A whistling through the air
then a thud and a scream
as the lash pierces virgin skin
opening the first river of red.
Children of only five or six
look up at the strapped man
in their hands tomatoes and stones
awating the time for them to be thrown.
Another loud CRACK!
and beads of sweat
start to form on his brow
and trickle down his exposed back.
Rich and poor men alike
didn't try to hide their mirth
as rivers of overflowing scarlet
became the man's back.
Voice cracked and course
and he raises his white flag
as his head hangs in defeat
and the nine-tail stikes again.
Pompous and modest ladies
both hungrily eye the spectacle
only one sheds a bitter tear
within a crowd of sneers.
Leather tears through skin
and salty perspiration
mingled with the crimson flow
pouring oil on the burning flame.
Fingers white and interlocked
one woman watches in sorrow
as her bleeding brother is cut down
and shoved to the stocks.
His fate is predictable
two days and nights
of stones and rotten tomatoes
forever eyed with malice.
She almost slaps the boy
who throws the very first
stone, the precurser to
an avalanche of pain.
As night finally arrives
and the last voices die away
he tries to adjust his broken hand
gritting a broken jaw.
Brown hood hides a pretty face
as she kneels beside the convict
and holds a pitcher of cool water
upto his swollen chapped lips.
He swallows, eyes still closed
through an injured trachea
should he stop? could be poison?
he may be better of...
Cupping his blood-crusted face
she tries to clean his beard
barely recognisable
her brother looked a mess.
Opening his heavy eye-li
he sees only darkness
but hears a woman's heavin sobs
and smells a familiar scent.
Seeing his beatiful eyes
so damaged by the assault
she lets her tears just pour
all her brother could see was darkness anyway.
"Mary, m'dear tis fine"
he manages to force out
but how could it be?
He had to live another day.
As morning approaches
she dares not be seen
tending a sentenced convict
lest she be sentenced the same.
He recognises morning
by the sun's warmth,
the many voices and commotion
but still, all he sees is blakcness...
Rounds of rotted fruit and stones
rain down on her brother,
even as his body slumps
the arms keep on pumping.
That night she sits
in the mud and weeps
clinging to the corpse
until her will diminishes too.
A contest entry
- Medieval/Historical related poems by TyrannyForestFairy.
1410 points, ended August 12, 2008, 28 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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vigin=virgin?? Typo??
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yeah thanx
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Excellent, you painted a very vivid heart wrenching picture, great job.
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You paint a very hearbreaking picture in this story.
Its true that evil will reign in people's minds forever unless they take a stand against it. Nicely written!
Just a suggestion though, do check the spellings and the tense. Sorry, but this is just a pet peeve of mine!
Peace
Anansey -
An astounding write! This has so much emotion and depth of reality to it that it bought a tear to my eye. The imagery is stunning and the grief the woman felt for her brother was heartbreakingly realistic.
Just excellent! Good luck in the contest
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Wow!! This was absolutely excellent. I enjoyed it the whole way through. The journey throughout intensively provokes imagery through the descriptions and the vocabulary. The factor of torment and love intertwined within is brilliant!! Great job!! Good luck in my contest!!
~Emily~ xx
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It may be never that the powers that allowed such things to happen are forgiven. An excellent story, well written and wel researched. Congratulations.
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