Blood by Vic

 

The head bounced once and rolled towards me, blood spraying in it´s wake. It came to rest, face up, the dead eyes staring into mine. The mouth was twisted into an ugly rictus, the blood-stained teeth grinned, mockingly. A sense of relief swept over me. I had my justice at last.

Someone stepped forward, grabbing the head by it´s hair and tossed it, unceremoniously, into the waiting cart to be reunited with it´s owner´s body. The crowd bayed for more but I had seen enough and turned away just as another victim was dragged kicking and screaming towards the block.

I pushed my way through the throng and heard the dull thud of metal on wood, once, twice and then thrice as head was stubbornly parted from torso and a cheer went up.

I reached the edge of the square and stepped into the main, cobbled thoroughfare which traversed the city. Although I had grown up there, I had never got used to the usual stench of effluent, excrement and rotting vegetables which assaulted the nose.

Heavily laden carts rattled and rumbled in each direction and street vendors and hawkers competed with each other for attention from the sparse audience, most of whom were at the Executions. Three and four storied wooden houses lined each side, their roofs almost touching in an arc as they overhung the street below, threatening at any moment to topple into it.

I badly needed a drink and knew where I would get one. Sidestepping a pile of steaming manure, I headed down a side-street and was grateful to see the sign for The Green Man Inn swaying gently in a breeze which had sprung up.

 

I pushed open the door and stepped in. As soon as Dick, the Landlord, saw me he poured a good measure of gin and pushed the glass across the bar. I took a good slug and then sat, heavily, into my usual chair. “No prizes for guessing where you´ve just come from then,” he remarked.

I took another glug and shook my head. “Why do I do it?” I asked. “Why do I put myself through it every time?”

Dick´s daughter Liz came around the bar and sat next to me. “You know why,” she said, gently, “because you live in hopes that one day he´ll be there.” She reached across and touched my hand. “Then your revenge will be complete, your brother´s killer will be brought to justice and you will find peace.”

It was true. I had searched for years for the man who had murdered my brother in cold blood until word reached me just a month ago he had been caught for a second murder and was in prison in my home town.

I turned to her, “I found him,” I said simply, with a grin. “He can´t hurt anyone ever again”. I held up my glass in a mock toast when I spotted it on my sleeve, a speck of blood……..his blood.