Some doors shouldn’t be opened, and yet sometimes they have to be.
I crept open the thick door as its contents crept up on me. When you’re living life to the fullest, you want to take in all the sights and sounds that you can experience, but this was not one of those moments. The walls were painted a crimson red, splattered by the crouched weeping woman in the corner of the room - her hands the brush, and her child the paint. What leads to such madness? The little child was laid on the floor, discarded to the opposite side of the room as the weeping mother.
What does it mean to take a life? I slowly walked over to the child and crouched, keeping my eyes fixated on the woman. The body remains the same, except for a wound. What happens to the consciousness? Where do souls go to rest when they have been unrightfully taken from this world? Sometimes they don’t, you know. I’m glad I got here in time.
“You’re safe now”, I whispered to the little girl that stood above her own body. “You will get the right to safe passage that you deserve. Come closer, now, I won’t harm you”.
The mother stopped weeping, and suddenly snapped her neck in my direction.
“You… you see it? I knew it would be here, but you can see it?” she said, her voice rasping as if all her tears had suddenly been dry for months.
“It is not yet your time to speak. Keep mourning, for your child is dead, witch. You revoked your right to her when you raised arms against your own blood”.
She snapped right back, stayed silent for a moment, and proceeded weeping.
I looked back the child in front of me, and pulled out a homemade sachet of salis.
“Omnes una manet nox” I sharply uttered, as I sprinkled the salis onto the child with one hand, gently stroking their wound with the other. The child slowly faded into the night as I stood back up to face the woman. “Pulvis et umbra sumus”. The woman realized what I did, and shrieked in horror. She ran towards me, clutching me by the shoulders with her claw-like hands, gasping and screaming “How could you take it away from me? How dare you? What gives you the fucking right?”
“Well, lady, I’m here on behalf of the big guy.”
“What?! No, no, no, my God has not forsaken me!” she yelled in horror and disbelief as she began to frantically chant demonic phrases and prayers.
“What, no - that’s ridiculous. You would be insane to think that any sort of deity would respond to you now. Oh wait, but you are.”
The woman stared at me in silence for a moment, and then started to leak the most horrifying sound. Her ghoulish laugh echoed the empty halls of the house as I stepped towards her.
“Mors ultima ratio”. An ebony blade, spined with tiny skulls, left my belt and swiftly pierced her heart. She collapsed with a smile on her face.
Who is the most important member of a trial in court? A good judge helps the proceedings and allows for both sides to present an equally biased yet fair representation of events. A good attorney questions the investigations done by the law and a good prosecutor can use the evidence truthfully to do their best job. A good jury is intelligent and wise in their verdict, meant to bring down the hammer of justice precisely where it is needed… but what stops people from the web of lies? No pledge to god can debilitate one’s ability to lie. I believe that the most important member of any trial is the executioner - no one can lie to death itself.
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