The Journey Stories

PART I)

  She shielded her eyes. The air was hazy from remnants of a dirt storm that obstructed her view of the crowd, but the screams and yells were so loud that she wasn’t concerned with finding her way. She was concerned with other things, and pushed forward.

  She usually paid no mind to their reports. They constantly had things to say about her. She’d lived on the outskirts of their society her entire adult life and rarely felt their words or accusations anymore. She was a subject of which they never tired.

  Even some of her own children spoke against her. She knew when they decided to have more children that it was a likely possibility. That when they became old enough to judge the stories for themselves, they might agree with most of her family and everyone else. It never stopped hurting, but she accepted it. Which is why she no longer worried what people thought of her, or what they said. She’d heard it all. But when it was about her son, it was different.

  She reached the mob. It was massive and deafening and the people moved like rats scaling each other to claim a spoil. The screams were so furious and garbled that she could decipher only that someone had led a rebellion against Rome. Someone had corrupted a nation. Someone was going to die.

  She looked for an opening in the crowd and squeezed through. The day was unseasonably warm; her garments already adhered to her skin as she was shuffled and shoved and pushed. The heat and smells of the people were stifling. She’d never been part of a gathering this size, or even witnessed one that included so many women and young girls in a public place. She slipped through another layer of people, still trying to sort through what she’d been told. It didn’t make sense. None of it did. The arrest made no sense.

  She focused on the positives. Trials were not permitted to take place after sundown, so if he really had been arrested in the middle of the night, he was either being held somewhere or was let go. And even if he had somehow been part of several illegal trials, trials and punishment were not allowed to happen on the same day, so he’d still be safe for now. And it was the time of a feast; trials were not permitted to occur on the day before or of a feast. So if he really had been arrested, they had time.

  She was still nervous, though. She’d had nightmares of losing him since he was born. The constant fleeing in the night, fearing he’d cry out while they traveled and reveal their position. Knowing that if she wasn’t careful enough, if she didn’t keep him quiet enough, those seeking the life of her baby would find him. And kill him. And all she’d be able to do was watch.

  She was almost to the front of the crowd. She caught glimpses of the street, and sounds of the whips. She pushed through large, heavy, sweaty men who pushed back without bothering to look down at who they shoved. She didn’t care. It made her feel good to push back. She shoved with all that she had and finally made it to the front.

  She looked around. Faces, faces, faces, faces, but not his face. He wasn’t there. They were wrong. They were WRONG. They. Were. Wrong. She breathed so deeply in relief that she inhaled dirt and started to cough. Her cough turned deep and guttural; she clutched her ribs and stooped down. She coughed until her body relaxed. And as rose to her feet, she looked over at the commotion in front of her.

  Guards were beating a chained animal. She looked away. It was strange to her, though. Strange that so many people would gather to witness the beating of an animal. Strange that soldiers would beat an animal. A chained animal. She couldn’t watch.

  She turned to leave, and one of the soldiers caught her eye. He lifted his whip and reeled it above his head; the pieces of bones and metal clacked against each other as the leather thongs whistled through the air. The crowd roared. The soldier took a step forward, noticed her, and stopped. The crowd yelled their disapproval, and then one by one, those near her grew quiet and shifted away. She looked around. They were staring at her. She turned to the soldier. He gazed at the ground.

  She looked at the other soldiers, and then the people next to her, but no one would meet her eyes. She felt light. She turned to the animal. It tried to stand. It had arms. She hadn’t noticed them before because everything had been a blur of blood and dirt and…no traces of fur. The animal didn’t have fur. She looked at its feet. They were bare and filthy, but they were not the feet of an animal. They were the feet of a man.

  Her body started to shake. She searched for its face. It was already looking at her. The remains of its lips were swollen and split. Its nose and cheeks were purple, almost unrecognizable as human. But the eyes. The eyes were the eyes of her son.

  She screamed. And everything went black.

  A JOURNEY’S END (