When Laughter Fades

Jimsonweed whipped at my legs as I ran through the treacherous fields. I could hear him yelling behind me, stumbling over the hidden pits and snares. We had been playing this never-ending game of cat-and-mouse for several years; however, this would be the end of senselessness. No more pleasantries. No more silence. No more running around trying to not be killed.

No, today I wouldn’t miss the boat to victory like my leaders had. They had faced this man head on when I was just a child. I saw him slit their throats without a second thought. They tried to reason with the devil, but I knew only bringing hell would ever stop someone from the depths of darkness.

I would become the predator with my minefield of traps beneath the foliage of red and green. The murderer would be the one slain tonight. The moon would put a spotlight on my heroism. The storm clouds would applaud my bravery. The grass would bow in respect.

I ran into the abandoned warehouse that crumpled beneath the weight of years of neglect. The iconic emblem of our resistance was painted across the loading docks. I burst through the empty rows of shelves, leading my hunter precisely where I knew he would kneel in defeat.

I clambered up the metal staircase to the second level, my heavy footfalls broke the quiet sound of his breathing. He began to calculate my death, and I, his. He called out to me, approaching my pinnacle with a slow gait. He inhaled the spirits of my fallen leaders, broadening his chest in heinous pride.

I watched through the aim of my gun as he climbed each step with painstaking slowness. He proffered a laughter that bridled my rationality. I pulled back the hammer, and he froze at the top of the stairs, locking gaze with his death. 

His laughter faded.

A pair of my comrades seized him and brought him near. I holstered the gun and pulled out a knife from my pocket. An enchanted script wrapped around the hilt, branching upward to the tip. A holy glow emitted from within the characters. I could feel the waves of uncertainty spill from him with each step I took, brandishing my blade.

“We have, for far too long, witnessed your brute infiltration into our community. Your hands have strangled our children, bruised our mothers, and slain our fathers.” I pressed the knife against his throat.

“Some would say that I should drive this blade clean through your neck. They’d say it’d be justifiable.”

I pried open his clenched hand and slit open his palm. The blade hummed at the touch of blood.

“Such are those who have forgotten the power of generational curses. His children and children’s children will now, and forever, shall share in his fate, cursed by the deities of old. His lineage shall slumber in hellish silence. This is justice.”

-(c) 2020 Kevin Barrick

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