374Rating: RWarning: Very
grotesque descriptions. If you don't like the sound of that, I advise you do not read any farther.Disclaimer:
Sadly, I do not own the "young man" who, if you use that creative part of your mind called your imagination
is Mr. Elijah Wood himself. I dearly admire Debbie Wood for having raised such a splendid guy for us to admire.
Also, this short story was based on two things: a) A drawing my friend Fiona (TearsHaveFallen on EWFN) drew and b ) my disdain for my mother's prejudice towards goths and people who seem dark.
And now, my latest short story...Ignorance(Ignorance© is owned by Samantha Reynard, published through Sammi and distributed by EWAC®.)
The girl’s black hair flowed with the wind, lost strands following the light breeze. Her pale eyelids, which once held crystal blue eyes, were sewn shut. Tears of blood from her caked eyelashes mixed with drops from the crown of thorns placed on her pixy-like head. Her decapitated head was placed on a five foot high pedestal, reaching the height she had been graced with in life. In the fountain that was what made the town square infamous, stood the crude monument.
A young man came to look at her daily, his eyes beholding the words of the plaque at the foot of her pedestal:A warning to all
or her kind and
to those who help
We will find you.
The young man wiped the traitor tears from his sapphire eyes, and looked upon her face. A face of agony and passion, of calm peace and disgust. So many things at the same time, the type of thing that was indescribable with one word. The man’s sub conscious would tell him not to put himself through the pain every day, every hour. The man knew her pain, up to a certain extent. He knew who she was. It was their ignorance that had taken the two out of their balance, that took her out of this world and forever into her own.
The man cursed them inwardly every time he passed one of them, or thought of her. He thought of her every second of his life, even in his dreams. She haunted him, and he welcomed it. Damn their ignorance. Damn their persecutions. They didn’t understand anything! Did they think they could stop witch-craft by beheading the suspected? They weren’t vampires. They weren’t werewolves. They weren’t demons. They were every-day people who recognized magik. They were human beings with a special gift that was to be shared, not to be kept secret on pain of death. When would the world understand?
Never. They’d never understand. The world would never accept something that scared them. They’d never accept something that was strange and foreign. To them, it was like a needle being jammed into your stomach, neck, arm. Anything they didn’t recognize was evil to them. And it would never change.