COMPLICITY
After losing her husband, who never returned from that trip where he guarded the merchants’ caravan, all Sophie could do was take care of her children and her pretty jar-shaped house. In fact, she had no time or energy left for anything else. She didn’t take part in the building of the Guillotine or looking after the Garden. She wasn’t really interested in what others were plotting. Sophie had never been an expert in beheading gods and couldn’t say she was fond of that. But… the others said that it would bring justice into their own hands, once and for all. And she might like having a little justice, because somehow she felt there wasn’t enough of it in her life. Of course, Sophie knew that all gangsters who attacked that caravan were dead. But there were times when she realized that she was not quite satisfied with that. There remained room for some more fairness. So she thought, maybe the others were right after all.
And so the others dared. And they succeeded. But it didn’t turn out quite as they expected, and Sophie was kind of glad that she wasn’t there at the moment. Was the Judge’s last prophecy true or not, she had nothing to do with that.
“Mommy!”
Her little son’s voice distracted her from her thoughts.
“Mommy, come here, I’ll show you something!”
Sophie sighed and went to the door — the yell was obviously coming from the street. She saw her younger son standing in front of the house, glowing with joy and pride.
“Mommy, look what I can do!” he exclaimed.
Sophie gave him a warm smile: “Alright, and what’s that?”
“Look!” the boy repeated and suddenly nodded — or so she thought at first — but his head kept moving downwards in a weird, unnatural way. Until it separated from the body with a loud squelch and thudded against the ground. The little body kept standing for a moment or two and finally fell down, pouring blood, turning the white salt covering the street into red mess.
Sophie shrieked at the top of her lungs. A man that was passing by stopped and turned to her with a puzzled expression on his face. Unable to speak or move closer, Sophie pointed at the boy’s body with her shaking hand. The man frowned incomprehensively.
“My son… oh gods, my son…” she stuttered.
“Oh, that!” the man finally said. “You shouldn’t worry too much, ma’am. It’s just…” He gave a strange gurgling sound and smiled.
Frozen with horror, Sophie was staring at him, watching a thin red line emerging across his throat, growing wider as the man kept smiling. Actually, the smile grew a bit wider and more cheerful as well. Blood gushed from the wound as his smiling head rolled off his shoulders to the ground.
Sophie sprang back, looking around for help. The street became almost crowded — she saw her neighbors and other people that were familiar and unfamiliar to her. They were turning to her one by one. Some waved their hands welcomingly, some called her by her name, everyone was smiling.
“Sophie! It’s just… You see? It’s just…” she was hearing here and there along with the disgusting sounds of their heads hitting the ground. There was so much blood the layer of salt couldn’t absorb it anymore. So it flooded the street like a river.
“Sophie!” came the voice from below. She looked down and saw a severed head that had rolled so close to her it was almost touching her toes. Sophie cried out and jumped away, but the head turned around and stared at her with a wild grin: “It’s just, Sophie! It’s just! It’s JUST!!! IT’S…”
Sophie sat up in her bed, panting and sweating. She didn’t know if she was still dreaming, she couldn’t recognize her bedroom or say if it was day or night outside. All she could think about — she didn’t want any justice anymore. She didn’t want it at all. But it was there for her, as well as for the others.