Monday, January 9, 2012

It's Not Your Fault

Well this one turned out dark, go figure. From the terribleminds flash fiction challenge of the week. Go check it out.

 She didn't scream. I had to give her credit for that. Oh she fought like a wildcat, like they always do, but she didn't scream at any point in the whole process. Were I a generous man I might think it was a sign of nobility. But I am not a generous man and so I think it was just her saving her breath.
This witch had been hard to track, but what did I expect from the head of such a large coven really? She had hidden in the swamps of the south, begging with the pagan loa spirits to help her, drinking rum and blood in offering to them. It must have worked, the twisted creations hid her and made the swampland totally impassable to me for months on end. But the will of God will always win out in time. I set the entire land on fire, with kerosene and gas and lamp oil, and flushed her out that way. She ran again to the north, taking refuge in the old shelter of her sisters of Salem. This did her no better as I had already banished their ghosts and broken their satanic hold on the town. Then she headed west, in the trackless lands of a dominion older than America. I lost her trail for a while but news surfaced of her in Utah, and away I went as fast as I could.
We met, finally, in her hotel room. Guns being loud and swords to unwieldy and obvious in these dark times I still managed to have a proper dagger on me when we met. It's blade was honed to razor sharpness and I did take some pleasure in it's craftsmanship. The fight was brief and in no time I had her pinned, my blade at her throat. And yet she never screamed Now even the most twisted souls are afforded certain luxuries and I gave her a chance to speak before I sent her to proper judgment. She stared me in the eyes and simply asked “Why? Why hunt me puritan?” I was surprised, they never asked that. “I have to. You defy the will of God and I am but his instrument.” She smiled at that, even with blood welling from the edge of my blessed. “So it's not your fault then. How sweet. And does this comfort you late at night when you lie alone in your bare room?” I nearly ended her their, but couldn't yet. “It does enough. But it is indeed my doing, as an instrument of his will. I pity you, with your desires twisted by the wiles of the enemy. I do not know how much is truly your doing, but that is no matter.” With a free hand I baptized her before the death. The deed done I cleaned the blade and prayed for guidance to my target. 

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