Anticipation

I faked my own death.

The pyres were lit, faces contorted in ugly shapes resembling demons, dark outlines without souls to speak of. I tried to become one of them, to lend a neighbourly hand, to follow inconistent rules by which they organized their broken society. I was forever an outsider. Forever the grime on the bottom of their tanned hide boots. Good enough to offer advice, when no one else possessed the knowledge.

"Ma'am? I've found myself in a precarious position you see.... it's just that... I canna have proof of my sins... they say you know how to deal with this.... problem..."

Always the same story, a young woman with nowhere else to turn. I feel for them. Perhaps too much.

It takes just one. One mouth to begin a vicious rumour, a rumour that sleuths through the village, infecting minds, filling them with malice. A man is no longer a man, but part of a collective predator, moving forward together as a swarm of bees. To nullify an identified threat.

"What a relief! Glad that's taken care of!" They say, clapping eachother on the backs.

"If it weren't for Pat, we'da never known there was a witch amongst us." They look toward a sour-looking, middle-aged man. He smiles with satisfaction, yellow teeth gleaming in the early evening light.

A chill passes through the body of each man, causing them to look around in alarm.

"Did you feel that there?" the second-in-command asks, feigning calmness.

The moment of anticipation is delicious. As a cat plays with her dinner, I'll have a bit of fun with these dolts. It would have been easier to accept me, but they couldn't.