Moments before the last

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Life doesn't like to play fair. Sometimes, there are things you just don't get. Liz understands this, and in her last few moments, she thinks, but quietly to herself.

Submitted: March 14, 2015

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Submitted: March 14, 2015



"Fucking half-breed". "Go to hell". The villagers don't understand. They call Liz names, blame her and degrade her, as if it was all her fault, like she had some part in choosing how she would end up. "This is what you get. You murderer."

Funny, isn't it. Liz thinks to herself. There's some type of dark humor in being called a murderer by the ones ready to kill her. She finds it funny, but only internally. Her external appearance is nothing less than horrid. At one point, she was considered a demon, and still is, but one who lived on the outskirts of the village with her demonic mother and traitor father. But by all accounts, not a soul present at this moment could deny her once absolute beauty. Her long, ruby red flowing hair shined. Rumor had it, it was more smooth than silk, softer than sheep's wool, stronger, and tougher, than the best metals used to craft the finest of weapons. Her smile was whiter than snow while her eyes where a vibrant crimson red. She was the very definition of a rare gem. Secretly, all the villagers, in their own way, admired her. But now, everyone loathes her.

Seven years old, and a mass amount of people can't wait for her to die. Her hair, once a majestic essence, now a shadow beyond its former self. The rumor help up. Liz's hair did turn out to be to demonic. They weren't able to cut it off. Their scissors chipped and their swords dulled. They wanted, before they killed her, to retrieve her valuables: eyes, teeth and hair. Everyone knew it would fetch a gorgeous price. But to their disarray, and Liz's as well, the hair would not give in. As a last, and successful attempt, they set it ablaze. Now, her hair is short, charred and black, but only black near the split ends. They wanted to remove her eyes and teeth after dousing the fire, but upon the reveal of her parent's seeded expressions, it was a silent agreement that they would retrieve them, after she's dead and gone.

A smile appears on Liz's beat up and bruised face. She finds it humorous, that without ever getting the chance to know her, they were all convinced that she was a devil's child. Some grew anxious, others grew nervous. I didn't matter what expression an individual showed, as Liz can see them all. Atop the execution platform, she has front seat to the faces of her soon to be murderers.

"By law of the village," a man speaks. "If one were to attack the village, and they were to be caught, they are to be executed in public. For all to see." his way of speaking was different than the rest. His mannerism, tone, inflection and passion are on a different level than the others. To him, he saw no injustice in his actions. Age means nothing to him. In his eyes, this young half human, half demon sin needed to be disposed of. With the action of attacking the village as the reason for her murder, he as no qualms about what he's doing. He's the executioner, and he's fulfilling his righteous duties.

But to Liz, things are different. To her, there's no justice to be served. It's not as if she had done anything wrong. Liz has no memory of attacking the village. Her memory isn't something to scuff at. It's not photographic, but by no means is it under par to a humans. Liz understands, even if it's not the whole truth, a portion of it that the villagers won't recognize. She doesn't know who attacked the village, or why she was framed, but in all honesty, that didn't matter to her. To her left, and her right, are the heads of her deceased parents. With Liz right in the middle, there's no calmness in her sight. If she looks left, her mothers head, eyes gone. Her right, her father. Ahead lies the villagers, and above her lies the mass she about to dangle from. Any fighting spirit she could have had, dwindle with the reminder that she's about to die, alone, for an attack she did not commit.

A slight tug begins to pull on her neck. She knows, that the rope wrapped to a chocking degree around her neck, is being being pulled. She can feel her tiny, scraped knees lift from the wooden floor. Her feet feel the warmth the boards emit, but only for a mear second. Her hands, bound by locks and chains stay silent. Liz begins to think. She begins to ponder what her last words would be, if she were able to ever give them. A story floats into her mind. One that her mother use to tell her long before Liz had been born. A story of legend, passed down from generation to generation. An inheritance story that had been passed down to Liz.

It was a time before turmoil and war. Back when humans and demons lived together peacefully, with all the other races and mythical beings. Each race added to the world. The humans invented, the trolls protected the forests and planted planted new trees. The fairies offered devine protections to humans when they traveled in exchange for food. The magical beasts supplied incredible materials, and the demons stayed in the background. Having been the most magically gifted, they served as mediators when things got tense between the different races. It had been great times. But the demons had for saw an event. They did not predict it, but rather analyzed the situation. Little by little, each population began to dwindle. They were merging into one. From,the outside, things seemed great, but from the demons, this became worry some. As bloodlines mix, power becomes dilated. The demons knew that if the different races merged into one into one, there would be no one strong enough to sustain the world. As strange as it seemed, race unification would have destroyed the world. The demons, deciding that they would prevent that from happening, created discord,and between the races. They succeeded.

Remembering her mothers words, Liz wonders herself, if this is Devine retribution for the actions and lives lost that her ancestors caused. With her last bits of effort, she stars back towards crowd, looking for a girl. She can't find her, and that puts a satisfaction in her heart. My only friend, she thinks to herself. Isn't here. That's good.

There's a strange innocence when it comes to children. At a younger age, Liz befriended a girl named Ri. The two became good friends. With Ri being disabled at the waist, she wasn't able to play with the others. And in her loneliness, she came across Liz, a girl who also knew the same loneliness she did. They spent hours talking, laughing, and arguing. They were close enough to be sisters. Had Liz encountered Ri here, she was sure she would have lost it completely. Thankfully, she wasn't here, to witness her friend's public death for a crime she did not commit. Despite her mother's story, Liz found a friend in a human girl, that's the one thing she had left.

It didn't take long for Liz to see her pain and suffering off. Her body rose high into the sky during her thoughts. And after a loud cheers, dropped to the wooden flooring.




A//N: How did you like the story. I've never written a story with this kind of end. I'm debating whether to continue it so it ends differently, or leave it as is. There's more I can do with it, but I don't know if I should do anything with it. Confusing, right. What do you think I should do?

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