Page 3 of Unmasked Prophecy
Time slows. The words slam into me harder than any fist ever could.
The crowd shifts. Eager now. Hungry for the ritual. They enjoy every ounce of punishment handed out in this place. It feeds their desperate and pathetic beliefs. A large cross in the middle of the lot waits for me — their sick and twisted altar.
Reginald hauls me to my feet and shoves me forward. I don’t bother fighting. It will only result in more lashings, more pain, more humiliation. This isn’t my first time. I’m quite certain it won’t be my last.
I know the burn of leather biting into skin.
I know the silence that falls right before the first strike.
A man steps forward with the whip — a heavy braid of leather, crafted by my father's own hands. His pride and joy.They drag me to the cross, pulling me against it, stretching my arms wide to bind them. Shackles I cannot escape from. Believe me, I’ve tried.
Only then will they deliver my punishment.
My punishment for helping a sick child.
My punishment for being a good person.
The sky above is wide and open, the stars glimmering brightly, the moon casting light over me as if I am being reborn. It’s sick, really.
"Let her sin be purified," my father intones, and the crowd murmurs the prayer back.
The whip whistles through the air.
The first strike lands, tearing a scream from my throat.
I bite down, tasting blood. I will not let him have the fucking satisfaction of hearing me scream again.
Another.
And another.
Each lash carving through my skin, each crack of leather a reminder of the world I have been born into. By the time they untie me, I can't stand. I collapse into the dirt, gasping for air, my body heaving as I fight against the urge to vomit. I don’t give them that satisfaction. I will never yield to him.
I hear my father's voice again. "This is mercy. This is love."
I could laugh, but that would only earn me more lashings. Instead, I close my eyes and keep my head low, the blood trickling down my spine a reminder that I am still here, still breathing, still alive.
And every single second I am alive, I make a vow to myself:
One day, I will burn this fucking place to the ground.
1
Iwake up gasping, my breath getting stuck in my lungs as if it has no place to go. The pounding of my heart has my ears ringing, and my skin is soaked in sweat. It takes me a long moment to remember where I am. To remember I’m safe. To remember I’m no longer with them. At least for now, the monsters of my past can’t touch me, but I know better than anyone that safety won’t last forever.
