The tip of her finger paused of tracing the words. Her heart refused to take a dash of air. ‘It smells awful’, she said. She couldn’t help but wonder whether the filthy breeze was assorted among the dusts, dirts and mold, or just originated from a stench of death at the corner of the room.
…and the dark kept running to her.
By staring at the skull under her toes, she believed that one was fresh from the roaster. She wasn’t sure how many of her kin have tried to do this. The skeleton at the back with the rusty gold armor certainly not from a slave—nor a colonized like her. But the tale never died. Most men wanted to prove themselves they could bring the power of darkness to enlarge their armies, to conquer the world under their rules.
One thing with no doubt, many of them failed to finish the sentence. Besides, she was not a man, and here she was.
A few years passed, and the last page finally found. She pointed a thin finger of hers with the broken and fractured nail, whispered by her trembling chapped lips that she was the one who would bring the peace for her people. As the ancient words ended at the edge of the paper, she took the rest of the pages she hid behind the ragged cloth that wrapped around her gaunt soul.
She started counting, burning each of them along with the sorrow and heart-broken truths she wished to wiped out.
When she saw the soldiers with lion badge burned his father alive; when she saw his mother hanged in the middle of the corn field; when they raped her in turn until there was no tears left; and when the howl of old men and women burst as the young soldiers buried them alive, that’s when she realized no more mercy to those who tried to take everything they had.
She cried out, raising both of her hands to awaken the dead. Anger had burned her creed and only vengeance strengthened her to live. No more greed to empower the little ones, and she was coming with the darkness in her command.
In response of Daily Post’s prompt challenge: “Ten“