Sticks and Stones - LJ Idol
It was a sweltering summer day as she made her way up the uneven path that scarred the side of the hill. The heat was unbearable for most of the townsfolk, the sun beating down relentlessly from a cloudless sky. Folk whispered about how could there be a bonfire this afternoon if the heat wouldn't break, spoke of the shimmering sun as an omen of ill things to come.
It was her day, regardless, and even the heat couldn't take that away from her. It was even a little relaxing, basking in the warmth of the sun as she walked, letting the heat warm her to the very marrow of her bones. She had been kept inside for far too long, hadn't seen the sun for four months of the year. It had been winter when she was arrested, a stormy day covered in snow, and this first day of spring was a special one to delight in. Unseasonably hot, the sun was a blessing, a reminder that her day would not go unnoticed by those above. It was everything she could ask for, and more, because the heat was something her gaolers would not forget.
The dark stone platform rose up from the top of the hill in sharp relief against the bright sky, and she smiled as she took the last few steps lightly, turning around to face the gathering crowd. Her day, and the entire town and the residents of the outlying farms were all in attendance.
She was lashed roughly to the central post, tree limbs piled high around her, but kept her head high as she watched the restless crowd, waiting. She never saw where the first projectile came from, which cut through the air and bounced off her high cheekbones, leaving a scarlet rivulet down her cheek in its wake.
That was the start of the storm, and the stones came quickly from all directions. She didn't scream, mute from birth, and watched the crowd calmly, even as their projectiles sliced through tender skin, leaving her bruised and bleeding. The crowd remained quiet, unnerved by her own silence, but their actions showed they felt cheated by the absence of screams and cries for mercy.
She smiled when they lit the pyre, finally, the dry wood igniting easily in the heat of the afternoon. The townsfolk didn't notice, at first, that sparks jumped to the tinder-dry grass around the platform, and the subsequent inferno engulfed the entire town within a few hours.
The ashes at the top of the hill remained that windless day, keeping watch as the embers of the town burnt through every last thing they could consume, a warning that there are far worse fates for those who don't think. Fates far worse than the sticks of the burning pyre, the stones of an angry mob.
And on the gods' day, revenge is best served roasting.
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