He speaks it as a trope he has sung many times before. I sense a foreboding atmosphere and go to leave the circle. But I am hemmed in. A large lady confronts me, she preaches to the mob “Maybe Hell is where he belongs, to where all the deceitful go, we will give him to them”, The boy speaks up once more “We pay our token to Hell, so we may live in peace!”. Large working hands take hold of me, there is no strength in me to wriggle free from such strong faith. More people arrive with bindings, One woman carries a sack, before I can reason at all, the sack is on my head. My pleas are answered only with silence. My hands bound behind me, my legs bound together, no word coaxes any response but “We pay our token to Hell, so we may live in peace”. Where is Hell to these people? A fire? A lake? Will I be crucified? I give up pleading, I just cough as the sacking’s fray fills my lungs.
When we arrive darkness has too, when the sack is removed my eyes adjust quickly. I know this place. They remove my bindings and manhandle me to the edge of the well, I look down and see three moon-lit reflections in the water, my head flanked by two large men. “But why..?” I plead, as they heave me into the well, they chant “We pay our token to Hell, so we may live in peace”.
As I brace to hit the water, I hit the witches bend with a gruesome crunch, pain flies through my body as I splinter on impact. I ricochet and land in an impotent heap on the hearth. I have time to recover and time to reflect as to where I live.
This marks two years writing here,
a most enjoyable two years.
Thank you for reading and sharing.