Continued from last week.
Deep is the strain.
A river of blood and sweat.
But justice cries out: retribution.
“These folks are lyin’ to ya’,” Susan called out over the crowds. Heavy ropes burned her wrists, bound and tensile, as the men hoisted her high above the crowd.
“You don’t know what you’re doin’! Stop! Please!”
The mayor, at the head of the mob, his arms wide and welcoming, lifted up his voice over the cauldron of dissent. “Ms. McGrath, we are getting tuckered out by your stories. Has it really come to this?”
Susan shook in anger, glancing up at her binds, squinting, straining.
“Ugh! You people are dumber than rocks, all of ya’! He’s a liar and a thief. I saw it, the trees, the birds! They have birds up there! You traded it all away, all for nothin’!”
“I think we’ve heard enough from the reb,” the mayor said motioning to the guards behind him to come forward. He looked tired, the mayor, taxed in his soul. Susan saw his fear, deep down, running like a river to the source.
So the crowd watched avidly as two lowbred, husky gentlemen clumsily tied a gag over her mouth. Old saliva, salty in her mouth, made her cringe in disgust. The people before her were enraptured by her silencing. It was a fate foreseeable, a common bond of dissidence they all shared, but were altogether too fearful to show it. Forsaken, she rose towards the firmament, dying for their sin.
“It’s a might inconsolable it had to be this way Ms. McGrath. No hard feelings?” The mayor, a bug, spoke into the cavernous vault, a whisper in the miry black.
Her eyes wet with tears, Susan felt the ropes release. One with the air she plummeted.
She saw the ground fly toward her.
Then all was blackness.