“Common sense is the genius of humanity.”
~Johann Goethe~
January 4th
The smell of rot and decay permeated the air as they were marched along the rain dampened grounds. The chains rattled and clanked together as they shuffled through the puddles of rainwater, each step emitting great pain. The sky was colored an ominous grey, streaks of black overhead warning of the toxic fumes that entered the atmosphere, and great cries of carrion eaters chased them as they went. There was no fear in the faces of these captives; no single gleam of hope in their eyes for there was none. They panted for each breath to expand their lungs, the oppressive humidity making sweat bead down their foreheads. The cracking whip at their sides left them bleeding and stumbling along the unfamiliar terrain.
A frail young woman shuffled along behind an older man, his labored breathing bringing tears to her eyes. He slowed his fast shuffling for a moment, yet that was long enough for the man to his left to raise the whip and let it fall. The older man had just begun to take a step when the whip cracked against his back. The old man collapsed to his knees, gasping in pain, his bound hands raised towards the sky as he shook his head. The woman reached towards him helplessly, willing him quietly to rise to his feet and continue onwards but the old man did not. He bowed his head in defeat; he accepted his fate. She pleaded softly for him to rise but no amount of cajoling was enough to make his frail body rise up from the ground. She closed her eyes as she heard the approach of footsteps, the sound of a metallic pop and then the shuffling footsteps that meant the end. She opened her eyes when the whip cracked against her thigh. She stumbled and felt the warmth of blood seep down her bare leg as she continued onwards. The empty link in the chains left her with a feeling of deep sadness, a feeling she had forever known in such dark times as these.
A large hand touched her shoulder, a gesture of comfort; a gesture of sincere apology. She reached up with her bound hands and touched the hand once in acknowledgement before bowing her head as she trudged along. Her tanned skin was red and blistered around the cuffs that bound her wrists, the chain around her neck chaffed and blistered in the sweltering heat. Her tongue darted out and licked her cracked lips. Her tongue was thick in her mouth and her throat was parched as she watched the puddles on the ground glisten in the sunlight. In front of her she watched the back of another woman, this one slightly younger than she. The woman wore as she did; she was barefooted with a long fabric garment to cover her upper body and just long enough to cover her womanhood. The only exceptions to their alikeness was the dark skin and short hair cropped close to the scalp. Her own hair cascaded down her back in waves, her skin was tanned but it was her eyes that struck people the most. Her eyes were the color of a night sky tinged with gold around the pupils. The reason she found this younger woman alluring, however, was the way she carried herself as she was bustled about the long, worn road towards their unknown destination. The woman carried herself as though she were as important as a noble woman and had better show such bearings lest she be forgotten with the rest of the chained group.
“Move!” the sudden voice jolted her from her thoughts, her eyes widened imperceptibly as she hurried to comply with the man’s orders as he moved on to another complication in the line. It was then that she stumbled to the ground, falling on her hands and knees. The skin on both legs was torn, revealing shallow cuts from where she’d landed on sharp pieces of gravel. She bowed her head as she attempted vainly to raise herself from the ground, her hands pushing against the ground. The comforting hand that had once rested on her shoulder urged her up now with a hand beneath her elbow.
A quiet voice whispered near her ear, “Get up,” it urged her. “Please. You must get up now, hurry!”
The hand tightened its grip beneath her elbow, urging her more insistently to rise from the ground. Her lips formed a reply, but no words would escape her parched throat. She shook her head slowly, knowing that this was the end. This was where she would accept her fate as the man had done before her. It was a wonder the guards at either side had yet to notice her but ahead the chains still clanked as the slaves moved forward. She shifted on her bloody knees, and hunched forward – away from the insistent hands. The heavy metal cuff around her neck burned the bloody skin at the back of her neck as she leaned forward. She dry-heaved against the wave of nausea that suddenly swept her into its current. The voice still hissing it’s urgent pleas for her to rise and yet she could not. The nausea lessened before finally she could take in a gasping breath.
“I cannot rise,” she heard herself answer in despair.
“I will help you, push up with your hands to gather you’re legs before shifting and finally getting to your feet,” she was instructed.
She leaned forward, the hand still at her elbow as she pushed off her hands and gathered her legs beneath her. She slowly worked at moving her feet beneath her knees and finally she was hunched over, hands pressed into her gut. Her stomach convulsing and her mouth opened in a silent gasp at the pain as her stomach was wrenched in ripping agony. Something began to burn, coursing itself through her bodice as it began in her stomach. The pain was intense and it seared her already frayed nerves and boiled her hot blood. Again her mouth opened in a mute cry of agony and she shook from the pain of it. Distantly, she heard the calls of the voice that’d helped her stand and she shook her head against the onslaught. As quickly as the pain had come it suddenly vanished in a slow instant; as though she were somehow absorbing the pain within her into a tight ball where it would remain sealed away. She gasped, air whistling down her throat and expanding her oxygen starved lungs before she straightened herself and pressed a hand to her stomach and tensed in case the pain ran amuck once more. After a moment’s pause, she was satisfied that the agony would not be returning for the time being and so she turned her head to look over her shoulder and saw… no one.
Confusion alit itself on her angular face; her mouth turning down in a fierce scowl. Obviously someone had to have been there for her to have heard their voice and felt their confiding touch but if no one was there then certainly she had imagined it. Had she imagined it? She had been certain of the presence she had before both felt and heard as she was being consumed by the agony. Yet no one was there, she was the last of the marching line – she was the last of the prisoners. As she turned away from the sight of the desolate, empty roads behind her she felt a cool breeze whisper past her ear carrying with it a soft promise, barely audible and she questioned the state of her mind if she’d even heard those whispered words. Though, again they whispered by her ear and she was certain that she was not imagining such a thing to be happening.
“I’m here.”
