Buried Truths

They bury my heart at the crossroads, dig a shallow hole and toss it in. Everyone watches as they cover my heart with grainy dirt and noxious lies, as they spit on it and stomp on it twice. They think themselves righteous and justified. Yet the reasons they peddle for my demise are ripe with deceit, each a forged, twisted truth to comfort their guilty conscience.

After they bury the truth alongside my body at sunset in a ditch outside town, they stroll away, laughing, ready to forget about all they have done. But the truth wriggles restlessly, discontent to decompose. It prods, and it whispers and urges me on, insisting I ought to–something has to be done.

So, I strike a deal with the devil and sell my soul for the truth.

I rise from the dirt, flesh and bone restored, and an unhealthy glow to my cheeks. I fall to my knees, cough soil, spit debris until a sob purrs deep in my chest. As memories of their actions flash before my eyes in a never-ending reel of pain and betrayal, vengeance kindles in the hollow space of my heart. With the back of my hand, I wipe the corners of my mouth and push myself upright. Inhaling the scent of cornflowers, I bare my teeth in a flesh rendering smile.

They will own the truth. They’ll feel my wrath.

My jaw set in defiance, I cross through the dark side of the morning in a soft rustle of fabric. Anger seethes in my belly. Pebbles pierce the soles of my feet. A fierce gust tousles my hair and I shiver in the frigid breeze. Yet, I stroll, undeterred, toward the place I once called home.

For miles, I follow the road, listening to the whispers and the shadows, their eerie voices cheering me on, until I cross into town. There I pause, choked by the sickening smell of deceit and the haunting echoes of lies. Their poison swirls in the mist and settles like dew on my skin. Misogyny burns in my nose. Corruption stings my eyes. I press on regardless.

Unyielding, I weave my way through the bleak streets and watch as the town wakes. Windows open, and doors too. A woman, her gaze narrowed and distrustful, nods in greeting. A wisp of a man tips his hat to me in a welcome he doesn’t intend to extend. Meanwhile, hiding behind curtains, alarmed eyes gawk with unrelenting curiosity, wondering how this can be. How can I be here?

Driven by fear and concern, the townspeople spill out of their houses. They gush into the street, trailing me like rats after the Pied Piper. A nervous thrill runs through them, a vicious current. They lick their lips hungrily, eager to inflict more misery. I feel their starved stares prick the base of my skull, sending shivers down my spine.

Yet with dawn ahead, I’m not afraid. I see past their facade, see them for who they are: terrified creatures huddling in corners and creeping through alleys. Mere ghosts of people, not human at all.

“Don’t do it. Please turn back. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

I rotate to find a maiden waiting under a flickering streetlight, her pleading eyes seeking mine. I tip my head to examine her. Caramel curls, freckled cheeks, and the honey scent of dreams. There’s still hope for this one.

“Why are you out here, my dear? What is it you seek?” I furrow my brow. “If it’s absolution or solace, I suggest you return. I’m here to exact vengeance, to see this town burn.”

I shoo the young woman away, try to usher her along, but she refuses and stands her ground.

Her face painted in pain, she reaches for my hand. “Don’t you remember me?”

Flashes of happy days and laughter fill my mouth with candied nostalgia until the sugarcoated memories melt away. At last, only regret remains, prickling sour on my tongue as I remember her silence, her averted gaze.

I recoil and back away. Were I alive, my heart would skip beats inconsolably. I press my hands against my chest, waiting to catch my breath, when a coach rattles past and brings me to my senses.

“Go,” I say with a dismissive wave as I strut past her. “Hurry, before they brand you a witch–before you end up like me. Or worse, like them.”

My steps don’t echo in the shadows as I leave her standing under the fading streetlight. What’s left of my skirts drags through the dirt, soaking up mud and muck. Another street, another turn, and I reach the town square.

Everyone’s already there.

Pre-breakfast, with messy bed heads and misbuttoned shirts, they gather around the square. They gape at me, weary, with faces twisted in false sympathy and feigned sorrow that barely hide their dread.

“Shouldn’t she be dead?”

“Witch.”

“Surely, this proves it.”

“God forsaken.”

“She’s crazy, that one. As mad as a hatter.”

“Should have burned her.”

As I strut past them to the center of the square, standing in the hairs of the crossroads, the burning embers of fury transforms into resolve. Ignoring their jeers and hateful words, I drop to my knees. Before I can get to work, however, the maiden from the streetlight appears.

Exasperated murmurs chase her approach as she pushes her way through the throng. Her caramel curls shine in the first rays of dawn when she stops in front of me, holding out her hand.

“Please don’t do this.”

Her pleading eyes have me hesitate. Perhaps, I think as she turns around and addresses the crowd.

“Stop this madness. It’s enough.”

But the townspeople won’t listen.

“The witch must die.”

Shadows dance along the walls of the buildings as more lies are contrived. More toxic venom spews from their mouths. Their hearts harden further, doubling down, since no one wants to own the truth.

As they drag her aside, I rise to my feet.

“Listen well,” I shout. “I’m neither a witch nor am I insane, but I am the shame you tried to bury. I am the truth you desired to escape. And yet, here I am despite the lies and deceit you concocted to justify your actions.”

A unified gasp precedes the whispers racing like wildfire through the crowd. But I’m not done speaking.

“Because I refused to submit to your rules and read the forbidden books. Because I didn’t bow down to your lies and cruelty and used science to cure. Because I didn’t fit neatly into your conceptions of what is right and just and proper, you killed me.”

Once more, I drop to my knees. I dig my hands into the dirt and cast handfuls aside. Everyone watches as I unearth my heart from the dirt and their lies. Gingerly, I grip the warm flesh and retrieve it from the shallow hole. As I rise, I hold my heart high above my head for everyone to see. Raw and battered, it beats in my hand.

“Look at it. This is the heart you thought to silence with your false accusations. This is the heart you tried to kill because of your twisted truths. Yet despite your efforts to crush it, it still beats.”

The lub-dub of my heart grows louder, calling out each one of their lies. Misogyny, corruption, jealousy, false piety, and hate.

Desperate to blot out the cacophony of condemnations, their hands shoot up to cover their ears. Each beat, each thump, each minuscule gurgle pulses through their bodies, tearing down their walls of deceit as their heartbeats synchronize with mine. Unable to soothe their conscience with lies any longer, the townspeople fall to their knees. With nothing left to peddle, the truth is all that’s left, its ugly, uncomfortable grimace peering back at them.

Despite the bitterness of the townspeople’s hate lingering on my tongue, the moment tastes sweet. My heart in hand, I turn to leave, ready to burn it all to the ground, when the young woman steps into my path.

“I’m sorry,” she says with tearful eyes. “I was too afraid.”

My chilly fingers glide across her warm skin, tenderly caressing her cheek. “I forgive you.”

Mercy blooms in the hollow space of my heart as I leave the town to settle my debt with the devil–heart and soul in hand, my chest rising unburdened.