Karma

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Eleven fifty five finds me in quite a predicament. There’s a good reason for this which I’m more than glad to tell you, but I have to deal with this loser first.

“Aren’t you afraid?” he laughs, trying to intimidate me.

I grin, laughing with him. I can’t see him due to this damn scarf tied around my face, but from his overwhelming stench of drink, I’m not so sure I want to.

“No, no, the fact that I’m forcibly tied to this splintering log with what is probably a used ass-rag around my face adds nothing to my mood whatsoever,” I say, words dripping with sarcasm.

“Are you trying to be smart with me?” he growls, grabbing my shirt in his fists, forgetting that I’m tied to a log.

“I am known to laugh in the face of death,” I grin manically, “There’s nothing that you can do to me that’ll make a difference.”

He lets go of my collar, backing off. I hear him spit in disgust. He probably regrets touching the ‘it’. It’s understandable.

“Just be glad we didn’t stuff one of those rags in your mouth…”

“Oh my, I must be the luckiest man in the world!” I exclaim.

I can tell that his teeth are bared, restraining himself from killing me. The townspeople would never forgive him for that. At least if they weren’t there to witness the event.

I’ve had a good run, y’know? I’ve gotten what any sane man could ever want, accomplished what others could only dream of. My ulterior means of getting there go against everything the bible has ever taught us. But hey, a guy’s gotta have his wine, women and song, right?

Well, now that that bit of nostalgia’s passed, I turn my attention back to reality. Damn it, I hear angry people. This time, it’s not to threaten putting septic sludge into my mouth. It’s depressing how they all seem so happy. I mean, what did I ever do to the baker, or that harlot? All I ever did was give them money.

I smell smoke. Ah, torch heat. It feels so nice on such a cold evening.

“Hey baby,” I begin, “Mind bringing that warmth a little bit closer?”

Hot chewed tobacco slithers down my face.

“Hold your mouth wretch,” a deep and definitely not feminine voice answers.

I laugh sheepishly. If I’m going to get that kind of attention, I’d rather it not be from a fellow male. In any other case, I would have used a very witty retort, but I’d rather not have this end on such a bad note.

The mob grows silent as the sound of hemp going taught fills the air. They whoop in excitement while I just sigh. What people will do for entertainment these days…

The man from before hastily unties what I’m convinced is his underwear, from my head.

“Ah, I can see!” I exclaim before zeroing in on the fake-blonde in front, “Don’t tell me I’m in Hell already.”

Ouch, she has sharp nails. I laugh, while utilizing my flexibility to massage the sore skin with my shoulder. I squint my eyes to see all their faces clearly in the dim light. So many faces, so many who I betrayed. So many who want to see me separated from my internal organs.

“Damn, do you know how to turn the tables or what?”

My former partner in crime smirks at me.

“Don’t bother writing,” she hisses.

“Why waste paper?” I laugh, “You’ll find out on you’r own soon enough.”

Her eyes narrow as hundreds of whistles pierce the air.

“Karma’s a bitch,” I say, eyeing the flaming arrows, “But nothing compares to you.”

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A/N: Just a short story I wrote for school that I may or may not add on to...