Miny Moe

I chose eight witnesses to see that my story is told. For to long there has only been seven. Robbed was I by monsters, by the kinsman of the three that cower before me. A replacement is needed with a story worth telling and these sheep have a story I want told.

The first stuttered, so was laid to rest. Left with an Accuser and a Bystander I rocked my finger between them. Each making their case for why it should not be them that falls. Neither offered his life for the other. Their only concern was diminishing their roll in my hanging.

The child’s rhyme I used for the choosing. Did not dictate the movement of my finger only when it would stop. When the rhyme came to its end, the Bystander found him self it. He continued to beg but I have no need for nine. I took his life, his friend took his roll and did nothing.

Payment

A flock that strays is a flock that chooses to abandon its shepherd. When they find themselves found by a lion. No wish, no matter how sincere can bring them back to the fold and protection of their master.

This flock now wishes, not aware wishes are words shape by to much hope and not enough meaning. Wishes can travel no farther than the sound that made them. An echo from those left to the mercy of their choices.

It is time to slaughter this flock and take it to market. Another payment to the earth for the time spent at the end of my rope. My every step could never be enough. The blood of this flock a gift, every drop an attack on it.

Brigands

The villagers cluster like sheep. Bright against the darkness it is as if they call to me. This set had plans not to be taken easily. They found brigands, better called fools, to place as an obstacle before me. Upon the hands of these fools I could smell the gold and silver they counted but will never spend. I see them as I see their benefactors — unworthy of living. They had no higher principles in play, they did as they were paid. The quality of their honour showed in the quality of their blood, for it easily dripped away.