𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢
If the moon could reflect what lay on the earth, its color today would be red. Her lifeless body could be seen dragging across the ground despite the resistance shown by her clothes snagging on sharp stones. Ironically, the lifeless object demonstrated more humanity than the thousands of humans standing with burning torches in their hands. What they didn’t realize, however, was that the body being dragged still had a few breaths left. Her eyes fluttered against the heavy blood clinging to her lashes as she struggled to open them.
Before she could gather herself, a thud reverberated through the air, followed by a jolt of immense pain upon impact. It was hard to discern whether it was her body or her mouth that first felt the harsh grains of sand. Once again, she tried to open her eyes but was only met with dust. For the crowd, the rising dust was a sign of life. Whispers grew louder as the intensity in the air thickened. The thrill of shedding more blood and claiming victory was immeasurable. Lying on the cold sand, she inhaled deeply, measuring the extent of her pain. Poetically speaking, a dying person pondering what hurt more—the physical agony or the betrayal carving into her heart—was a moment of tragic clarity.
Far in the distance, along the thin line of the horizon, dim lights moved closer. In a fairytale, they might have been fireflies coming to her rescue in the depths of darkness, but life was anything but a fairytale. She couldn’t tell if it was a hand or a foot that shoved her aside. Her eyes caught a blurry sketch of men standing in a circle around her. Whether it was the pain or the humiliation, something compelled her to shut her eyes tightly again. In the wild, her situation mirrored that of a pigeon burying its head upon seeing an approaching cat, naively thinking that what it couldn’t see couldn’t hurt it. Though fleeting, those few seconds of false relief were all she had left.
The sound of digging broke through her thoughts. With every stroke, the crowd’s cheers grew louder. Why wouldn’t they cheer? Soon, they would claim their prize. She felt herself being lifted. Could it be mercy? Was there a divine call from the heavens? Her hopeful questions were crushed by the reality of sand pooling onto her head. For the first, and perhaps the last time, she smiled—a wholehearted smile. In that moment, she realized how heavy life had weighed on her heart. As she shut her eyes tightly, she repeated to herself, This too shall pass. This moment of dread would end. Then, she heard it—a whisper.
“Say yes,” the cold voice murmured.
Her eyes shot open in surprise, met by a mist that shrouded a distant, skeletal tree. Her heart pounded as the whisper flickered through her hair again.
“Let them burn in your agony.”
She tried to cover her ears, curling into herself in a naive attempt to block out the world.
“Seal it off,” the voice demanded, familiar yet distant.
In an instant, she was back in the pit of darkness. Adjusting her vision, she met the gaze of her executioner.
Humanity needed a deeper word for betrayal. The term only brushed the surface of the pain caused by being cast aside by familiar hands. But what if betrayal makes you loathe your own existence? The essence of someone’s hatred cutting so deeply that you begin to understand their justification. This is often followed by hatred, agony, and eventually hollow revenge.
She didn’t know which came first—the hatred or the agony—but she did understand one thing. She heard herself whisper the word, “Yes,” to the darkness.
