She looks up at the young girl entreating her with glassy, tear soaked eyes, beseeching forgiveness. The young girl looks allot like her daughter; long coils of lustrous red hair, gaping green eyes, freckled, honey bronzed skin and a slight, delicate frame. Her body is trembling. She closes her eyes, draining her final tears as the older woman takes another step up the three stone built stairs.
The young girl's legs buckle underneath her body and she cripples to the ground. A gasp echoes from the crowd, intently contemplating the scene. The young girl sobs into her blistered hands, her knees tucked into her chest. "Please." She begs, her damp lashes closed tightly against her cheeks. Her hoarse voice is muffled by the sheet of lashing rain.
The older woman reaches the stand, patiently waiting for the girl to rise. She looks up at the older woman. "You don't understand." She informs.
"Please rise." The older woman commands with a soft, almost grieving voice. She lends her hand to the young girl. She hesitates but allows her fragile fingers to latch onto the woman's hand. She gets to her feet. The older woman shakes her hand and nods approvingly.
"Please step here, Miss." The older woman guides. The girl does so and faces the crowd. The army of hissing women snarl in her direction, spitting at the stand she stands on. "Traitor!" One growls. The young girl lowers her eyes to her own bare feet.
"Head up please." The older woman directs, fixing the broad rope around the young girl's frail neck. She chokes back a final sob, allowing one last tear to shed her eyes.
"Do it." She commands.
The latch is pulled. The trap door parts. The young girl hangs.
© Copyright 2016 phoebe thomas. All rights reserved.
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