No Mercy For The Wicked

I grit my teeth together at the sound of footsteps approaching my cell. Words I’ll never speak are caught in my throat like stale bread. There is no water to wash them down, only a space behind my tongue that holds them in place. If I listen closely, there’s a third set of steps walking ahead of the guards. He makes his impending presence more known as he drags his cane along the floor. Once there was a time I feared the screech of it, but as the years passed I’ve come to hate it more than fear it. He knocks his cane against the bars as his sinister smile comes into view, and I already know exactly what it is he’s seeking. “Hello, Cassia. It’s time we use your gift once more darling.” He slides pictures across the cement floor. Pictures of people he wants me to kill.

I hastily flip through the pictures, not concerned with the faces as they pass. I hold the last picture in my hands as the others fall to the floor. As always, there is a new picture of my sister working on the farm. It’s taken from a distance, but I can see the sweat beaded on her forehead, and the sun beating down on her freckled shoulders. She is the only reason the venom of my words is stuck behind my teeth, the only reason I let this cage confine me and the man with the cane continue to live each day while he forces me to put innocent people to death. I do it all to keep her alive.

I feel his eyes on me as I grip the photo, scouring for any sign that Penny is unwell, my voice is scratchy as I speak, “She’s still at the farm. She looks thin and worn.” I don’t have reason to speak very often, and my throat feels raw. The grit must have been apparent as he sets a bowl of water just inside the bars at his feet. He steps back as I move forward, knowing that if I had the chance I would rip him apart. The water is cool, and it takes everything not to drink it all at once. They don’t have to treat me well so long as my sister is within reach, and they know it.

“Yes, well, that’s where there’s work and she seems content from what we can see,” He taps his cane on the ground, “Now, why don’t you take a look at the other pictures, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Has there been another act of rebellion?” I ask, desperately wanting him to say yes.

“No, no. Don’t you fret. This is just another gathering to keep the people in line. You know how feisty they can be.” His grin widens as his eyes trail over the pictures scattered on the floor. He doesn’t even try to masks the satisfaction he gets from the monthly gathering.

“What time?”

“Same as usual.” He gestures to the clock just behind the guards.

I nod my head in understanding and try not to cringe at the click of his tongue and how his eyes linger before he strides away. The echo of his cane rings clear as he walks back down the hallway and out into the world he’s created to serve him. The world he uses my “gift” to control. It’s more of a curse, my ability, as it’s only ever served to hurt people. All I need to kill is a picture, or an image, or to even see them in person. I burn the details of their faces into my mind and when the time comes, their life snaps from their body. The man with the cane uses it as a fear tactic to keep the people in line. Twice every month he comes to me with five or more pictures, citing that these are the poor people that have been chosen for “the gathering.”

I tuck the picture of my sister under the thin mattress in the corner. Years of pictures try to escape as I lift it, and my heart aches as I push them back. This has been my life for so long, I hardly remember what it’s like to have lived anywhere else. I wonder often if Penny remembers me, or if she ever wonders if I’m still alive somewhere. My gift was discovered shortly after he took over, and my fear for my family as a child swiftly ended the lives of any of his men that came too close. Though, they came in the night as I slept, stealing me from my family and forcing me to watch as they stole my family from me. They took the lives of everyone but my sister, knowing they would need some leverage to hold over me. It worked. I live within these four damp walls and don’t bother fighting back.

My reflection stares back at me in the bowl of water. My blonde hair cut just above my ears, so they need not worry about brushing it so often. They figure the less people they expose me to, the better. With the guards gone the absence of noise gives way to the ticking of the clock as the time of the gathering creeps closer. I sigh and force myself to look at each of the pictures before me. I try not to think about their lives or their families, though sometimes I can’t help it and my tears fall on their still faces. I whisper apologies into the air as I memorize every inch of their face. When my stomach twists, I only look towards my mattress and remind myself why I cannot falter.

Wait. That picture of my sister… I’ve seen it before. I drop the images of strangers and hurl my mattress off its simple frame. There are thousands of pictures here, but I know I’ve seen the one they gave me before. Both images tremble in the grip of my hands as I hold them side by side. One is from nearly a year ago, and the other is from today. Why? Why would they give me the same picture. I look closer at how thin she is, how frail, how her face is contorted in the heat. I look at other pictures leading up to today, and in each she is thinner and worn. A sharp pain rips through my chest at the thought of what’s become of her. The realization of why they recycled an old photo in deceit.

The rumble in my chest moves into my throat and then out from my mouth as I scream. I scream until there is no more air in my lungs. I scream as if determined for the brick walls to shake. I scream and hold her picture to my chest, taking in air in between until there is nothing left. It isn’t long before guards come running, their hands at the electric cattle prods on their waist. One among them steps forward, his deep voice bellowing into my cell, “What is the meaning of this?” He says it as a threat, his grip tightening around the prod.

I hold up the identical pictures, my head shaking with rage as I look him in the eyes. My senses are heightened, and he swallows as his eyes dart from pictures to me. I can smell the sweat as it beads on his upper lip. He quickly turns to another guard, telling him to alert the General immediately. I stand, pulling against the shackles on my ankles until they crack, my hands gripping the bars of my cell as I press into them, eyeing each and every guard, “Nobody is going anywhere. If you move, you die. Now what happened to my sister?”

Out of the corner of my eye, a guard reaches behind him, but his gun uselessly slides across the floor as he collapses to the ground. By my doing, of course. The guards suck in sharply, and I swear I smell the slightest scent of urine. The guard that was once so quick to step forward is now shaking as I hold his gaze, his voice littered with tremors as he speaks, “She’s presumed dead. There’s been no sighting of her since last month and intel says she may have been died of exhaustion and her employers failed to report it as they saw it unnecessary.”

All at once they drop to the floor, and I bend the metal of my cage, stepping over their bodies as I walk towards the exit. The venom I held behind my tongue courses through my veins as I move forward, striking down anyone in my path. My fury knows no bounds, and as such neither does my gift. I only stop when I reach the doors of the man with the cane. I inhale deeply, smelling his fear through the door. There is no mercy here.