Clean from her teeth to her toes she enters the shed. Taking in the tiny quarters, she stares at the floor, trying to avoid the window that the Leader’s edict dictated Shall Not Be Covered. She knows that the Others are looking into the shed through it, waiting to see when she will begin cleaning the blood stain that the last inhabitant, her father, had gifted the opposing wall with.
Taking the sponge out of the bucket she’s brought with her, squeezing the excess water from it, she wonders what her fiance said to her father when they had come out here to sweat with each other, what words had transpired that had caused their elder to bludgeon him to death. Had her beloved confessed some sin? Some disease of the mind or flesh? Had her father merely found him wanting, or been gifted with some prophecy to see her fiance fail her as a husband some time in the future? Or was it merely the unexplained madness he had emerged from the shed with, that had forced the Others to put him down?
Scrubbing the blood from the wall, she realized she would never know. While blood may never forget, it does not speak.
See the author’s published work here.
Image courtesy of Clark-R.
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