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When the Wrong Stand Strong

Short story By: SolaWolf
Religion and spirituality



The point of view of a devoted Pagan, listening to the lies during a crusade, a witch hunt that would kill so many and give salvation to even fewer.


Submitted:Aug 2, 2012    Reads: 19    Comments: 1    Likes: 2   


I felt the shackles clasping around my ankles, following the followers of these "false gods". Who were they to say we were wrong after all this time? Why did this invented being have to take so many lives for the sake of "holy glory?" There we stood, in front of the righteous, the priest holding up his scroll like he was something dignified...all I saw was a man with a little black book in disguise. The look on his face was strict, going down the line of strangers; calling out their names and asking them if they wish to be saved. What did he mean by saved? His soul was no more pure than mine, standing in his ignorance, his title the only thing keeping him from my position. Many pleaded false truths, saying what the persecutors wanted to hear, repent and you will be saved...what lies.

My name called, I stood before the priest. The spark of the devil's fire burned in his eyes as they seemed to laugh at me, taunting me. The repetition of his question marched on as I denied them anything to pride over. Down the line, the few standing for themselves as the will to live was greater than the will this false salvation would give. I sighed as more and more began to fall, pawns breaking to the knights of war, it would only be a matter of time before check...and mate.

We marched on, one by one being moved from one shackle to the next. The new confines we were placed had us attached to boulders, and lining up to the edge of the bridge. My eyes closed as I heard the familiar quota, "If you drown, you will be saved...if you float...means witchcraft"

My mouth was buttoned tightly as I felt the kick of the rock into the water below, my legs trailing after quickly. The sound of the splash was short as the sting of cold water played on my skin. I bite harder into my lip to keep from gasping in the murky depths, eyes opening to see the flames of the on-seers trail away slowly, it was almost over. The priest still stood, watching; dark eyes flickering in the ripples of the waters around me. I lashed against my binds, praying that maybe the Gods hadn't turned their backs on their people, hoped that this new God wouldn't force me to drown.

Gasping for air, my head bobbed on the waters surface. I laid on land, chest heaving up and down as I hungrily stuffed my lungs with air. No one was around to see, the haunting eyes of the priest had long since been replaced with the shimmering of stars. The moon shined down on me like a halo, I smiled in her glow as I silently thanked the Lady for my rescue. I dived below to find any survivers, a few were still struggling to hold onto the threads of life. Managing to break free the two that had not been filled with water, I left them to recover on the bank as my gypsy soul lead me over the hills and through the valley.

A cave entrance could be seen in the night, dashing for safety and cover from the rain that had started to pour. I cowered in the darkness of the cave's inards, feeling the hot tears on my cheeks, though a smile appeared through the melancholy. It didn't shock me that the few friends I had deserted me to the fake, religious figures. I didn't hate them, I pitied them; they would fall victim soon enough to conformity, to enjoy the simple things wouldn't be good enough with this new God. I didn't understand why anyone would want to trade nature for commandments that would limit the joys of what the world has to offer. How much joy it was to woreship the way we knew; we sang to our Lord and Lady, we prayed to our Lord and Lady, and we gathered as a whole, giving our heart and soul into everything that meant something...it didn't sound much different from what this new disease was trying to convey...why fix something that wasn't broken?





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