It’s that time again, kiddies! I offer you this short piece for the #98 Speakeasy, and I call it “Whispers:”
It was obvious by the pitiless expressions on their faces as they stared at me and Carlotta; I was worried that they would take out their fury on her so I held her close, but loosely, in an effort to seem casually defiant. She shivered as she gripped me ever tighter, her eyes wide as she stared at the people who just days before had been her caring and loving friends. Now, because of me, that was all changed. I tried not to flinch as the first torches were lit, the smell of turpentine ripe in the air. I refused to struggle and I knew that was making them even angrier; it was bad enough that I and my child were accused of witchcraft, but to not show fear in the face of what was to come had them frothing at the mouth to do away with us. Ever closer they came; I could see their lips moving but their comments were muffled, like furious whispers. My wishes and prayers were of no use; Carlotta and I would both suffer tonight.