his spine through the soft material of his nightshirt.