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It came out, barely even a whisper. The man was thin, unnaturally so. And the time spent stranded here on an uncharted island had further emaciated him. In fact, he'd grown so small, that he was the only one of the remaining survivors that could slip into the cracks that split the giant stones that littered the island at regular intervals.
Regular intervals every 500 paces. Yet no one else had bothered to take notice. No other took any interest in the rocks at all. And most of all, none of the other more sane members of the 'tribe,' a name they'd taken to calling themselves, preferred to live inside the dark crevices of weathered rocks.
The other 10 members of the tribe had begun to slowly assemble in a half circle near the main entrance that Twiggy used to slip deep inside, something he did on a regular basis, but this time it was different.
"Either you slither on out of the darkness in which we know you're fond of, or..."
Twiggy's high pitched voice is muffled by the layers of the thick rock, and he squeels an interruption.
"Or you'll what! You'll hang me just like you did poor ol' Skeeter! No! I won't be your sacrifice for the day. I, too, can hear the whispering voices in the night. I feel the chill fall over me as if being draped by a cool sheet. I see the way it poisons you all. Madness. It's madness! You know I had nothing to do with that poor lass's demise. It wasn't me. It wasn't me."
Twiggy's voice falters, and even though it's over 100 degrees tucked tightly in between the comfort of the rock, he feels the chill he'd felt the night the first of them had been killed while they all slept. He squinted, trying to peer out from behind the breaks in the jagged, twisting passage. Only then did it dawn on him. He was going to die. And not a death in the night from the terror he'd begun to fear, but by a band of paranoid men and women who felt their only chance at living themselves, was to hunt down the black and twisted malice of whatever form of Evil that had found them.
It was slowly noticed by each and everyone, some at the same time, others randomly, one after another. No one spoke of it at first. None of them would have known what to say anyway. But it had begun a siege on the small tribe who'd survived the wrath of the heavens, itself. The night the sky had opened up, and sent a brutal flurry of the elements that in the end, had so thoroughly destroyed that mighty ship in which they'd been sailing, that naught but an endless field of broken, wooden splinters was left. Only 13 of an entire crew were left still holding on to their lives, saved by a small life raft.
Twiggy still remembered. He mostly recalled how the sight of so many pieces of shattered wood were covering such a vast area of the endless, black sea, that in the moonlight they looked like stars. Fallen stars. Enough to mimic the silvery light of the real stars above as they dotted a huge section of the sky, being the only thing that could rival the seemingly endless ocean. They sailed away from the surreal scene in stunned silence. They chose the direction of the wind, and road across a sea of stars that floated on a sea of black, and gazed up into another vast sea of stars, hanging there in a sky that was as black as the water below.
Twiggy had begun to cry. He could hear the growing frenzy of the mob, and knew it would continue to work itself into even further excitement. He was trapped, and knew it. The mob that waited knew it. Finally, he slowly slithered back towards the light of the day that shone in and broke into all the different colors of the rainbow.
They could hear his body gliding across the smoothed stone. They all sensed it at the same time. A chance at salvation. A chance to to end this evil that had somehow poisoned one or more of them. A poison that had finally manifested as the murdering of one of the tribe as they slept. It had crossed a threshold in which they could not let it take root. One and all, they knew they had to kill the evil, or they would all die.
Twiggy edged to almost the very end of the exit stone. Something about how he'd stopped the screaming from before, and that he now wore a subdued expression, as if he'd succumbed to his fate. This also seemed to foster a similar effect upon the gathered tribe. Twiggy said nothing, just kept his eyes to the ground, and slowly began to make his way to where grew a copse of trees, with strong limbs that were just the right height.
The tribe followed, falling in behind, forming a single file line. This scene was of such contrast with the anger and fear and hatred that it had driven the mob to delve into the primal side all humans possess. And where the day before, they'd gripped Skeeter in hatred, and were shouting their glee when they finally heard his neck snap. Some of them even remembered how they'd already beaten him to death, and the hanging felt like an afterthought. Maybe it was their realization that they'd failed to correctly identify a killer the day before. Maybe that was why today was such a stark contrast.
The time had come. The collective minds of the tribe really couldn't agree on who would have to be the one to take a swing by the neck, but like always, when time starts to run out, and they all realise they're only growing closer to another night, where they would be huddled and praying that they would wake to see another day, concessions are made. Deals are struck. And when all the bickering began to do nothing to solve the situation, Twiggy was finally agreed to be the next most likely harbinger of a killer's soul.
Yes, he'd fled and hid inside his rocks at first, but in the end, he met his fate with as much dignity as a man who has spent his last days, stranded on an island, never being able to finally make it home, to let his wife and son know that he'd not died in the storm that sank the Fair Maiden. That he'd somehow lived through a storm that ripped giant steel rutters like paper, and how he'd found the face of God, and was humbled by its presense the night they made off on ragged life boats, and sailed between the stars.
Twiggy is lifted up. He is thinking of his wife.
Twiggy is forced to bend his head down. He is thinking of his son.
Twiggy feels the coarce rope settle around his thin neck. He is thinking of the night in the life boats, surrounded by stars.
Everyone looks to his face, somehow unable to stop from following the trail of a single tear as it glides down his hallowed cheek.
Then it is time. All eyes are on Twiggy. As much as they lament his passing, they are more concerned with finding out if they had chosen the right one this time.
A click. The feel of air suddenly rushing up. Time in that last moment seems to hang there in the air. Twiggy finally looks up. He sees the part that is there sadness. He feels a yearning that they had not made another mistake. In everyone's eyes he can see their fear. They were all afraid. Why couldn't they have found the right killer or killers, for no one knew how many. And just before his rope is about to come to it's end, he sees it.
There! In the eyes. They'd been masking it from everyone. But now he knew which one it was. It watched him fall with a delight that scared him more than even the knowing that he would soon be dead.
And then he died.
EM is dead. He was innocent.
-Brujah - written while confined to an upright sitting position.
This post has been edited by Path-Shaper: 06 December 2012 - 06:40 PM
